#bucky barnes fanfiction

[chrisisvbun]

three soldiers. 40s!steve rogers & 40s!bucky barnes x chubby!fem reader x origins!logan howlett.

synopsis: steve, bucky and logan, three soldiers that were hanging out in a bar, lay eyes on a beautiful woman that seems to be their type, and instead of fighting for whoever will have you, they solve things like mature men they are: having a foursome.

cw: foursome, triple penetration (jeez gurl) sweet steve, rough bucky and logan, slight bi!logan, mentions of gay sex, anal, unprotected piv, crempie, oral (both m and f), dom!logan, dom!bucky, dom!steve (mentions of sub Steve tho), chubby reader, slight mention of insecurities, fluff, aftercare.

words: 4k (I'm sorry.)

a ten nsfw chapter series masterlist.

Bucky and Steve's drinks were already empty by the time Logan approached to hang out.

The three of them were soldiers, they shared experiences, people they met, women they slept with, and they found out they shared a taste: plump, chubby women. A girl with flesh to grab, grip, bite. Extra flesh was amazing for the three of them, anywhere in the female (or male) body: tummy, hips, thighs, arms, cheeks, breasts, ass, everything was welcome.

And it's just their luck that you walk in. A gorgeous plump woman, with chubby rolls, fat thighs, broad hips, soft skin, and gorgeous cheeks that made your under eyes wrinkle when you smiled.

As you walked in, the three of them follow your body with their eyes, and where they place their eyes betray them in what they are attracted too. Bucky's eyes were staring al your fat, big thighs, and how you squeeze them together. Steve, ashamed of himself for looking at you so bluntly, was looking straight at your breasts, the cut of your dress showing how big and soft they are. And Logan, Logan was enamored with that tummy of yours, those rolls that press and show in your fat body so beautifully, in such a precious way that had him drooling. He wanted it even fatter with his baby there, but that's just the animalistic instinct talking.

So they had a bit of a chat, trying to figure out which of them was going to approach, and finally, they decided that, why not the three of them? If you backed off, the one that had more chemistry with you could try by himself.

"Hi there." Bucky smirked at you, leaning against the counter with Steve by his side and Logan from behind.

"Add what she has to my tab." Logan said, his eyes still looking down at you while he passed his card to the bartender.

"Are you all by yourself here?" Bucky said again.

"Uhm, yeah..." You said, shyly, which made the three men smirk.

"Lookin' too cute to be by yourself." Logan said from behind you, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. You blushed, you eyes glancing at the three men.

"Guys, we are intimidating her." Steve spoke up, and offered you his hand. You grabbed it shyly, and he kissed your knuckles. "I'm Steve Rogers."

"Bucky Barnes." Bucky gave a tiny bow, removing his hat.

"And that's Logan." Steve nodded at the mentioned, who was still enamored with your figure and your hair.

"Hi." He smiled at you, and his grin widened when you smiled back.

"So, doll, you sure you are alone here? No other men?" Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

You smiled. "Just the three of you."

"Three is a lot, isn't it?" Steve said, smirking at you while his eyes moved all over your body.

"it's not that big a number." You said, starting to get the situation.

"Really? Think you can take three?" Logan's voice was almost in your ear, his hand moved to your broad waist, squeezing it and making you gasp.

"M-maybe... I-" You swallowed, your eyes moving between the three of them. "I won't know until I try."

(...)

Logan said that his apartment was a good place, and it definetly was, he said he had the biggest bed, and the biggest mirror that covered the wall next to the bed.

And during the car ride, Logan was driving with Steve next to him, and Bucky already worked up, all over you. His hands gripped your thighs, kissing your cheek, your neck, your chest, while mumbling sweet praises. "So pretty, so soft..."

You gasped when he sat you on his lap, his hands gripping your ass like his hands where made to be there, and making out with you. His tongue was about to get all hungry inside of your mouth, until he had a taste of your sweet lips, automatically melting on your kiss. Your hands grabbed fists of his brunette hair, Bucky's hands moving under your dress to squeeze the flesh of you backside.

"Love birds." Logan called, you removed your lips from his, your lipstick over Bucky's lips and surroundings, and of course, all over your too. "We are here."

Before you could climb off his lap, Bucky lifted you easily in his broad arm, and like that, he removed all the insecurities you had about your weight, because he closed the door with one arm, while the other was under your thighs.

"Comfortable?" Steve smiled sweetly to you, and almost like he could read your mind, he kissed your sweetly while being held by Bucky. "You are beautiful, my God." He smiled between kisses, and allowing himself to move a hand to one of your big breasts. He moaned and pulled away. "Logan, be quick."

"Relax, pretty boys." Logan opened his apartment door, pushing it open to let the three of you in. "Uh-uh-uh." He stopped Bucky. "My turn."

Bucky rolled his eyes and let you stand on the floor. Before you could miss the touch of Steve and Bucky, Logan's hands were all over you from behind, gripping your waist, your breasts, your thighs, your stomach, while grunting on your ear.

"You are not that innocent, aren'tcha?" He said and kissed the shell of your ear, both of you watching Steve and Bucky removed his jackets and belts. "Takin' three men, three soldiers, you are charming, you are beautiful, this isn't your first rodeo, isn't it?"

You giggled a bit, caressing his big arms. "It isn't, but I never had three." You said, blushing. Logan chuckled, kissing your cheek.

"So sweet, I want to binge on you." He groaned and he began to trail open-mouth kisses over your neck, holding your hair behind. "Boys, let's get the princess ready."

(...)

Logan wasn't lying when he described his bedroom, he was totally right.

You were making out with Steve, he laying between your legs and holding your back to have stability. Bucky was already shirtless, Logan was watching Steve and you making out, on his white tank top and smoking a cigar.

"Steve, let the girl breath." Logan puffed out the smoke.

"Yeah, we are supposed to share." Bucky teased, lying between where Logan was sitting and where you were lying with Steve.

Bucky's hand cupped the back of your neck to kiss you, your hand went to his chest while Steve began to kiss your neck.

The differences between the best friends were clear. Steve was sweet and gentle, his bites and kisses were like cuddles in your skin, while Bucky was rough and desperate, his teeth sank on you lips and neck, trying to make you bleed, everything under Logan's gaze.

Steve's sweet hands pulled off the sleeves of your dress, kissing your shoulders and all the new skin exposed. Bucky hooked a finger on Steve's shirt.

"Take this off, man." He said as he pulled him away from your skin to be the one kissing it.

Steve rolled his eyes and removed his shirt. "You are not joining, Logan?" Steve said.

Logan checked him out a second and smirked. "I'm good watching you three for now, pretty boy, don't worry 'bout me." He winked at him, taking another drag of his cigar.

Steve chuckled, a slight blush on his cheeks. He moved to you again, pulling your dress down to leave you in your white bra and lacy blue underwear.

"Wanna get down?" Now, Steve had pulled Bucky's hair, and consequently, Bucky was removed from your skin.

His bright blue eyes moved to you, looking for your agreement. When you nodded eagerly, he smirked, and quickly began to pull down your panties and get between your legs.

You looked down at him, breathing heavily as he began to lick your slit, his warm tongue on your most sensitive part. You moaned, and your hand moved to press him more against you, a sign that allowed him to begin devouring your cunt.

Your whimpers were silenced but a pair of lips, that tasted like smoke and mint. You quickly recognize Logan's cologne, your hand moved to his hair too, kissing him hungrily while moaning against his lips.

Steve, of course, didn't want to be the four-wheel, so he unhooked your bra. His eyes brightened at the sight of your big breasts, and he started to kiss them both, squeezing them in his broad palms. He moaned against your flesh like he had never seen a pair of tits in his life.

You were overstimulated by this point. If you had to choose, Logan was the best kisser: sweet and rough at the same time, he had that cocky smirk that slipped between kisses every time you moaned. Bucky ate your cunt like it was his favorite meal: messy and hungry, his tongue lapped in your clit and when you started to get used to that, we would fuck you with his tongue, his warm muscle in and out of your tight entrance. And Steve, that sweet mother fucker was worshiping your body like you were a goddess, his hands gripped your flesh, not wanting to let you go ever. And even with his sweet nature, he covered your tits with hickeys and bite marks, he sucked your nipples and pinched them violently.

Bucky's tongue was having his wet dream coming true. A wet, fat cunt like yours, with such a sweet taste, such a responsive body with it. His head was squeezed against your thighs just like he wanted, like he had dreamt the second he layed eyes on you.

"Gonna take turns or is your friend gonna eat her out until we get tired?" Logan asked, obviously rhetorically.

"From my point of view, he looks like he is more into the second one." Steve said, his breathing ragged as he looked down at Bucky, his head squeezed in your big thighs. That mother fucker was having his fantasy coming true.

Logan rolled his eyes but his harsh look softened when he found your face: a pleasure pout, puffy red face, lips parted, heavy breath, and your little whimpers.

"Looks like Bucky is getting the first orgasm of the night." Logan teased.

"Fi-first?" You asked, whiny.

"What? You thought you would have only one orgasm with three men?" Logan raised his eyebrows in a chuckle. "Darlin', you are gonna walk out of here dry, if you can walk once we are done with you."

"What Logan means is that we have a lot of stamina on us, we are gonna take great care of you." Steve said, as he kissed your shoulder gently.

You squeaked when you felt the intrusion of Bucky's fingers inside of you, he smirked up at you as he rubbed your clit with his rough thumb, his face glistering with your slick. "C'mon, doll, lemme have the first." He said while kissing your thigh.

The knot in your tummy snapped in the second he pressed the tip of his fingers in your spongy spot, wetting the blankets under you and Bucky's hand.

"That's it, veery good." Logan soothed you, caressing your hair as you came out of your high.

Bucky removed your legs from his shoulders. "I'll take the ass"

"I'll take the front." Steve said quickly.

Logan rolled his eyes, making you giggle. He sighed dramatically. "Guess I'll have your pretty mouth then." He amirked, you giggled a bit again and he pressed a sweet kiss on your lips.

Steve removed his pants and boxers, sitting against the headboard, and helping you sit on top of him, kissing you sweetly.

"I'll be gentle, 'Kay?" He said with those sweet eyes in yours. You smiled and nodded, kissing you again.

He slowly began to sink you on his long cock, until his balls were pressed against your ass. You squeezed his shoulders, as he kissed your face to soothe you. You heard Bucky chuckle.

"If she is having problems with him, imagine what's gonna do with you." He said to Logan.

"W-what?" You said, looking at them from behind your shoulder.

"Logan is... pretty big, yeah." Bucky chuckled.

"And... and Steve is not?" You tried to understand.

"Oh, no, it's just... I'm definitely not bigger than him." He also chuckled. You almost looked scared. "You are gonna do perfect, sugar." Steve kissed your face again, as he began to rock upwards to you, slow and gentle.

All your worries dissappear once his cock began to kiss your sweet spots, briefly as he rocked against you, grunting under his breath.

"So tight, Jesus..." He threw his head back a second, but instantly moved back to kiss you, this time hungrier and deeper.

His hands grabbed your ass to move you up and down on his length, the clapping sound of his skin against yours filling the whole room.

Riding Steve was like a dream, you felt so loved and treasured, and surely you weren't expecting that in this kind of situation. His eyes looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, his hands grabbed you like you were delicate, made of porcelain. He kissed you like you were the woman of his life.

You heard the sound of fabric being removed and turned your head to see Bucky finally removing his pants. And while Steve kissed your neck as you rode him, you gasped at the sight of Bucky's cock. It had the same length as Steve's, which was already long, but it was way fatter, enough to make you doubt if it would fit in your virgin ass.

He spread the lube over his shalft, pumping it a few times before he got behind you.

"Don't you dare to stop." He smacked your ass, kissing the nape of your neck. "Gonna get you ready, and you are gonna keep riding him like a good girl, alright?" You nodded with whiny little sounds. "Very good." He smiled, peppering kisses on your neck as his big finger covered in lube began to sink in your back entrance.

You squealed at the intrusion, but you didn't stop riding Steve. The blonde kissed you, trying to soothe you from the possible pain, but there was not such thing, only raw pleasure.

After you got used to one, Bucky sank another, moving it in a scissors way to stretch you out. He whispered soft praises in your ear, telling you how well you were taking him, how tight and warm you were.

"I need you to relax, doll." He said in your ear, slowly removing his fingers. "Can you take a deep breath for me?" You nodded, inhaling, retaining, and by the second you exhaled, Bucky was already sinking his tip in.

"Oh god!" You moaned, hugging Steve's neck.

Now, you had both friends rocking against you, filling you up, getting you cockdumb with a few thrusts. Steve was hitting your cervix beautifully, while Bucky was using your tight ass, gripping your hips to rock against you harshly.

"Having a good time without me I see." Logan teased, finishing his cigar.

You looked at him, tears filling your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure that you were feeling. He removed his belt and then his tank top. You were drooling, literally, against Steve's neck, between moans, at the sight of his enormous body, that you didn't notice when he pulled off his pants, showing that Bucky and Steve where right.

He was longer than Steve, fatter than Bucky, it had a long, thick vein that started in his happy trail and finished in his tip. You were thanking and blaming God that you didn't have him in your ass or your cunt, because he was definitely gonna rip you open.

He stood in front of you, pressing his tip on your parted lips. You kissed it messily, his tip already covered in your saliva, trying to fit it in your mouth slowly due to the movements of your body. You stayed still, letting Steve jackhammer you while Bucky fucked you from behind, and slowly slid his cock in your mouth, fitting half of it.

"Can't take it?" He mocked you. "Guess I'll have to take your cunt once blondie finishes."

He grunted when your tongue moved around his thickness, pulling your hair to keep your head still, until you began to move it back and forth, gagging as you tried to take more of him

"Fuck sake..." Logan grunted loudly.

"L-language." Steve said between groans.

"Shut up or I'll use your ass as my sex toy." He threatened and laughed when noticed by your reaction that his cock throbbed inside of you at the idea.

Steve rocked against you harder, Bucky hugged your body from behind, both of them trying to get you over the edge.

Your eyes widened when both men hit your spot almost at the same time, making you clench around them as your orgasm snapped, coming all over Steve's cock and dripping into the blankets again.

Weakly, you kept sucking Logan off, your tongue lining that thick vein and giving the tip some kitten licks that made him smile between groans.

A couple of thrusts inside of you and Steve came inside of you, his thick release painting your cunt. Your legs shivered at the warm feeling, and you had to remove Logan's cock from your mouth to take a breath. But his hand moved you to make out with his cock again, showing that he wasn't done with you

Bucky's thrusts began to get irregular and messy, his pace already ruined, and with a shaky moan, he pressed head in your shoulder and his hips against your ass, which was dripping his cum in that very second.

"S-sorry..." He apologized, already sensitive, but the shaky laugh that came out after that showed that he wasn't sorry at all. "I cum a lot." He chuckled, staying inside as you kept sucking off Logan.

You were already exhausted, burnt out, and Logan could see that. He removed your head with a little pop and kissed your cheek.

"Take a breath." He mumbled. "And you two, get off. Gonna show you how it's done." He teased, although there was some truth behind his words.

Bucky removed first, you hissed a bit as clinged to Logan, who helped you lift your hips in order to Steve to roll off. He lied you on the bed, getting between your legs and putting them on his shoulders. He kissed your ankle gently as he slid in.

You moaned weakly, mumbling something like you couldn't take it anymore.

"You sure? Because she seems to be sucking me in." He teased, slowly rocking his hips against you, Steve's cum still dripping from there.

In a second, he gripped your legs and began to fuck himself inside of you, mocking your expressions as you got overwhelmed once again with how he filled you up. You loved riding Steve, it was magical, but missionary with Logan? He hit the right spots with every movement, definetly a winner.

He suddenly stopped, looking behind him to find both young boys with their hands on their cocks, two pairs of eyes on how your tits and rolls bounced.

"You know, boys." He started. "I think there is enough room."

Your eyes darted between Logan and the two friends, slowly understanding the situation. Logan smirked when you clenched around him at the idea. "And someone here seems to like the idea."

You looked at the three men now in front of you, broad and masculine. Steve pressed your left knee in your chest while Bucky did the same with your right one, your abused hole with Logan's dick still inside now in sight.

Slowly, Bucky slid in, you whimpered at the stretch, but still taking it, breathing in and out.

"You look like you are giving birth." Bucky teased, Logan grunted.

"Don't give me ideas."

Steve gently slid half of his length in, with each inch, your moans got louder and louder, you could have come in that second.

Three cocks inside was a lot, too much, of course, but you were taking it so good that it seemed like you did this every single time.

"Such a dirty whore, taking three cocks like a champ." Logan teased, starting to slowly fuck himself inside of you.

Steve did the same, although much slower and gentle. Bucky snapped his hips against you in a quicker pace, watching how his cock disappeared inside of you.

It didn't take long for you to feel that knot in your tummy undoing itself, each thrust a little pull that threatened to snap it.

"I-I..." You babbled, just noticing you were drooling over your chin. "Cum... p-please..." You managed to pronounce.

"Cum, huh?" Bucky smirked, grunting as he kept thrusting.

"Well aren't you pretty?" Logan teased. "She is taking us so well, maybe you deserve to cum." His broad hand moved to knead your breast.

"She does, of course she does." Steve moaned low, and his rough thumb moved to your abused cunt, finding your clit and flicking it in his pad.

"Oh god!" You sobbed, gripping Logan's forearm and the bedsheets.

You threw your head back and simply allowed yourself to let it go. The room was filled with the clapping sound of skins snapping against each other, grunts, groans, growls and moans, whiny airy sounds that sometimes appeared from the men's lips.

Finally, the knot snapped undone and you came, you came a lot, there was a big stain in the bedsheets that was your art piece, and your entrance was dripping a thicker fluid that covered their cocks that, after a few thrusts, began to come, one by one.

Your core and thighs were a mess of slicks, and you, you were a shivering disaster at this point, shaking with overstimulation, your pupils dilated like you were on drugs.

Bucky was the first to cradle you in his arms, holding you against his chest while cuddling your sides.

"Get her clean, I'll change the sheets so we can rest." Logan said once he caught his breath.

Bucky lifted you easily, rocking you as he moved to the bathroom with Steve. The blond caressed your hair and kissed your face while Bucky cleaned you gently, his hands moving over your body with nothing other than affection and care. Once cleaned and dry, Logan put you on some boxers of his and one of his flannels.

"Ready to sleep, beautiful?" He asked, caressing your hair. You smiled lovingly and nodded, making him smile too and he leaned to kiss your nose.

"Here, doll." Bucky handed you a cup of tea. "That throat must hurt." He kissed the top of your head.

"You made me tea?" You asked surprised, your eyes shining at him.

"Of course I did, doll, why so surprised?" He lied in the right side of the bed, with you sitting between Logan's leg and resting your back and head on his chest, his arms around you.

"I didn't expect this, that's all." You said shyly, drinking from your beverage.

"Well, that's the bare minimum, you were so kind letting us do this with you, and you took it great." Steve said softly, kissing your forehead and laying on the other side.

"You three do this often?" You asked curiously.

"Never the three of us, Steve and I have done threesomes, but never with the old machine." Bucky elbowed Logan, who rolled his eyes.

"And it was a great experience, darlin', I must admit." Logan nuzzled against your hair, the two soldiers nodded along.

"Well, I wouldn't mind repeating it other time." You fidgeted with the cup.

"Is that so?" Steve pressed his face in your shoulder, smiling sweetly at you.

Bucky's hand move to caress your thigh. "I wouldn't mind either." He kissed your arm gently.

"Well, everyone seems happy in this situation." Logan sighed. "Guess we will have to share you, because if we do this everytime, we are gonna end up breaking you."

"I'll take the first." Steve said quickly.

"I'll take the second!" Bucky followed alone.

"Don't you think she gets the right to choose, you idiots?" Logan huffed, and you giggled.

"I'll take Logan first." You answered.

"Oh, come on!" Bucky pretended a complain.

"He earned it!" You giggled.

"Yeah, I got the apartment." Logan added along. "And I'm the eldest."

"How old are you?" You asked innocently. The three men got silent.

"You don't wanna know yet, darlin'."

[vunblr]

A Heart in Hiding

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Wet Dream, Angst-Hurt/Comfort, Allusions to Hydra's Trash Party, Medical Experimentation, Panic Attack.

Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.

Word Count: About 13.k.

notes: This is a revised version of Unspoken. It's been a while since I wanted to edit this story, and fortunately, I found the time to do it during the holidays. I hope you enjoy it.

The halls of the Avengers Tower felt different lately, with a new energy. Y/n had been living there for a few months now, being the newest addition to the group, providing support both in the field and at the Tower itself. Her mutation was a rare one: healing. It had proven invaluable in SHIELD's eyes long before she joined the Avengers, who welcomed her gladly when Fury introduced her to the team.

Steve, ever the diplomat, had been the first to welcome her, offering his steady support with a warm smile and reassuring words. Natasha followed soon after, sharing subtle smirks and the occasional dry quip that made her feel like she belonged. Even Tony, in his typical way, wove her into his world of banter, bestowing her with nicknames almost the moment she walked through the door. The rest of the team? They warmed up quicker than she’d expected.

Except for Bucky.

It wasn’t that he was unfriendly, just... distant. She hadn’t taken it personally at first; he was Bucky Barnes, after all. The man known for his stoic glares, clipped words, and the heavy shadows of his past. Given everything he’d endured, who could blame him for keeping to himself?

In the beginning, their interactions were minimal, little more than practical exchanges during missions or brief moments in the common areas. A muttered “thanks” when she patched him up: a scrape on his nose here, a swollen cheekbone there. Silence charged with meaning when her hands worked carefully on his shoulder and chest, where the tissue around the metal arm often swelled or became irritated. She could feel his discomfort, both physical and emotional, though he never said a word. A shared half-smile over early morning coffee, when the world was still and sleeplessness bound them both. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it felt like the start of something.

Gradually, those fleeting moments began to take shape. He started lingering in the kitchen when she made tea, his quiet “Need help with that?” or “How was your day?” carried an unexpected softness. They began to talk, really talk. What started as cautious conversations grew into something deeper. Sometimes, he would seek her out, not because he needed anything, but simply to show her something: a stray white cat he’d spotted on a morning run, a book he thought she might like, or a new recipe he’d stumbled upon online.

For a while, they settled into an easy rhythm. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but it felt meaningful, a fragile connection that made her think something real might bloom between them.

But suddenly, everything changed.

At first, it was small: responses shortened to brief nods, his gaze slipping away when she spoke. The conversations dwindled. The moments of shared closeness became few and far between. His presence grew colder, his body language tighter, as though he was retreating behind the walls she’d thought he was beginning to lower.

It bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She wasn’t the type to let things fester, but with Bucky, every instinct she had seemed to falter. How did you confront someone who had mastered the art of retreating? Had she overstepped? Done something wrong? Every time she tried to bring it up -softly, carefully- he deflected with a grunt, a short answer, or a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

And every day, the distance between them widened.

-----

Bucky couldn’t pinpoint when things changed with her. At first, he appreciated how she treated him: no pity, no coddling, just simple, genuine conversations that made him feel, for once like a person, normal. For the first time in years, he found himself wanting to talk to someone besides Steve.

He welcomed it at first, the way her smile lingered a little longer when he mumbled a response, the warmth in her eyes during their shared moments. Their conversations became something he looked forward to, something he craved. But as the weeks passed, something else began to stir inside him. Something terrifying.

It wasn’t just gratitude for their growing friendship. No, this was deeper, more intense. Attraction. Wanting. And the more he felt it, the harder it became to face her.

Because every time he allowed himself to think about her, the guilt crashed over him like a wave he couldn’t outrun. She didn’t deserve the weight of his past or the darkness he carried. He had been the Winter Soldier for too long, a weapon of destruction in Hydra’s hands, leaving behind a long trail of pain and death. The faces of the people he’d hurt, and the trembling voices of those who had begged or screamed haunted him, etched into his mind like scars that would never fade.

And then there was the abuse, the kind he never spoke about. It wasn’t just physical; Hydra had taken everything from him: his freedom, his identity, his will. His body had been theirs to use, to break, to control. Late at night, he could still feel the ghost of their hands, the cold, clinical way they had stripped him of his humanity. The thought of it alone made him sick.

How could he even begin to think about her in that way? She was light and warmth, a reminder of all the good he no longer believed he deserved. And Bucky? He was a mess of scars, guilt, and trauma he hadn’t even begun to unpack.

So, he did what he always did when emotions threatened to overwhelm him: he shut them down. He stopped talking to her, stopped letting her get too close. It was easier to be cold and act indifferent than to deal with the storm of feelings inside him. It was better for her to think he didn’t care than to see how broken he really was.

-----

Things started to grow awkward -tense, even- during their group meetings before the missions. What once had been only indifference from Bucky turned into something sharper. It started with a sarcastic comment here or there, muttered under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear. She tried to brush it off at first, assuming he was just being moody as usual. But when it became a pattern, when his remarks grew more pointed, more dismissive, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He had started suggesting in front of everyone, that she didn’t have to participate in certain missions.

"Maybe sit this one out," Bucky had said during the last briefing, his tone flat, eyes avoiding hers as he leaned back in his chair. "We don't need anyone getting in the way."

Her eyes narrowed, the heat of anger rising in her chest. She wasn’t new to dangerous missions and wasn’t some kind of rookie that everyone had to look after. And Bucky knew that. They all did. She had a support role, yes, but she had been in the field countless times before, proving her worth more than once not only to them but also to SHIELD. To have him throw those words at her -especially in front of the team- was humiliating. Infuriating.

"You don’t get to decide that, Barnes," she shot back sharply. "I’ve done just fine without your input."

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained cool. "Yeah, because healing a few cuts and bruises is the same as being in the thick of it."

Her fists clenched at her sides. "You think that’s all I do? Patch people up? I’ve been in more firefights than you can count, Barnes, and I’m still standing."

"That’s not the point," he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he finally looked at her, with a hard expression. "I’m just saying, you’re better off hanging back. Let the people used to the danger to handle it."

Her eyes flared, fists clenching at her sides as she stepped forward. "Excuse me?! Used to the… I’ll show you danger, you-"

Before she could finish, Steve quickly stepped in, raising a hand to calm the rising tension. “Hey, hey, let’s all take a breath here,” he said firmly, trying to diffuse the situation. “We’ve got bigger things to focus on right now.”

A silent exchange passed between everyone present, but no one intervened. The air crackled with unspoken tension.

And this had become their new normal. Meetings had devolved into subtle jabs and snarky comebacks, with Bucky seemingly intent on pushing her buttons, while she fired back with increasingly sharp remarks. Each time he tried to brush her off or suggest she wasn’t needed, she fiercely stood her ground.

He couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t just about keeping her at arm’s length, it was fear. Fear of her getting hurt in the field, and, more than that, fear of how much he cared about the possibility. Every time she suited up for a mission, a painful knot twisted in his gut, one he couldn’t untangle no matter how hard he tried.

So, as a defense mechanism -more like a stubborn teenager than the grown man he was- he resorted to belittling her, hoping it would be enough to keep her out of harm’s way.

-----

Their sleeping quarters were close. Too close, sometimes.

One night, she was torn from sleep by the sound of muffled screams. Bucky. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard them, but tonight, they were louder, more desperate. She lay in bed for a long moment, listening to his struggle through the not-so-thin walls. She wanted to go back to sleep and tried to convince herself he’d eventually be fine. But the raw sound of his torment lingered in the mind, making it impossible for her to settle.

After an hour or so had passed, and although everything was silent now, she realized the sleep wasn’t going to come back. With a quiet sigh, she got up and padded down the hall to the kitchen. Maybe some tea -and a piece of the achtzig schlag she baked that afternoon, whom was she kidding- would help, as small comfort to chase away the unease from being waked like that.

But when she reached her destiny, she stopped short. Bucky was already there.

He stood by the sink, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, his broad back greeting her as she entered. His metal hand gripped the edge of the counter, while the other hung limply at his side with an empty glass loosely grabbed between his fingers. His head was bowed and his shoulders tense, as if the weight of the world rested there. She couldn’t tell if he’d noticed her presence, she could see his face reflected on the glass of the big window, but his gaze was fixed blankly on the sink, lost in whatever hell his nightmares had dragged him through.

For a moment, she hesitated. He barely spoke to her anymore, and when he did, he was a complete ass. But standing there, in the dim light of the kitchen, he didn’t look like his usual self. He looked... more than broken. Vulnerable. The heavy rise and fall of his chest, the slight tremor in his fingers, told her he hadn’t escaped his nightmare, not entirely.

“Bucky,” she called softly, reverting to his nickname, the one she hadn’t used in weeks. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch. Just kept staring into the sink as though it might offer some kind of solace he desperately needed.

She stood there, debating if she should leave him alone, letting him find his own way out of whatever haunted him, or stay. Something in the way he stood there, utterly still, as if frozen in time, made her choose the second option. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her comfy cotton nightgown, and she stepped closer.

“Bucky,” she said again, a bit louder.

This time, his shoulders tensed, the only sign he’d heard her. Slowly, he turned his head, just enough to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. His face was a mask of exhaustion, and shadows were carved deep under his eyes. There was a flash of something in his expression, maybe surprise, maybe frustration, but it faded quickly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bucky turned back to the sink, exhaling heavily as if it took effort to breathe. "You’re up late," he muttered hoarsely, breaking the silence. He didn’t look at her.

"So are you," she replied, keeping her tone light despite the tension in the air. She wasn’t sure what else to say. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but something told her he wouldn’t answer that. Instead, she moved to the stove, setting a kettle on to boil.

He remained silent, not moving from his spot. The awkwardness lingered between them, but she kept herself busy, preparing tea as if this was an everyday occurrence. Bucky stood there silently, while she pretended not to notice the storm brewing inside him.

She turned back to him as the kettle let out a soft whistle. “Want some?” she asked, holding two cups with a gentle smile. “I picked up a strawberry blend the other day. It’s really good.” The gesture was casual, the same as it had been just a couple of months ago, before everything started to shift.

For a long moment, there was no response. He stood there, staring into the sink as if he hadn’t heard her. Then, to her surprise, he gave a slight nod, the motion so subtle it almost wasn’t there. His eyes, still shadowed by whatever nightmares lingered from his sleep, flicked toward her but didn’t quite meet her gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

She nodded, poured the tea, and placed one mug on the counter in front of him before leaning against it, cupping her own mug in her hands.

“Strawberry’s a weird choice for tea, right?” she asked, trying to keep things light. “I wasn’t sure about it at first, but it kinda grows on you. Tony said it smelled like candy.”

He didn’t answer, his eyes were fixed on the steaming cup in front of him, and his jaw was clenched tight. She smiled softly, hoping to ease the tension. “Steve liked it, too. He said it reminded him of-”

“Shut up.” His voice was low and sharp with frustration. “Just… shut up.” He whispered again.

The words hit her like a slap, and her smile faltered immediately. For a moment, she just stood there, unsure how to respond.

“Right,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. “I’ll... leave you to it.”

She started to turn, deciding it was better to give him space, but before she could leave the kitchen, his voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

She paused, mid-step, and slowly turned back. Bucky wasn’t looking at her. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the cup of tea, his expression tight, conflicted.

“I... I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, a familiar gesture of discomfort, that this time it felt heavier. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. You don’t deserve-”

He finally looked up, and his blue eyes were clouded with something raw. “I... had a nightmare,” he admitted, the words coming out slowly, as if they were too painful to say aloud. “One of the heavy ones.” His voice cracked on the last part, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, haunted.

She shifted slightly, watching the tension in his posture, on the way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. She hesitated, but the concern pushed her forward. “Do you... want to talk about it?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched instantly, the muscle twitching as his eyes flicked away from hers, focusing again on the cup of tea. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she thought he might snap at her again. But instead, there was only silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that told her everything she needed to know.

The dream still clung to him. It wasn’t just a memory, it was something darker, something visceral. In the back of his mind, the flashback played like a twisted reel. He remembered the cold steel table beneath his back, the harsh, sterile lights overhead. The sensation of the reinforced restraints biting into his skin. Voices around him, detached and clinical, as faceless scientists in white coats discussed the "procedure." A sharp pain had torn through his body, worse than anything he had felt before, as they tested the limits of his tissue regeneration. They cut deeper with each slice, watching his flesh heal itself in real-time, timing the speed of recovery as though he was no more than a lab rat.

He could still hear the sound of the blade cutting through muscle and bone and the smell of the antiseptic mixing with the coppery tang of blood. No anesthesia, it wasn’t needed. Bucky’s grip tightened on the counter and she saw the way his whole body tensed, the flicker of torment in his eyes that he tried to hide behind his blank expression.

She took a small step forward. “It’s ok. You don’t have to talk about it,” she said softly, offering him an out without pushing him further.

She hesitated, lingering on the dark circles under his eyes, and the exhaustion that etched into every line of his face. He looked like a man fighting a battle he couldn’t win, worn down by nights that stretched too long and memories that wouldn’t fade. She bit her lip, debating, before taking another small step forward.

“I could help… if you want. With the nightmares.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, snapping his eyes to hers. He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, she wondered if she’d pushed too far. The air between them grew heavier, thick with the weight of things left unsaid.

“I mean,” she added quickly, keeping her voice soft, “my powers... they don’t just work on physical injuries. I can soothe the mind too, if the person is willing. I could help you sleep.” Her words trailed off, unsure if this was what he wanted -or needed- to hear. She shifted slightly, glancing down before meeting his gaze again. “You look like you could use a break from it all, even if it’s just for a little while. You don’t have to keep carrying this alone.”

For a long moment, Bucky just stared at her. His posture was still tense, every muscle taut like he was bracing for an attack. She half-expected him to shut her down, to retreat behind that wall of silence and dismiss her with another biting comment. Instead, his expression softened ever so slightly, and the hardness in his eyes dimmed as he weighed her words. She saw the exhaustion behind the mask he always wore, the misery that had become his constant companion.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough and low when he finally spoke. “I don’t know if it’ll work,” he muttered. “Nothing’s worked before.”

Her heart clenched at his words, at the defeat in his tone. "We won’t know unless we try," she said softly, watching his reaction.Bucky’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, with a reluctant sigh, he muttered, “Fine.” The word was gruff, a reluctant concession more than agreement. He glanced at her from under his brow, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. "Just... don’t expect too much."

With that, he turned and led her toward his quarters.

Once the door was shut, she sat on the end of his double bed. "Alright. Lay down and rest your head on my thighs."

Bucky eyed her warily, tightening his jaw. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, this kind of intimacy. After a long moment, though, the exhaustion and lingering unease from the nightmare tugged at him too strongly. With a resigned sigh, he climbed onto the bed and lay on his side, hesitating briefly before resting his head on her thighs.

“There,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the soft fabric of her clothes. “Don’t think this means I’m letting my guard down completely.”

Despite his gruff tone, she could feel the weight of his weariness. His body was tense, but the warmth of her legs seemed to be doing its work already.

She began running her fingers gently through his hair. "That’s exactly what I need you to do," she whispered. "Don’t fight me, Bucky. Relax and let me take care of you."

He inhaled deeply, her scent filling his senses, calming him. The tension in his shoulders began to ebb away, though he stubbornly clung to a sliver of resistance. "I don’t need to be taken care of," he grumbled, even as his eyelids grew heavier.

“Whatever you say, hun,” she teased softly.

Bucky let out a low grunt, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers traced soothing lines through his hair. The sensation sent calming waves through his body, unraveling his nerves one strand at a time. He didn’t have the energy to resist anymore, he was too drained from the nightmare, too tired of fighting his own mind.

"I’m not your hun..." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, despite himself. He buried his face deeper into her lap, inhaling her scent again. It was soothing, pulling him further from the chaos of his mind.

“Oh, shush,” she said, brushing the protest aside, still moving her fingers through his dark locks.

For once, Bucky complied. He fell silent, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat becoming the only sound in the room. The quiet, steady thump-thump echoed in his ears, an oddly comforting melody amidst the storm of his thoughts.

"Your heartbeat..." he murmured almost sleepy, "It’s kind of nice." The confession slipped out but for once, he didn’t regret it.

Her hand paused for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle motion. “Oh? I’ve never heard that one before. Maybe because regular people can’t hear it without... closer contact.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips at her remark, but he didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he allowed himself to lean into her touch, the soft strokes through his scalp lulling him into a state of calm he hadn’t felt in a long time. His hand drifted almost unconsciously to her thigh, tracing small circles over her skin.

She continued her gentle ministrations, pouring her power into the touch. Slowly, bit by bit, Bucky’s muscles softened, and the weight of his nightmares slipped away as her presence guided him somewhere safe. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to feel it. The calm. The peace. The quiet.

-----

After a while she sighed, exhausted from using her powers to push against the weight of his severe trauma. Now, she had to figure out how to leave without waking him. He was sleeping deeply, his mind finally at peace after months of restless nights. Yet, despite his slumber, he wasn’t entirely defenseless. His subconscious remained alert, picking up on the slightest changes around him.

As she carefully prepared to slip away, Bucky's eyes flickered open, revealing half-lidded blue irises clouded with drowsiness. Without a word, his hand reached out, as if instinctively sensing her intention to leave. His grip was light but firm, curling his fingers on her thigh with an unconscious possessiveness.

"Shhh," she whispered, wincing internally as she resumed running her fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe him back to sleep. She knew it was a lost battle; any attempt to leave would only rouse him further. Resigned, she reached for some unused pillows and cushions nearby, pulling them close as she reclined, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep while sitting up.

The rhythmic strokes of her fingers seemed to draw him back from the edge of wakefulness. Bucky nuzzled into her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he settled back into a deep slumber. As she adjusted her position, using the pillows to support her back, he instinctively shifted with her, seeking out the warmth of her body. His arm wrapped loosely around her waist, pulling her closer as he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

At some point, she fell asleep too, physically drained from using all her energy to ease his haunted mind. The last thing she remembered before succumbing to slumber was the weight of his head still resting on her lap, her hand gently tangled in his soft hair.

-----

Bucky stirred slightly in his sleep, brushing his nose against the soft fabric of her cotton nightie. Her scent filled the air around him, a mix of sweetness and warmth that seeped into his senses, pulling him deeper into the haze of his dreams. A low groan rumbled in his chest, reverberating through her thigh, dangerously close to her mound. His hand clenched reflexively, fingers digging into her leg without conscious thought.

In his dream state, his mind began to wander, unraveling the careful control he kept during his waking hours. Images of her flooded his thoughts, her curves, her laugh, the sense of safety she gave him. But beneath those tender, innocent thoughts stirred something he tried so hard to suppress: raw longing.

His breathing quickened as his subconscious registered the intimate contact, even as he remained lost in the depths of sleep. His hips twitched involuntarily, pressing his growing arousal into the mattress, seeking relief.

In his dream, she was there, waiting for him, glowing and inviting. He felt her softness under his hands, the curve of her waist beneath his fingers, and the way she melted into his touch. His lips brushed against her inner thighs, teasing, tasting, drawing out soft moans of pleasure that only made the fire inside him burn hotter.

In the real world, his hips twitched involuntarily, pressing against the mattress as his body sought relief. His chest heaved, and low, almost inaudible whimpers escaped his parted lips. Lost in the dream, he chased an elusive release, each shift and grind against the sheets a reflection of the ache deep within him.

And then, it all came crashing down.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly as his breath caught in his throat. Reality quickly surged forward, sweeping away the fantasy. The warm weight of her hand still rested gently on his head and her fingers tangled in his hair. She was peaceful, her chest rising and falling steadily, blissfully unaware of the storm he had just woken from.

His body went rigid and a flush crept up his neck, as the remnants of his dream lingered in his mind. Worse than that, was the sticky mess staining his underwear.

Fuck.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he extracted himself from her lap, careful not to disturb her. He rolled off the bed and landed heavily on his feet, moving stiffly with mortification. His hand instinctively moved to his groin, tugging his underwear slightly to reveal the copious evidence of his release. A low curse escaped his lips as he took in the sight, and shame heated his face. Without a second glance, he padded to the bathroom, humiliated.

Minutes later she stirred, feeling her legs lighter, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The memories of offering to soothe Bucky’s mind with her powers came back to her, along with the feeling of being trapped, unable to leave without waking him. But now, as she blinked and stretched, she realized he was gone. Her back and neck throbbed from the awkward position she had slept in, so she slowly got up from his bed and took the opportunity to return to her own room, crawling into her bed to continue sleeping, unaware of the events that transpired before she awoke.

Meanwhile, Bucky remained in the bathroom, leaning heavily against the sink. A storm of guilt, shame, and relief swirled inside him. Guilt for what had happened so close to her, shame at the explicit nature of his dream, and relief that he’d managed to sneak away without waking her. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his temples, trying to shake off the lingering echoes of the fantasy that had caught him off guard so thoroughly.

------

They didn’t cross paths during the day, except late in the afternoon when Tony handed Natasha some VIP invitations to a charity event for her and Y/n. Bucky was sitting across the room on the couch, but his enhanced hearing made it impossible not to overhear. Natasha has found it amusing to join in a bachelorette’s auction at the event and, naturally, she dragged the healer into it to help raise more funds.

When she entered the room, Bucky couldn’t help but steal glances at her and the vivid memories of his dream came rushing back. The black dress with a low neckline -and were those mesh stockings?- did nothing to dissipate the discomfort.

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, manspreading on the couch looking unsurprisingly grumpy. She walked over and plopped down next to him, leaning in slightly. “Hey,” she greeted chirpily. “I didn’t see you all day. Did you rest after our session? Any nightmares?”

Bucky’s frown deepened as he took in her revealing dress, and his gaze lingered for a second too long before flicking up to meet hers. “Well I actually had a nightmare.” he barked bitterly, narrowing his eyes as he turned away again.

“Oh Bucky, really?” she asked, absentmindedly resting her hand on his arm. “You seemed fine when I fell asleep... I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Fine? No, I wasn’t fucking fine,” he snapped. His eyes drifted down to the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the thin material of her dress, reigniting the memories of his dream and sending another wave of heat through his body. He scoffed, turning his head to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Maybe you thought you did something, but you didn't. It was a waste of my time,” he muttered under his breath.

She recoiled, and her heart stung at his words. She’d felt the connection, sensed the calm that had washed over him during their session. She truly believed she’d helped. His harsh tone caught her off guard, and the hurt was unmistakable in her voice as she stood up abruptly.

“Oh, I see. We’re on square one again, where you treat me like shit. You know what Bucky? I’m tired of this. I don't know what your problem is, but I don't care anymore. Go fuck yourself.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed toward the private quarters area, leaving him there, sitting in stunned silence.

------

The time to go to the charity event had arrived, and she and Natasha were all dressed up with the final touches, ready to be auctioned off in the playful bachelor and bachelorette game.

Tony, ever the social butterfly, was already acting as the host, ironing out the final details of the evening’s festivities. Steve, the ever-reliable friend and gentleman, had offered to tag along to ensure everything stayed civil and vanilla. Sam showed up at the last minute, his trademark grin plastered on his face. He winked at her and Natasha, flirting playfully and joking about bidding himself.

She smiled at his lightheartedness, but her attention kept drifting toward the couch across the room where Bucky sat, even if he had started to act like an asshole again. He’d been silent since they exchanged those heated words, barely looking up from his spot. His broad frame seemed more hunched than usual as if the weight of the night ahead was pressing down on him.

Sam, ever the instigator, swaggered over to where Bucky sat, giving him a playful nudge. “What’s up, Tinman? You look like you're about to blow a fuse,” he teased, not missing the tightness in Bucky’s jaw.

He didn’t respond immediately, flicking his eyes briefly toward Sam before dropping back down. He was clearly in no mood for jokes, but Sam wasn’t one to back down that easily.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know about this,” he added, grinning. “I left you, like, four texts reminding you about the event. Figured you might want to leave the grumpy soldier routine behind for one night.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Yeah, I saw them,” he muttered under his breath. The truth was, the event had been gnawing at him all day. Seeing her walking in earlier, dressed to the nines, had stirred something deep and unsettling in him. Her sleek black dress with that low neckline, and those mesh stockings… he had barely been able to look at her without feeling a hot flush creep up his neck.

But it wasn’t just the sight of her that was bothering him. Something darker was creeping up from the edges of his memory, something happened a long time ago.

The room around him faded as a distant echo of laughter, sharp and malicious, filled his ears. He blinked, trying to shake it off, but the memories flooded back with unwanted details. He saw himself, chained and silent, paraded like an animal in front of an audience of Hydra’s elite. The “auction,” as they had called it, was a twisted form of entertainment where the highest bidder won him for the night. They'd done whatever they wanted to him. Their hands were rough and unforgiving, their words venomous. He’d been stripped of everything, even the ability to fight back. His mind replayed the worst moments, the feeling of hands on him, unwanted touches, and the physical pain when they decided to test his limits. Bucky remembered the smirks on their faces as they violated him in every way they saw fit, knowing he was powerless to retaliate. His body might heal, but his mind was left in tatters every time. He could still hear their voices, cruel and mocking, as they reminded him how easy it was to break him down, to own him.

Suddenly, he was back on the couch, his hands clenched into tight fists as his breathing quickened. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to swallow down the bile rising in his throat. The memory of his dream from the night before twisted with these recollections, blurring the line between the past and present. Bucky had felt trapped then, just like he felt trapped now. And the thought of her being up there, in front of all those people, being "bought" for the night just for fun triggered him.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still. It was irrational, he knew that. But the line between the past and the present blurred too easily for him sometimes, and the fear -no, the shame- of what he had endured at Hydra’s hands refused to let him breathe freely.

Sam smirked, unfazed by Bucky’s short response. “Don’t sweat it, man. You can just sit back and watch me win a date with one of these fine ladies tonight. I’m feeling lucky.” He flashed an exaggerated wink at the women, earning a raised eyebrow from Nat in return.

Tony clapped his hands, signaling that it was time to start heading out. As everyone began moving, Bucky remained glued to his spot on the couch.

Completely oblivious to the turmoil inside Bucky’s head, Sam leaned casually against the back of the couch, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he tried to coax his friend into joining them at the event. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, clearly seeing the tension but refusing to let Bucky sit it out. “What, you’re scared you can’t handle a little charity event?” he taunted, his tone light but with just enough edge to poke at Bucky’s pride. “Steve’s already going, and you know how much he loves playing the perfect gentleman. You really gonna let him be the only one representing the ‘old-timer squad’?” He smirked, knowing this tactic might work. “Thought you were tougher than that.”

Bucky huffed as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had to get over this shit, Sam won’t leave him alone, and… fuck, he had to man up.  “Fine,” he muttered under his breath, his voice was barely audible but enough for Sam to catch the reluctant agreement. “But don’t expect me to enjoy this.”

-----

The limo was packed, the air inside was thick with anticipation and, in Bucky’s case, a simmering sense of discomfort. She was squeezed up against the side of the car, her body brushing against his, while Sam sat across from them, legs casually sprawled out, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Well, look at us,” Sam said, stretching his arms out theatrically. “All dressed up for a fancy night out. Bucky, you clean up pretty well for a guy who spends most of his time brooding in corners.”

Bucky shot him a glare but didn’t bother to respond, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as her leg pressed against his. She had no idea how much that little contact was messing with his already frayed nerves. The warmth of her body beside him felt too familiar after what happened last night. He shifted slightly, trying to create some space, but it was impossible in the cramped space.

“Aw, come on, Buck,” Sam continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t tell me you’re still sulking about coming along. I mean, it’s for charity, man. And if anyone here knows how to be charitable, it’s you.” His grin widened as he leaned forward. “Especially when it comes to these two fine ladies.”

Steve, who sat beside Sam, chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his attention to them. “He’s right, though,” Steve said warmly. “You both are amazing women, but tonight you’re especially lovely.”

She blushed under Steve’s compliment, offering a playful smile in return. “Thanks, Stevie. But really, all credit goes to Nat here for dragging me into this.”

Natasha smirked, lounging next to Bucky in a striking red dress. “You’ll thank me later when we clean house in that bachelorette’s auction.”

Bucky, meanwhile, was doing his best to avoid looking directly at her. The black dress was more than enough to set him on edge, the low neckline and mesh stockings flashing in his peripheral vision like a neon sign, reminding him of the dream that wouldn’t leave him alone. He clenched his jaw and stared out the window, trying to focus on the passing streetlights instead.

“You good back there, man?” Sam teased again, noticing his tense posture. “You look like you’re about to crack a tooth.” he leaned back, crossing his arms with a cocky grin plastered across his face.

Bucky clenched his jaw harder and flexed his metal fingers, the soft whir of gears barely audible over Sam’s incessant teasing. “Keep talking, Sam,” he muttered in warning. See where that gets you.”

Sam wasn’t letting up. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen that look before. That’s the ‘I’ve got feelings but don’t know what to do with them’ look.” His grin widened, clearly enjoying how riled up Bucky was getting. “You worried someone’s gonna outbid you tonight?” he teased, relishing the tension. “Not that you could, you know, since you didn’t even sign up to participate.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He shot Sam a dangerous look but swallowed the sharp retort burning at the back of his throat. Sam had no idea how close to the truth he was coming, and the last thing Bucky wanted was for anyone -especially her- to figure it out.

She caught Sam’s teasing and frowned, flicking her gaze toward Bucky. She couldn’t miss how his whole body had gone rigid like he was just one wrong word away from snapping. Then it hit her. Considering the way he had been treating her -distant and cold like she barely existed- the only plausible explanation for Sam’s comments... Was he into Nat?

The thought dug deeper than she expected, feeling a sharp pang in her chest that she couldn’t ignore. She tried to brush it off, but it nagged her. She hesitated, sinking her teeth into her lower lip before leaning in slightly. Her voice came out edged with reluctant empathy. “Don’t mind him,” she muttered, only for Bucky’s ears. “I’m sure Nat will be fine.”

Bucky’s head snapped to her, surprise flashing in his eyes before quickly turning into something darker, stormier. She had no idea what was going on in his head, and the fact that she thought all this was about Natasha hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

“That’s not-” He stopped himself. There was no point in trying to explain, not here, not now, and certainly not with Sam hanging on every word. He let out a slow breath “Just drop it, okay?” he answered gruffly.

She blinked, startled by the rawness in his tone. If he wanted to be difficult, she could meet him halfway. “Fine,” she replied coolly. “Not like it’s any of my business anyway.” She leaned back, crossing her arms as if to physically distance herself, her eyes focusing on the passing city through the window.

Sam, sensing the tension in the air, raised his eyebrows but -for once- chose not to stir the pot further. He shot a questioning glance at Steve as if wordlessly asking, What’s going on here?

Steve caught Sam’s look and responded with a subtle shake of his head, his lips pressed into a thin, knowing line. His gaze flicked between Bucky and her, then back to Sam, silently conveying the message: Don’t push it. There was understanding in Steve’s eyes, whatever was going on with Bucky ran deeper than just nerves or irritation. His expression was clear: Give him space.

-----

Finally, the limo of awkwardness reached its destination, pulling up to the entrance of the lavish event. The tension inside was palpable, and everyone seemed eager to escape the cramped space. As soon as the doors opened, there was a collective sigh of relief as they stepped out into the open.

She practically bolted out of the car, and Natasha followed her with a smirk, clearly more amused than bothered by the tense ride. “Bathroom break?” she suggested, raising an eyebrow to her, who nodded gratefully. Together, they made their way toward the entrance, heels clicking softly on the pavement as they prepared to retouch their makeup and shake off the tension.

Meanwhile, the guys lagged, hanging around the entrance for a moment before stepping into the crowd of finely dressed people. The venue was swarming with posh elites, champagne flutes in hand, chatting in clusters that screamed wealth and sophistication. Bucky stuffed his hands into his pockets with stiff shoulders as he surveyed the sea of unfamiliar faces, feeling out of place and more than a little on edge.

Sam, ever the social butterfly, immediately started mingling, flashing his charming smile at a passing couple. "Nice place," he muttered to Steve, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "Think Tony outdid himself this time?"

Steve gave a small nod, scanning the room for any sign of trouble, though it was more habit than genuine concern. “Yeah, it’s impressive,” he replied, though his attention drifted toward Bucky, who had slowly gravitated to the crowd's edge, looking like he’d rather be elsewhere.

“Don’t disappear.” Sam called out, clapping him on the shoulder as he joined Steve in surveying the room. His grin was teasing, but light-hearted enough to let the tension from the limo ride dissipate.

Bucky just rolled his eyes, staying quiet but sticking close to the group as they moved into the crowd. He wasn’t in the mood for mingling, but he’d already made it this far.

The event officially kicked off with Tony taking the stage, with his usual confident grin plastered across his face. He grabbed the microphone and began his speech with his typical charm. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to an evening of generosity, glamour, and, let’s be honest, some good old-fashioned fun,” he announced, flashing a playful smirk. “Tonight’s about raising money for a great cause, but it wouldn’t be a true Stark event without a bit of spice, right?” The crowd chuckled, their champagne glasses shimmering under the soft lighting as they eagerly awaited the night’s entertainment.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Y/n emerged from the bathroom, looking radiant and refreshed. As they walked back toward the main hall, Tony’s voice echoed across the room. “And now, for the part you’ve all been waiting for: our very own bachelor auction! The first of the two events we have tonight! Get your wallets out and let’s start bidding, people! Remember, it’s for charity, but hey, you get to take home a prize for the night too,” he said with a wink, his tone playful but persuasive.

Nat looked at them, unimpressed. “I don’t know why the guys didn’t want to join, they would’ve wiped all wallets with only a wink”.

The stage lit up, and the male candidates for the auction stepped forward, each one more enthusiastic than the last. Tony, never one to miss a chance to stir up excitement, started hyping them up. “Look at these guys! We've got muscles, brains, and a whole lot of… charisma.” He pointed to one of the bachelors. “Ladies, I hear this one’s an excellent conversationalist... and check out those thighs! Perfect for sitting on, am I right?” The crowd erupted into laughter, but there was already a buzz as bids began flying.

She had been chuckling softly at Tony’s ridiculous commentary when she caught a glimpse of Bucky out of the corner of her eye. Something was off. He was standing rigidly, his jaw set in a hard line, and his gaze was locked onto the stage but somehow distant, as if he wasn’t there. His seemed pale, drawn tight in a way that made her stomach twist with concern.

As he stood there with his arms crossed, a sudden wave of nausea hit him. It started with the sound of Tony's playful words, the laughter in the crowd, and the sight of the men being paraded in front of eager eyes. All of it melted together into something darker, something far too familiar.

Without warning, his mind transported him again back to the past. The dim, suffocating atmosphere of one of the sickening Hydra parties. He could feel the cold bite of chains against his skin, the way they had displayed him like an object, barely clothed, barely human. He had been the prize, the thing to be won, over and over again, with leering eyes and depraved hands deciding his fate. The room around him started to warp, blurring as his vision tunneled. His heart rate spiked, and his breath quickened, chest tightening painfully.

Bucky’s grip on his own arms grew stronger, his metal fingers pressing into the flesh of his opposite arm so hard that he was bruising the enhanced skin. He tried to remind himself where he was, tried to tell himself that this was different. But the flood of memories was relentless, dragging him down into the depths of his trauma.

He could feel it, the sensation of being used, of having no agency. The faces of those who had taken pleasure in his pain flashed before his eyes. His breath came in short, ragged gasps and his body started trembling. Sweat prickled along his brow as his surroundings closed in on him, the chatter and laughter of the event fading into a distant, haunting echo.

Suddenly, the present broke through just enough for Bucky to realize he couldn’t breathe. Panic was closing in on him like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter. The telltale signs of an impending panic attack flared: his heart hammered in his chest, and the room seemed to spin out of control.

He pushed himself off the column. His movements were sharp, almost desperate, as he weaved through the crowd like a wounded animal seeking refuge. His breath was shallow as his steps quickened. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to escape the noise, the eyes, the memories. The room was suffocating, and every second spent in it felt like another piece of his soul was being ripped away. He made a break for the exit, his jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth hurt, but his mind focused on one thing: getting the fuck out.

Before she could fully register it, she saw him push off the column. His normally composed demeanor was nowhere to be found. Bucky’s face was contorted, and the shallow, rapid rise and fall of his chest gave him away. He was unraveling, right there in front of everyone.

Her own breath hitched as she watched him cut through the crowd with increasing urgency. His retreat was too quick, too desperate, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming tug of alarm.

Something was wrong, really wrong.

Without thinking, she stepped away from Natasha, focusing on the exit he had disappeared through. Her anger faded into the background, replaced by an unshakable need to make sure he was okay. There was something in the way he had bolted, something haunted. She speeded up, her heels clicking loudly against the floor as she headed toward the doors, scanning the surroundings, hoping she could find him before he disappeared completely. Maybe it was instinct or something else entirely, but she couldn’t let him go through whatever it was alone, not again.

Eventually, she pushed through the heavy ballroom doors, leaving the noise of laughter and clinking glasses behind her as she stepped into the quiet night air. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was jarring, the lively event inside faded into a dull hum, barely audible as she found herself standing in a meticulously manicured topiary garden. Tall, artfully shaped hedges loomed around her, casting long shadows under the moonlight, the only light coming from lanterns lining the stone pathway. She quickened her pace, rounding one hedge and then another, hoping to glimpse him. But the garden stretched on, and after a few minutes of searching, her stomach sank. Was he gone?

She bit her lip, frustrated and worried as she stood still for a moment, closing her eyes to listen, trying to tune in any sound beyond the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur from the party. Nothing. The garden felt too large, too quiet. She sighed and started retreating inside when a movement caught her eye.

Just off to the side, almost hidden beneath the shadow of a thick, overgrown bush, she spotted a dark shape. Her heart stuttered as she stepped closer, the form coming into view. There, huddled in the dirt, with his back pressed against the stone wall, was Bucky. He looked utterly wrecked.

His blue suit was smeared with the mud formed in the recently watered soil, as though he’d been sitting there for a while. His hair, previously pulled back neatly into a bun, was disheveled, with loose strands clinging to his forehead and others tangled and tugged free as if he'd been pulling at it in desperation. His hands were fisted in the damp earth by his sides, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. He didn’t move as she approached, didn’t even acknowledge her presence. It was as if he had retreated into himself, blending in with the shadows like he wanted to disappear entirely.

Her breath caught. If there were remnants of her initial anger, they melted away entirely now. What was left in its place was pure concern. She had never seen him like this, so broken, so raw.

“Bucky?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she knelt, hesitating just a foot away. He didn’t respond, his eyes were fixed on the ground, and his breaths kept coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Her heart clenched. He was hiding not just physically, but emotionally too. He retreated into that dark place, one she had seen before, but never like this.

“Hey…” she tried again, with a gentle tone, trying to reach him through the fog of whatever nightmare gripping at him. “Bucky, it’s me.”

For a moment, he did nothing. He remained hunched, with his knuckles white from where his fists were clenched in the mud. But then, slowly, he blinked, and his gaze shifted ever so slightly toward her. The look in his eyes was a mixture of panic and shame, as though he didn’t want her to see him like this.

“It’s… I’m fine,” he croaked, though his voice betrayed the lie. He wasn’t fine. He was far from it.

She inched closer, hovering uncertainly, wanting to reach out but unsure if he’d pull away. “You’re not,” she said softly, locking her eyes on his. “You’re not fine, Bucky.”

He swallowed hard, his throat worked against the emotion he was trying to keep down. “Just… leave me alone, please,” he muttered, his voice thick with strain, like it took all of his strength to form the words. “I don’t… I can’t-” His breath hitched, and he turned his head away, curling inward even more as if trying to shield himself from her gaze.

Her heart ached. She couldn’t leave him here, sitting in the dirt, drowning in whatever demons had resurfaced tonight.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his hand. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Encouraged by the slight opening, she gently took his hand in hers, squeezing just enough to ground him.

“I know maybe I’m not the number one person you want to be with right now, but I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, her voice firm but soft.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and his fingers twitched in her grip. He looked down at their joined hands as if struggling to process the kindness in her touch. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders slowly began to loosen, the rigid line of his back slightly relaxing.

She stayed quiet, giving him the space to come back from whatever dark place his mind had taken him to. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She could feel the weight of his unspoken turmoil pressing down on them both, but she didn’t let go, even when the minutes dragged on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky let out a ragged breath. His voice, when it came, was low and hoarse. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

Her lips pressed together. She could hear the self-loathing in his tone, the way he seemed to think he was a burden, something she shouldn’t have to deal with. “I couldn’t just leave you like that,” she said gently. “Not when I knew you were hurting.”

He winced at the word, like it physically pained him to admit that she was right. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his eyes darting away, staring blankly at the ground.

“I don’t have to,” she countered, tightening her grip on his hand, as a quiet reassurance. “You don’t need to explain anything. I just…” She hesitated, then sighed softly. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. Because you’re not.”

Bucky’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, clearly fighting some internal battle. The vulnerability in his eyes was stark, a raw edge she wasn’t used to seeing in him. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She frowned. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve, Bucky. Not when you have people who care about you.” Her tone softened as she met his gaze. “And I care about you. So, I’m here. Whether you like it or not.” Without waiting for him to respond, she lowered herself onto the dirt beside him, her dress immediately catching the mud, smearing across the delicate fabric, and her legs. Little branches snagged at her hairdo, but she didn’t care.

Bucky clenched his jaw at her words. After all the terrible things he'd done, he didn’t deserve her -her kindness, her care. How could anyone care for him after what he’d been made to do? But what mortified him more was how he’d been with her recently, pushing her away, when he knew his feelings for her were growing too strong to handle. He had been cold, cruel even, thinking it would be easier to keep his distance.

But here she was, not giving up on him. He felt his chest tighten with a tangle of guilt and longing. He didn’t deserve this.

And yet, he couldn’t deny the comfort her presence brought him. Slowly, he felt his body ease, his rigid frame relaxing slowly as her warmth seeped into him. His shoulder brushed hers, hesitantly at first, then stayed. This time, he didn’t fight it. He didn’t want to.

The warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, all felt soothing. He let himself be pulled into the comfort she offered, no longer caring if his attraction to her showed. It wasn’t like he could hide it now, or cared, anyway.

His trembling fingers, rough and scarred, brushed against her leg, just a light, accidental touch, but enough to send a shiver up his spine. He wasn’t sure if she noticed, but he did. And this time, he didn’t retreat.

Bucky’s breathing slowed and deepened, and his chest started to rise and fall in sync with hers. His head dipped slightly, not quite resting on her shoulder, but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. His fingers shifted again, this time curling just slightly around her thigh. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it felt monumental to him. For once, he wasn’t recoiling, wasn’t hiding behind walls of shame and guilt. He was just… there, with her, feeling what he felt, even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

He glanced up at her again, and his blue eyes met hers. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t look away. His gaze lingered, searching for something, understanding, acceptance, maybe even something more. And what he found there, in her eyes, was enough to make the knot in his chest loosen just a little bit more.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t push him. And in that silence, in the simple act of being there for him, Bucky felt something shift inside him. Without thinking, he let out a soft sigh,  as his body shifted again, and he finally dipped his head to rest it lightly on her thighs. The movement was tentative as if he were bracing for her to pull away, to break the fragile moment. But she didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. She stayed right there, solid and steady, grounding him once again.

When he fully rested his head, her fingers found his hair almost instinctively, gently threading through his disheveled locks. The touch was soft, soothing, and familiar, much like the night before when she had used her healing powers to ease his nightmares. But this time, she didn’t channel any of her energy into him, at least, not yet.

For a few minutes, she simply caressed his hair, her fingertips brushing lightly against his scalp, tracing calming patterns. Bucky’s tense muscles began to relax further, and his body sank into the comfort of her touch. It was grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

After a while, her fingers paused in his hair. Her voice was soft, hesitant but caring as she asked, “Do you want me to…?” There was no pressure in her words, only a quiet offer, giving him the choice.

Bucky was silent for a long moment, his body still against her, but the tension returned to his shoulders, subtle but unmistakable. He knew what she meant, what she could do for him if he let her. He shook his head once, slowly, almost reluctantly. “No,” he whispered, “I… I need to feel this,” he added, his voice rough but steady. “I can’t run from it every time.” It was difficult to say, but he meant it. Then, she let her hand continue to stroke his hair softly, offering comfort in the simplest way possible. She respected his decision, knowing how much strength it took for him to face these demons on his own terms. “I’m still here,” she whispered, while her touch never faltered. “If you ever need me.”

Bucky didn’t respond with words, but he relaxed against her once again, his body yielding to the quiet, unspoken understanding between them. Even without her powers, the weight of her presence was enough for him to hold on.

-----

Eventually, the quiet that had settled between them started to fade, replaced by the creeping awareness that they couldn’t stay huddled in the garden forever. The world beyond their little bubble -the event, the people, the expectations- slowly edged its way back into their consciousness.

She shifted slightly, pausing her fingers in Bucky’s hair as she glanced around. The faint buzz of the distant crowd could still be heard from the ballroom, and the glow of lights from the building cast long shadows across the topiary.

“We should… probably get out of here,” she whispered reluctantly, breaking the comforting silence.

Bucky didn’t move immediately. His head still rested on her lap, as if he could will the world away for just a little longer. But eventually, with a low sigh, he pushed himself up, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Yeah. We can’t… be seen like this,” he muttered, gazing at the mud-streaked ruins of his suit.

She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “I look like I’ve been rolling around in the dirt with you,” she teased softly, brushing at her dress, though the stubborn stains refused to budge.

The topiary garden felt worlds away from the glittering ballroom, but their predicament remained clear: how were they going to make it back to the compound without being seen? They exchanged a glance, an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all, just as the crunch of footsteps on gravel reached their ears.

They barely had time to react before Sam appeared from behind a meticulously trimmed hedge, coming to an abrupt stop in his tracks when he saw them. His eyes widened, taking in the sight of both of them covered in dirt, hair wild with sticks on it, and rumpled clothes. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, leaning against the nearby wall as his smirk grew wider by the second. “Well, well, well,” he drawled out, clearly enjoying the scene. “Looks like somebody took ‘blending in’ a little too seriously.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly, I don't even wanna know what y’all were up to, but good luck explaining that to the rest of the team.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but Sam held up a hand. “Nope, no explanations needed. You two look guilty enough as it is.” He winked and gestured behind him. “But seriously, you might wanna get out before Steve or Nat see you. Unless you wanna be the talk for the next month in the compound.”

Bucky cursed in frustration, rerunning a hand through his already messed up hair, making it even worse. Beside him, she winced internally, knowing they looked like a pair of absolute messes.

“Sam, got any ideas for getting us out of here discreetly?” she asked with a groan.

Sam didn’t miss a beat, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Discretion? Yeah… you two in the bushes covered in dirt totally screams discretion.” His grin widened as he glanced between them. “But sure, I can help. Just let me figure out how to sneak out two people who look like they’ve been rolling around in the mud like… well, you know, two horny teenagers.”

She felt her face heating as she shot a horrified look at Sam. “No, that’s not-” she started, but his laughter cut her off.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m just messing with you,” he said, winking at her. “But seriously, you two need to work on your subtlety if you’re gonna sneak off for some ‘alone time.’”

If looks could kill, Sam would’ve been obliterated on the spot by Bucky’s death glare. His fists clenched at his sides, and his voice was a dangerous growl. “Shut it, Wilson. Unless you wanna be the next thing that ends up in the bushes.”

Sam just raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright! Chill, Tinman. I’m just saying, you gotta work on your cover story for when you walk back in looking like that.”

She wanted to disappear into the ground, mortified. But Sam, as always, had an answer. “Tell you what,” he said, slapping Bucky on the back. “I’ll create a distraction. You two sneak around the back, and I’ll make sure no one’s looking when you head out.” he shook his head, clearly relishing the moment. "But I gotta say, this is one hell of a way to ditch a party," he quipped, waggling his eyebrows mischievously. "mud wrestling, hm?"

She groaned, burying her face in her hands while Bucky shot him a withering glare, muttering another string of curses under his breath.

“Next time, let’s stick to indoor adventures, shall we? He added, flashing a grin. Before either of them could respond, Sam turned on his heel. "I'll think of something," he called over his shoulder, already planning his grand distraction.

------

The night was still and the distant hum of the city was barely audible as Bucky and her walked along the deserted road. The event had been settled on the outskirts, far enough from the city that they had no choice but to hoof it for a while. Neither of them had spoken since Sam’s grand distraction allowed them to slip out unnoticed, both too absorbed in their own thoughts.

He walked a few steps ahead, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller.

The silence stretched on, heavy but not uncomfortable. Eventually, she huffed softly, the heels she’d stubbornly kept on finally becoming too much. Without a word, she stopped, bending to slip them off. "God, that’s better," she muttered, dangling the shoes by their straps before picking up the pace again to catch up with Bucky.

His gaze focused on her for a moment -disheveled, dirty, barefooted-. She was a mess, and the tension in his chest twisted painfully, and the guilt crept into his mind again, not only because of how he had treated her but also from what transpired that night.

Without saying a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and gently placed it around her shoulders. Her skimpy dress had been fine for the party but wasn’t doing much to protect her now.

She looked up at him, with a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she accepted the jacket, sliding her arms into the oversized sleeves. The fabric was heavy, enveloping her in warmth, the sleeves hung so long that only the tips of her fingers peeked out. As she adjusted the jacket, she took in his scent, subtle notes of cedar and leather. It was distinctly Bucky, and she liked it.

“It’s warm... thanks,” she murmured. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but enjoy the comfort of his presence wrapped around her, even if only through the fabric of his jacket.

He kept his gaze straight ahead. After a beat, finally, he broke the silence. “I’m sorry you missed the event because of me,” he said softly.

Her steps faltered slightly, tightening her fingers around the sleeves. She hesitated before speaking, biting her lip as a bitter truth spilled out. “I’m sorry I’m not Natasha.” Bucky’s head whipped toward her, and for a moment, his guard slipped. She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “I should’ve sent her after you, instead of following you myself.”

Bucky frowned. That was the second time she brought up Nat. “Where did you even get that idea?”

She sighed, as her insecurities pushed her to finally explain. “Well, because of what Sam said on the limo. About you being all grumpy because you couldn’t bid in the auction.” She hesitated, and her voice wavered slightly. “I thought he meant... you wanted to bid on Natasha.”

Bucky cursed under his breath, with barely contained frustration. “Why the hell would you think that?”

She quirked a brow, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “What else was I supposed to think? You’ve been treating me like the plague, Bucky. Like you couldn’t stand to be around me.” She uncrossed her arms and ran a hand up and down through the strap of her dress, exhaling in frustration. “And then, when Sam made that joke, it just… fit, you know? it was obvious he was talking about Nat.” She glanced away, as if admitting it aloud somehow made her feel even smaller.

Bucky’s tensed his jaw, and a storm brewed behind his eyes as he stepped closer to her. “That’s not what’s going on. Not even close.”

“Then what is going on?” Her voice wavered as her hand fell to her side.

His hands clenched and unclenched, wrestling with the words he’d buried for so long. Fuck it. "It’s not Natasha," he said finally. "It’s you. It’s always been you."

She blinked, caught off guard. “Me?” The word came out barely above a whisper, soft and disbelieving. Her heart raced, pounding so loud she was sure he heard it.

Bucky’s gaze held hers, full of rawness as if saying the words had cost him more than he wanted to admit. "Yeah, you," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. "Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you? I… I didn’t know how to deal with it."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first, her heart still pounding hard as she tried to find her voice. “Honestly? From where I’m standing, I kind of thought you couldn’t stand me with the way you’ve been acting.”

Then, deciding she’d had enough of this back-and-forth, she gathered her courage. "Would it help," she began in a softer and more vulnerable tone "if I told you I like you too?"

Bucky froze. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions; hope, fear, and something close to desperation.

“I...” He dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to answer that.” He paused, dropping his gaze to the ground before slowly lifting back to meet hers. “Part of me wants to tell you that’s what I’ve wanted to hear... for so damn long. But the other part...” His fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve got so much... so much shit I haven’t even begun to unpack. And I don’t wanna drag you into it. I’m damaged goods, and you deserve better than I can give. Shit, probably the only thing I can do right now is only take.

She stayed quiet for a moment, watching him wrestle with his emotions. Then she shook her head.  “I’m a grown woman, Bucky, and I’m very capable of making my own decisions. I’ve decided... I want to give us a try if you are ok with that.”

His expression shifted as he stared at her, “I don’t know how to do this.” he whispered. His heart was pounding, torn between fear and longing. He hesitantly hovered his dirty hand between them, and when she reached out and took it, the tension in his chest eased. “I can’t promise… I’ll be easy to deal with,” he added, so low his voice was barely audible.

“I’m not asking for easy, Buck,” she replied, gently squeezing his hand. “I’m asking for you.”

Something shifted in his chest. He felt the weight of all his fears and doubts, but her touch made it seem lighter somehow, like maybe he wasn’t as broken as he thought. Slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it reached his eyes, softening the lines of exhaustion and pain that usually darkened his features. “Okay, let’s…” he murmured. He stepped closer, narrowing the gap between them, locking his eyes on hers. Her hand was still in his, warm, grounding and suddenly, without thinking -no more doubts, no more hesitation- he decided to man up.

In one swift, unguarded moment, he leaned in. His vibranium hand cupped the side of her face, brushing her cheek as he tilted her chin up. He paused just a heartbeat, his breath mingling with hers, before closing the distance. His lips found hers, soft but insistent, a kiss that spoke of everything he’d been too afraid to say. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was something deeper, something that tasted of hope, of taking a chance.

When they finally parted, his forehead came to rest gently against hers, their breaths still mingling in the cool night air. Neither of them spoke, the silence was more comforting than any words could be. His thumb absentmindedly brushed her cheek, and she leaned against his caress.

For a while, they just stood there, forehead to forehead, until Bucky felt her body tremble slightly against him. He frowned, realizing that despite his jacket draped over her shoulders, they were still out on a desolate road in the middle of the night, and she was dressed for a gala, not a walk through the cold. “You’re freezing,” he muttered, glancing down at her bare feet and legs showing under the hem of his suit.

“Nah, I’m fine,” she started, but her teeth chattered slightly, betraying her words.

Bucky raised a brow, unconvinced. “Come on, climb on my back,” he said, turning around and squatting slightly as if to make it easier for her.

“What?” she blinked, shaking her head. “No way, I can walk.”

He shot her an exasperated look. “I’m not asking, doll. It’s cold, and you’re barefoot. Besides,” he added with a teasing smirk, “I could probably run five miles with you on my back without breaking a sweat.”

She let out a reluctant laugh, still feeling self-conscious. “I don’t know, Bucky…”

“Seriously? I can bench-press a car, and you’re worried about a piggyback ride?” His grin widened, confidence oozing from his voice. “Come on, let me show off a little, after all the crap I put you through."

She hesitated but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, fine,” she sighed, giving in. “But if you drop me…”

“I won’t,” he cut in with a grin, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Scout’s honor.”

With a roll of her eyes, she finally climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as his hands gripped her legs effortlessly. His warmth surrounded her instantly, and as she rested her chin on his shoulder, she felt her tension slowly melting away. Then a thought hit her, and she glanced down at her muddy legs. “Your shirt…” she muttered, a little hesitant. “It’s going to be a mess.”

Bucky didn’t even slow down, letting out a low chuckle, and his voice was a deep rumble she felt against her chest. “You think I care about the shirt?” He glanced over his shoulder, with mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Your thighs are around my waist. Pretty sure I’ve got more important things to think about.” She couldn’t help but blush at his cheeky remark and hid her face on his nape.

As they walked, Bucky’s steps slowed faintly, his gaze was fixed on the path ahead, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “You really sure about this?” he asked softly. “Sitting in the mud with me while I’m falling apart… that’s not the kind of life I want for you.”

She rested her chin on his shoulder again, tightening her arms slightly around him. “I stood with you in the mud because I wanted to. No one forced me. And if that’s part of being with you, then I’ll deal with it. I’m not afraid of your mess.”

Bucky stayed silent momentarily, letting her words sink into his mind. His heart clenched, torn between the comfort of her closeness and the nagging doubt that never fully left him. “You say that now,” he muttered, “But it’s not always gonna be just mud. There’s… stuff I don’t even know how to talk about.”

She tightened her arms around him, brushing her lips against his ear. “Then don’t talk about it yet,” she replied softly. “Just... let me be here. Let me decide what I can handle.”

His throat tightened. The weight of her words felt both heavy and freeing, a strange contradiction he wasn’t sure how to process. “I’ve spent so long trying to push people away,” he admitted, “I don’t even know how to let someone in anymore.”

Her lips curved into a small, soft smile against his neck. “Good thing you’ve got time to figure it out, Buck. I’m not in a hurry.”

The path ahead was uncertain, messy, and strewn with shadows, but for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt that maybe he didn’t have to walk it alone.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[greengoblinswifey]

Winter’s Embrace— Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

summary— Spending Christmas in a cozy cabin, you help Bucky reconnect with the holiday spirit in more ways than one and have the best Christmas gift he’s ever experienced.

warnings— mentions of bucky’s past trauma, fluff, L bombs, praise kink, daddy kink, oral, fingering, face fucking, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— Merry Christmas Everyone, have a wonderful day🎄🫶🏽!

Bucky wasn’t much of a holiday person. He didn’t hate Christmas, but the memories of simpler times before the war, before Hydra, often left him feeling hollow. You knew this, and that was why you decided to whisk him away to a secluded cabin in the mountains for Christmas. You hoped a change of scenery might help him associate the holiday with something warm and new, something just for the both of you.

The cabin was a cozy little thing tucked into the snowy woods, decorated with warm pepper lights strung along the edges of the wooden roof. Inside, a stone fireplace crackled with a soft orange glow, and the scent of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You’d spent the afternoon decorating a Christmas tree, playfully arguing with Bucky about where to hang the ornaments.

“Babe, you can’t put all the gold ones on one side,” you teased, standing on your tiptoes to fix one of the baubles he’d clumsily placed.

“Well, I’m just trying to balance it,” he said with a smirk, stepping behind you to steady your waist as you reached higher. “And don’t forget, doll, I’m working with one arm here. I deserve a little grace.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “Fine, you win. But next year, we’re getting a way taller and bigger tree.”

He chuckled, his deep voice sending a warm shiver down your spine. “Next year, huh? I like the sound of that.”

Later that evening, after the two of you shared a simple dinner, Bucky pulled out a box you hadn’t seen before. He hesitated, holding it for a moment before placing it on the table.

“What’s that?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Something I didn’t mean to pack,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I threw it in by accident when I was grabbing decorations.”

Inside the box were a few fragile ornaments, clearly from decades ago. One of them, a little snowman with a crooked top hat, caught your eye.

“This is adorable,” you said, holding it up gently.

Bucky’s gaze softened as he stared at the ornament. “My sister made that when we were kids. It’s one of the few things I still have from, uh, back then.” His voice faltered, and you reached out to hold his hand.

“You’ve been through so much,” you said softly, threading your fingers through his metal ones. “But you’re here now, and you’ve made it through all of it. You deserve this happiness, Bucky. You deserve this Christmas, and so much more.”

He exhaled slowly, his lips curving into a small smile. “You’re the reason I even try, you know that? Without you, I’d just—I don’t know.”

“Don’t do that,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand. “You’re more than your past, Buck. And I’m here for all of it, every memory, every moment. Even the bad ones, if it means I get to be with you.”

The fire crackled softly as he cupped your face in his warm hand, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re my whole world, sweetheart,” he murmured, his blue eyes locked on yours. “I didn’t think I could have this. I didn’t think I could have you.”

You leaned into his touch, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. It deepened naturally, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you closer.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice barely above a breath.

The warmth of the fire and the way his hands roamed your back made you feel safe, wanted, and completely at ease. Before you knew it, he had scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with a look of pure adoration.

“I need this Buck, it would make tonight all the more special,” you whispered, as Bucky placed you gently on the plush bed.

“Anything for you doll.”

Bucky stripped you of your clothes, leaving your body bare as he kissed from your collarbone trailing down to your thighs.

“So so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses, “I got so lucky.”

You squirmed under his touch as he nipped on your inner thigh before inching to your clit, his tongue slowly flicking it.

“Buck, please,” you whined.

“That’s not my name right now, sweetheart,” he said, voice gruff before swiping his tongue along your folds.

“Daddy—m’sorry, I just need more,” you whimpered.

He granted your wish, his mouth engulfing your clit and sucking. Your body shivered as he held your legs spread eagle, savoring your sweet taste. You tasted better than anything he’d eaten all Christmas season.

“You taste amazing baby, fucking hell,” he groaned, licking from your leaking entrance back up to your clit. He slipped a finger inside your pussy, curling it and pumping steadily as his tongue focused on sucking and flicking your bundle of nerves.

“Daddy, that feels so good, don’t stop, m’ gonna cum,” you whimpered.

Bucky hummed in content, holding you down as you squirmed and pumped his fingers even faster. Your clit was swollen and throbbing on his tongue as a powerful orgasm neared.

“C‘mon angel, cum for daddy, all over my tongue,” he commanded.

Ever the obedient girlfriend, your fingers tangled in his brown hair, and you ground against his mouth as a stream of liquid spurted from your pussy.

“Mm— that’s it’s, that’s a good girl,” he cooed.

He helped you ride out your high, his fingers pumping inside your pussy as he slurped your juices before you were shaking from overstimulation.

“Can you fuck my face, daddy?” you asked shyly, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

“Anything my angel wants, she gets,” he whispered.

Bucky climbed over your body, shedding himself of his bottoms and revealing his thick, hard cock. You took ahold of it, barely able to wrap your hand around it and placed a kiss on the leaking tip.

“It’s always so pretty daddy,” you whispered, placing wet kisses all over his cock.

He wrapped your hair in his flesh hand and thrusted his cock into your mouth, immediately making you gag.

“Fuck, you’re okay, right baby?”

You nodded and buried your face into his cock, gliding your tongue along the veins on his shaft. He snapped his hips forward, fucking your mouth as he praised you.

“You’re such a good cock sucker baby, so amazing, don’t think I’m gonna last long with that mouth of yours,” he moaned.

As he slammed into your mouth, you used your soft hands to massage his balls, feeling them tighten under your touch.

“Shit, it’s coming, take my cum down your throat, angel,” he gasped, unable to hold back.

You pushed your head down until you were almost touching his pelvis, massaging his balls as his hot load shot down your throat. He continued fucking your throat as you swallowed every drop and looked down at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Good girl, fuck, I love you,” he sighed, moving down and placing a soft, lingering kiss on your lips.

He moved further down, dragging the tip of his cock along your wet pussy.

“Ready angel?” he asked, lining his cock with your entrance.

You nodded frantically, desperate to feel his hard cock, deep inside you, raw.

He slowly inched inside you, both of you gasping in pleasure. “You’re so tight, sweetheart,” he whimpered, staring into your eyes.

“Mhm—harder daddy, please,” you whined.

Bucky began steadily pounding into you harder, your pussy making noises that could be heard throughout the cabin. He rolled his hips beautifully, his cock brushing against your cervix and your g spot simultaneously. You could feel him throb each time you moaned and clamped around him.

“You feel so fucking good, you take it so well,” moaned.

He leaned down, kissing your temple and then your lips as you wrapped your legs around him and met his hard thrusts. Your pussy clenched around him tight, desperate for release.

“Shit baby, cum for daddy, I need you to cum with me, I won’t last with the way this tight pussy is just gripping the fuck outta me,” he murmured.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your eyes locked onto his, the moment so dirty yet intimate as your jaw fell agape and the coil in your abdomen snapped.

“Daddy, I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming,” you cried out, your release ripping through you.

“Me too angel, I’m gonna cum inside you, take every drop,” he panted.

Your body shook under him as you felt him fill you up just as your pussy soaked his cock and the towel under you. He placed kisses all over, slowly pumping his cock as you milked him of his warm seed.

“You did so good angel, I’m so proud of you,” he smiled, kissing your lips.

“I love you so much, Bucky.”

“I love you too, doll.”

The next morning, you woke to the smell of hot chocolate and the sight of Bucky standing by the window, holding two mugs and watching the snow fall.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he said with a soft smile, handing you a cup as you sat up in bed.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, your heart swelling as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

The morning passed in a blur of laughter, teasing, and exchanging gifts. Bucky had outdone himself, presenting you with an delicately engraved bracelet, a stack of books you’d mentioned months ago, and a soft cashmere sweater that matched the chocolate tone of your skin perfectly.

“You’re so sweet,” you said, shaking your head as you pulled him into a hug.

“You deserve it,” he said simply, kissing your temple.

Your gifts to him included a leather-bound journal, a vintage pocket watch, and a pair of gloves for his metal hand that you’d custom-ordered. The way his face lit up at each gift made your heart ache with love.

“Seriously, doll, you didn’t have to do all this,” he said, pulling you into his lap as the two of you sat by the tree.

“You’re worth it, Buck,” you said, cupping his face.

The day ended with the two of you baking cookies—well, you baked, and Bucky mostly snuck bites of the dough and curling up on the couch to watch It’s a Wonderful Life.

As the credits rolled, he pressed a kiss to your hair and murmured, “This might be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “It’s only the beginning, Buck. We’ll make so many more.”

And for the first time in years, Bucky truly believed it.

Bucky smiled as you adjusted the settings on the small digital camera you’d brought along, the vintage style device fitting perfectly with the cozy holiday vibe of the cabin. “C’mere, you look so fine,” you said, waving him over to the couch where you had draped a plaid blanket for your makeshift photo session.

He chuckled softly, sitting down beside you. “You really want to document this?”

“Duh!” you said with a grin, leaning closer to frame the two of you in the shot. “This is our first Christmas together, Buck. I want to remember it forever.”

“Alright,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “But if I look ridiculous, you’re deleting it.”

“Deal,” you teased, snapping the picture.

You ended up taking dozens of photos, some posed, some candid, and some of Bucky caught mid laugh as you tickled his sides to get him to smile. When you were done, you set the camera aside and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I also have this,” you said, handing him a tiny gift bag from under the tree.

“What’s this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out a small, personalized keychain engraved with the words “Home is wherever you are.”

“It’s cheesy, I know,” you said, suddenly shy. “But I thought—”

“I love it,” he interrupted, his voice soft. He attached it to his keys immediately, turning it over in his hands. “Thank you, angel. You always know how to make things special.”

Later, the two of you ventured outside, bundled up in coats and scarves, to build a snowman in the fresh snow. You laughed as Bucky insisted on giving the snowman a “metal arm” made of a stick he found, complete with a dramatic pose.

When the sun began to set, you returned to the cabin to warm up by the fire. Bucky brewed hot chocolate while you set up a board game, the two of you spending hours teasing and laughing over your competitive streaks.

As the night wound down, you turned on the record player in the corner, selecting a soft, jazzy Christmas tune. Bucky took your hand, pulling you into an impromptu dance in the middle of the room. His hands rested securely on your waist as yours looped around his neck, and the two of you swayed in time with the music.

“I never thought I’d have this again,” Bucky murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

“Have what?” you asked softly, brushing your thumb over the nape of his neck.

“This,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Happiness. A home. You.”

You kissed him tenderly, your hearts full of love and the promise of many more Christmases to come.

[thebarneschronicles]

A Quiet Escape

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This is barely a holiday fic with Bucky - it’s mostly smut with barely any plot. I just had a vision. Don’t consider the MCU timeline - everyone is alive and together in this. And Clint’s kids are a little older but still proper kids.

—

You told him no.

The word hit the air like a thunderclap—sharp, unexpected, and rare enough to make his icy blue eyes narrow in disbelief. Then they widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm.

Slowly, his hands retreated, leaving the curve of your waist, hot and cold pulling away at once. Arms lifted, palms open, as if surrendering to the sharp finality in your voice.

“Did I… do something?” Bucky’s voice was low, rough around the edges, his frown deepening as a steady breath expanded his chest.

“No,” you said again, firmer this time, though your heart stuttered at the flicker of hurt that crossed his features. Your gaze darted past him, locking onto the narrow crack of the door behind his towering frame. Three sets of eyes stared back, wide and unblinking, from the shadows of the barely open door.

“I don’t get it, doll,” Bucky murmured, confusion twisting his expression. His metal hand lifted toward your hip, the motion almost instinctive, only to grip empty air as you leaned back and pressed both palms flat against his solid chest.

“Bucky,” you hissed, nodding toward the door. “We’ve got company.”

He blinked, brows knitting together, before his head swiveled to follow your line of sight. The moment he turned, the door slammed shut with a loud bang, and the sound of frantic footsteps thundered away on the other side. Three pairs of little feet, retreating as fast as they’d been caught.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as realization dawned, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward, a mix of exasperation and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Company. There was always company.

At least, there had been for the past week, ever since you’d been swept into the whirlwind that was Clint Barton’s home. What had once been a cozy haven for his family had turned into a buzzing hive of activity, packed with super-soldiers, gods, and genetically—or technologically—enhanced heroes. The Avengers had descended, and while the world might have known them as Earth’s mightiest protectors, to you, they were beginning to feel like the world’s nosiest roommates.

It was the holidays, and by some miracle—perhaps one granted by Saint Nick himself—the planet wasn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. No alien invasions, no terrorist plots, no missiles hurtling toward oblivion, and, to your immense relief, no Hydra agents lurking in the shadows.

For once, it was a somewhat normal holiday season. If you ignored the superpowers and the enhanced DNA floating around the house, that is. More importantly, you were finally getting to see Bucky in an everyday, domestic setting.

And you loved it.

You’d caught him horsing around with Clint’s kids—Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel—who had taken an almost unhealthy fascination with his metal arm. Your normally stoic, brooding boyfriend had become their favorite jungle gym. You’d walked into the living room one afternoon to find all three of them hanging off his arm like little monkeys, giggling uncontrollably as he lifted them effortlessly.

You’d marveled at the sight of him brewing your coffee in the mornings, the way his lips twitched into a subtle smile when he handed you the mug, the steam curling between you. He shoveled snow off the driveway with Clint, laughing at the older man’s dad jokes, and indulged the kids in their never-ending demands to walk the family dog. While they chattered away endlessly, he listened with that quiet patience of his, nodding and occasionally chuckling.

But as much as you adored seeing Bucky like this—calm, grounded, happy—you couldn’t help but notice one glaring downside: you hadn’t had a moment alone together.

Not one.

Between Clint’s kids, Steve dragging Bucky out for “quick” trips to the store (which were never quick), and Nat luring him into sparring sessions when she couldn’t sit still anymore, your time with him had been thoroughly hijacked. And Lila—sweet, mischievous Lila—had an uncanny knack for giving you the stink eye every time you got too close to Bucky.

You were losing your mind.

It had been a month since you’d had real time alone with him. Work had pulled you apart, his responsibilities to the team had swallowed every spare moment, and now, what you’d thought would be your chance to reconnect had turned into a holiday circus.

You’d imagined this trip differently. Romantic walks in the snow, cozy kisses by the fire, maybe even some stolen, steamy nights in the attic of Clint’s house. But those dreams had been systematically dismantled by the chaos around you.

Everyone wanted a piece of Bucky—or you—or both of you. And while the holidays were supposed to be about togetherness, you were starting to think that all this togetherness might drive you both completely insane.

You let out a frustrated sigh, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the door of your shared attic bedroom. From down the hall, the giggles of your boyfriend's three tiny shadows echoed, fading into the room they’d darted into.

The sound of your frustration pulled Bucky closer to you, his hand finding the doorknob near your hip. With a gentle turn, he pushed the door open and guided you inside. The soft glow of the moon coming in through the large window spilled across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his features as he quietly shut the door behind you both.

“Alright,” he started, his voice low but edged with concern. “You’ve been sighing like that for three days now, doll. What’s eating at you?”

You tilted your head to look at him, folding your arms. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I haven’t had you to myself in weeks. Or that every time I even think about kissing you, someone—usually under four feet tall—pops up like a whack-a-mole.”

You pointed toward the direction of the room where the kids were hidden, having interrupted you and Bucky’s rare alone time for the millionth time today alone. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s lips twitched, as if he was trying not to smile, and it just aggravated you further.

“They’re kids, sweetheart. What am I supposed to do? Ignore them?”

“No,” you grumbled, seemingly for the thousandth time, dragging your hands down your face. “But I didn’t realize signing up to be your girlfriend also meant being a full-time babysitter, snow-shoveling assistant, and third wheel to Steve freaking Rogers on your bromantic grocery runs.”

That did it—he laughed, a low, rich sound that made your annoyance falter for a moment.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious!” you snapped, shooting him a glare, dropping down at the edge of the bed, both hands sliding into your hair, a clear sign of the frustration that seemed to be pouring out of your pores.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “I get it. This… isn’t how I pictured this trip either.” He crossed the room to sit beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. His flesh hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I miss you too, doll.”

You softened at his words but refused to let go of your irritation entirely. “Then do something about it, Barnes. You’re a super soldier, a former trained assassin, a ghost agent—surely you can figure out how to steal your girlfriend away for five minutes without someone barging in.”

His eyes gleamed mischievously. “You think I haven’t been trying? Clint’s kids are like little spies. Lila’s practically Natasha junior. And Steve? Forget it. Guy has a radar for when I’m about to kiss you.”

“Of course he does,” you groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s Captain America. Always watching. Always judging. It’s like dating a guy whose best friend is a giant Boy Scout.”

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “Wait—do you think Steve’s ever even been kissed?”

Bucky snorted, the sound so uncharacteristic it made you glance up. “What? You think I’d know that?”

The furtive way he avoided your eyes told you he did.

“C’mon, you’ve known him forever.” You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes. “He gives me virgin energy, Buck.”

“Virgin energy?” Bucky repeated, a smile spreading over his lips despite himself. “Doll, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m serious!” you said, barely stifling your own laugh. “The guy probably spent the ’40s too busy punching Nazis to even hold someone’s hand. And now? Forget it. I bet if you kissed me in front of him, he’d faint on the spot.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face, unable to hide his amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You know I’m right,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your foot. Your stomach tightened as his flesh hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you closer. “It explains so much,” you went on, voice faltering slightly when he dragged his hand up your inner thigh, sending a shiver through you. “He’s probably the reason we never get a moment alone,” you added, squirming under his touch. His hand settled firmly on your hip, his chest solid against you as he laid beside you, his head propped up on his metal hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What, because he’s a cock block?” Bucky asked, voice dropping lower.

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, shifting to allow his one leg between yours, ignoring the intense burn that settled low in your belly. “Think about it—if he’s not getting any, there’s no way he’s letting anyone else get laid. Misery loves company.”

Bucky shook his head, his grin making your heart flutter. “You’ve officially lost it, doll.”

“And yet, here we are. Still not kissing,” you shot back, looking at him pointedly, lifting yourself up onto your elbows so you could tilt your head up, lips ghosting over his.

“I’m done talking about Steve and his virginity,” he said, icy blue eyes dropping to your lips, his nose dragging over yours. “And for the record, doll, you’re the only one I want to see faint when I kiss you.”

“Oh, smooth recovery, Barnes,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself, breathing shakily with his proximity.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours, voice low and rumbly in his chest, sending a surge of heat from your toes all the way to the center of your body. “How about this? Tomorrow morning, we sneak out. Just you and me. We’ll take the bike, get some coffee, and maybe… I don’t know… find a spot where no one can find us for a few hours.”

You stared up at him, your annoyance giving way to hope. “Promise?”

His frown softened into something more sincere, understanding. “Promise. I’ll even turn my phone off. No Avengers. No interruptions. Just us.”

“Okay,” you whispered, allowing yourself to relax into the idea.

But just as his lips brushed yours, the door creaked open, and a small voice called out.

“Bucky?”

You both froze, and he let out a soft curse under his breath. “Yeah, Nate?”

“Can you come read us a story? Lila said you promised!”

You turned your head, glaring at the ceiling while Bucky sighed, standing up. He glanced back at you with a sheepish smile. “Rain check?”

“Nate,” you called out, loud enough for the little boy to hear. “When you’re older, remind me to teach you about boundaries.”

His laughter followed Bucky out the door, leaving you to bury your face in the pillow, groaning dramatically.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, you were still face-down, your muffled voice rising from the comforter. “Why are you a children magnet? It’s like you’re Santa Claus, and they’re all lining up for their turn.”

Bucky chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I guess I’m just irresistible.”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “You used to be scary. Remember those days? Big, brooding Winter Soldier? People crossed the street to avoid you. I miss that guy.”

He leaned down, grinning as he kissed the top of your head. “That guy never would’ve gotten you to fall for him.”

“Yeah, well, that guy wouldn’t be getting interrupted every five minutes either,” you muttered, pulling the pillow back over your head.

The first rays of sunlight peeked through the attic window, casting a warm glow over the small room. You stirred at the soft sound of movement, the creak of the floorboards familiar enough to pull you from sleep. Cracking one eye open, you saw Bucky crouched by the foot of the bed, lacing up his boots.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep as you pushed yourself up on your elbows. The room is warm and you can smell the soap and shampoo coming out of the bathroom, the steam of Bucky’s shower still rolling out under the door even after he’d gotten out of it.

He glanced over his shoulder, wet hair dropping onto his forehead, his dog tags dangling from his neck, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You, me, the bike, and some much-needed alone time, remember?”

You blinked, processing his words, before groaning and flopping back onto the bed. “It’s too early, Barnes.”

“It’s not. You just want to stay in bed,” he teased, leaning over you, his lips brushing your temple. “C’mon, doll. Coffee awaits. And I’ve got a spot picked out where no one will find us. Not even Steve.”

“Not even Steve?” you repeated, hope warming your heart, cracking a smile despite yourself. “That’s ambitious.”

Bucky chuckled, his fingers trailing lightly over your arm. “Trust me, I’ve planned this escape like a military op. Now get dressed before Clint’s kids wake up and ruin everything.”

The mention of his tiny shadows jolted you awake. You sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. “Fine, but if one of them catches us sneaking out, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning as he stepped back to let you get ready.

Half an hour later, you were showered and wrapped in your warmest coat and scarf, perched on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle as it roared to life. The crisp morning air nipped at your cheeks as you sped away from the Barton farmhouse, the sound of the engine loud enough to drown out any lingering holiday chaos.

“Where are we going?” you shouted over the wind, your arms tightening around his waist.

“You’ll see,” he called back, his voice filled with a levity you hadn’t heard in days.

After about half an hour, he pulled off onto a narrow dirt road that wound through a dense forest. The bike came to a stop in a clearing, where a small cabin stood sturdy and welcoming, the promise of warmth, quiet, and alone time beckoning you inside.

The cabin was nestled among tall pines, their branches heavy with snow that caught the early morning light, casting a soft glow over the place. The structure was rustic, with a large stone chimney rising above the roof, smoke curling lazily into the pale blue sky. The wooden exterior, darkened by age, gave off a comforting, lived-in feel, as if it had been waiting just for this moment. The windows glowed faintly from within, a sign of the warmth that awaited inside.

Bucky killed the engine and swung off the bike, turning to help you down. “What do you think?”

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the scene, the stillness of the forest enveloping the cabin like a protective embrace. “It’s perfect,” you said, your voice full of awe.

He grabbed the large bag he’d stuck on the bike’s saddlebag and handed it to you. “Coffee, as promised. Some other things as well. And no interruptions. Just us.”

You felt the warmth seep through you, both from the shee relief you felt and the way he was looking at you, his eyes soft with affection. “Okay, Barnes. I’ll admit it. You nailed this one.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, tugging you closer, lips brushing against your temple. His arm wrapped around your shoulder as the two of you headed towards your little safe haven. A satisfied smirk played on his lips, and you could feel the tension in his body ease as you walked together, just the two of you, heading toward the cozy cabin.

When you stepped inside, the scent of wood and pine mixed with something warm and comforting. The interior was just as inviting as the outside. The open space was simple but cozy, with a stone fireplace built into one wall. There was a leather couch near the hearth, a soft rug underfoot, and shelves stacked with books and a few family heirlooms - you didn’t have to ask him who it belonged to, the pictures lining the shelves told you you and Bucky weren’t the only couple who sometimes needed a reprieve from the Barton household.

Through the large windows, you could still see the vast expanse of the snow-covered forest, but inside, it felt like you were in a world of your own.

Bucky dropped the bag at the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression softer now that you were finally alone. “How does it feel? No Steve, no Clint, no kids…”

“Perfect,” you murmured, crossing the room to stand by the fire, arms crossed over your chest.

Bucky followed you, his hands finding your waist as he pressed himself gently against your back. The cold of his clothes from the sharp wind outside sent a shiver down your spine, but the heat of his touch, his body against yours, was enough to make your heart race. The tension between you was palpable, growing bigger with each mile you put between you and the Barton farmhouse, unwinding itself as the space grew and crackling in the air like an electric current.

His hands, one cold and one warm, were steady on your hips, anchoring you in a way that made you feel safe and desired all at once. It wasn’t just the fire in front of you that made the room warm—it was the pull between you two, the undeniable chemistry that neither of you could ignore.

You tilted your head back slightly, allowing him to place a kiss on your neck, his warmth seeping into you, the fire’s crackle making the moment feel even more intimate. “This was exactly what we needed”, you hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Exactly,” he agreed, his breath warm against your skin. “Now, where were we before we got interrupted last night?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I think you were about to make me faint.”

His amused laugh was the only sound that filled the space between you two, a low, warm chuckle that made your heart flutter. Then, before you could react, his hands turned you around gently, pulling you into him as his lips captured yours in a deep, consuming kiss. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no distractions—just the two of you, wrapped in the fire of the moment.

His tongue traced the curve of your bottom lip, a teasing stroke that made your breath hitch, and then he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. His hands slipped beneath your jacket, finding the soft, heated skin of your hip, and you sighed into his mouth, a sound full of longing and need. You melted against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, your head tilting to the side to allow him more access. The taste of him overwhelmed your senses, the familiar warmth of his mouth, the intensity of his touch, and you felt your legs grow weak, trembling with the hunger that surged between you.

Every inch of your body seemed to respond to him, to the press of his chest against yours, the way his hands moved with a quiet urgency that matched the pounding of your heart. You lost yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his lips, his touch, as if everything outside of this moment didn’t exist. There was nothing but him and the intoxicating pull of his affection, and you knew, in that instant, that nothing else mattered but being with him—your Bucky, in the most intimate way you’d ever shared.

It had been so long—too long—since you’d been able to be this close to him, to feel his body against yours without hesitation. The longing, the quiet yearning that had built up between you, was finally starting to break free. You could feel the weight of it in every touch, in the way his fingers brushed over your skin, as if he was finally letting go of the last remnants of his walls. It was like you were rediscovering each other in this moment—his warmth, his presence—reminding you of the man he was when he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you.

His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you could feel him trembling ever so slightly as you turned toward him, your eyes meeting his. In his gaze, you saw the storm of emotions—desire, need, love—that he rarely let others see, let alone act upon. The man you loved, the man who had once been a stranger even to himself, was now standing in front of you, and for the first time, he wasn’t pulling away. His lips hovered just above yours, the anticipation between you two thick, hanging like a breath waiting to be taken.

It hadn’t always been like this—him, so open, so ready to let you in. There was a time when he had been reluctant to trust, when the thought of giving his heart to someone had been suffocating, terrifying, downright impossible. But you had weathered the storm with him, through the nightmares, the quiet doubts, the fear that he wasn’t worthy of love. And with every touch, every word, you had proven to him that you could be his anchor. You were his safe place. His refuge. And now, he let you in, fully, in ways he had never allowed before.

His lips found yours in a longer kiss that was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but the hunger, the need, was undeniable. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened around you, the urgency behind his lips a testament to the desperation you shared throughout all the weeks you had been deprived of each other’s bodies, each other’s skin. He kissed as if he feared this moment would slip away, like so many had when friends had knocked on closed doors and children had tugged him away for a snow fight.

You responded in kind, deepening the kiss, pulling him closer, needing him just as much. The world outside, all of it faded into the background. There was only this—him, you, the electric tension that had been building for so long, and the quiet promise that this was just the beginning.

As his hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your body, you could feel the weight of everything between you both—the time it had taken to get here, the quiet moments of trust and understanding, the slow building of love. But now, in the heat of the moment, all that mattered was the connection. The way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered, the way his touch seemed to ignite something inside you that you couldn’t explain.

He undressed you in a way that could only be described as deliberate—although his mouth was hungry, his hands took their time with every piece of clothing, hot and cold dragging over every inch of skin he managed to uncover. It was maddening, really, the calm he could have in certain moments where all you wanted was for him to lose control.

You pulled away from him slightly, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “You know,” you said, your voice low and sultry, “if you keep undressing me like that, I’m going to start thinking you’re waiting for someone to interrupt us… or that you’re torturing me on purpose.”

His grin was slow, all confidence and mischief. “Maybe I am,” he teased, his voice rougher now. “Maybe I like making you wait.”

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers running lightly down the front of his leather jacket, lingering on the zipper. “You know, I could make you wait too,” you purred, fingers pulling on the zipper until it opened, enough for you to drag your hand under the sweater he had underneath, his skin blazing.

He could’ve once been called the Winter Soldier, but there was nothing cold about Bucky. The icy blue of his eyes sent wild fires burning through your skin, his own skin always running a few degrees hotter than yours… you always joked he was your personal furnace, but it made it all the more true as you dragged your icy fingers under the thick knit that covered his torso.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist as if he was fighting the urge to pull you closer, to devour you. “Doll–” he said in warning, the edge of longing crystal clear in his voice.

You leaned in closer, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, “Maybe… maybe I’ll make you wait. Maybe I won’t let you touch me… maybe I’ll go back to the house and leave you like you did me… desperate, warm and so wet… Let’s see how you like that…”

You could feel him shudder at the words, the tension between you two growing thicker with every second. “You have no idea, Bucky… no idea how empty I’ve been, how much I’ve been aching–”

Before you could continue, he pressed his lips back to yours, deeper this time, more urgent. He didn’t hold back, his hands roaming over your body, tugging you closer, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the fire building in both of you.

"God, I’ve missed you," Bucky breathed against your lips, his voice strained with need, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea how much.”

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, the feel of him intoxicating. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you replied, your lips brushing over his, teasing, before pulling back slightly, your hands working quickly to push his jacket off. "But I guess we can talk about it later..."

His grip on you tightened, the words barely leaving his mouth before his lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, desperate kisses down your skin. “Later?” His voice was rough, his breath a heated whisper against your throat. "You think I can wait any longer?"

You nodded, a teasing smile curling on your lips, but it faltered when he pushed you back onto the leather couch, his lips never leaving your skin. You didn’t mind. Not one bit. This was finally your moment—just the two of you. The cabin, the fire, the stolen time, and all the teasing, the tension, the pure want that had been simmering between you two for so long.

"I want your mouth busy with something else," you gasped, voice shaking as he kissed a path lower down your skin.

Bucky's eyes darkened with desire, his lips pulling into a wicked smile as he moved, doing exactly what you suggested. "I think I like the sound of that”, his voice low and teasing. His hands had already stripped your jacket away somewhere along the way to the couch, and now they were eager, pulling your top up, inch by inch, exposing more of your skin. His mouth followed, leaving heated kisses down your stomach as his hands worked to unfasten the waistband of your pants.

Your breath caught in your throat when his teeth grazed the spot just below your belly button, and you could feel your body tightening in anticipation. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, and you instinctively arched your back, urging him on, breathing getting harder as he exposed the top of your knickers, the skin of your thighs, your knees, little by little until he finally took away your pants like the obstacle they have been - with a violent sway of his arm, that landed the garment in a heap across the room. “Bucky…” you whispered.

He wasn’t gentle when he maneuvered you, grabbing you by the backs of your thighs and moving your body until he was kneeling between your open legs, hands pushing your knees back until he could spread you further, eyes hooded as he took you in.

You know he could see the damp, dark spot on your knickers - the one you had purposefully picked in the hopes you’d both find a bathroom somewhere and take advantage of it - but you couldn’t be self conscious about it. Never in your wildest dreams you had expected him to find a place for you to fully enjoy each other’s bodies and as he dragged the fingers of his metal arm down your covered slit, you silently thanked Clint and Laura for having a sex drive.

“Bucky–” you repeated, whiny and desperate, eyes stuck on where he’d slipped his fingertips on the side of your bottons, gliding slowly up and down, the cold of the vibranium pressing to your heated folds and sending goosebumps all over your body. “Quit teasing me!” you gasped, breath catching as he pulled on the damp fabric until he could finally see your glistening slit, his lips parting in awe, eyes darkening and filled with promise.

He smiled, the sight making your stomach twist, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. "Teasing you? Baby, I’m just getting started," he murmured, his hands slid up and down your thighs with deliberate slowness, savoring the way you trembled beneath his touch, his mouth pressed to the inside of your knee as he leaned in.

You shivered, your hands reaching up to tug at the back of his hair, a muffled growl leaving his lips as he traveled further down your body, until his mouth was hovering over your aching cunt. "I swear, if you don't get on me, I—"

"Or what?" he teased, leaning down to brush his lips against your slit, just barely grazing them before he pressed a kiss to your mound. "You think you can fight me?” His voice was thick with amusement, but there was a rough quality to it that made your pulse race.

“I could strangle you… with my thighs…” You threatened with no real intent behind it, eyes closed for a moment as you tried to steady yourself, swallowing thickly against a gasp when you felt his flesh fingers spread you open, exposing more of your dripping core to him.

“And I’d die a happy man”, Bucky breathes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he licks his lips. “A very happy man…” he adds before he pulls your clit between his lips with the softest of sucks.

When you first started dating, the sheer idea of having Bucky’s mouth between your legs had been comical to you. The broody super soldier, the stoic, serious, impenetrable walls he’d put up made you believe he hadn’t been capable of this kind of passion - had he even had time to learn what giving head was?

You knew he wasn’t totally oblivious - you’ve read the files, you knew he was a ladies man in the 40s, the kind to run away from armed daddies who caught him with a hand up their daughter’s skirts. But with everything he’d gone through, the many years he’d spend locked away - from his body and his mind - you had no idea how far his… sexual education (or should you say experience) had gone.

So it is an understatement to say you were shocked when he first begged to get his mouth on you… and how much he enjoyed it. Every time he did you’d praise his skill, his eagerness, his urge to please and you’d get paid double the effort, double the delight.

This time was no different, as he dragged his tongue up and down your slit, humming when his lips closed around your aching clit. He was thorough, leaving no spot untouched, tongue dipping into your weepy entrance as he buried his face closer, unashamed and unabashed.

All you can do is moan and scratch his scalp, pulling his hair whenever his cheeks hollow and he suckles harshly against you. Every time Bucky puts his mouth on you, you can’t pick what you like most: when he’s lapping at your entrance with greed or sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but either way your toes curl and you pull him closer as he feasts as if it’s his last meal.

He’s so lost in it at times, he’s almost sloppy in his technique, choosing to lie there and taste your cunt and smell you. You’re lost in the sensations when he lazily probes your entrance before he pushing two of his fingers in and spreading them, exploring you gently, and you swallow back a moan.

“Bucky, please,” you whisper, face scrunching and you bite your lip, one of your heels digging into the couch. You’re begging for him, his body, his cock, because this? This is torture.

Because you haven’t had him in weeks and you feel everything - from the insistent licking of his tongue against your clit to the scissoring of his fingers - and it’s coming quicker than you had expected. He’d been between your legs for all of five minutes, but you’re barely able to take the combination of his eagerness and your needs, all of it stretching the elastic band that is your orgasm farther and farther, until you’re ready to snap.

“I don’t—“ you gulp, trying to push him off with your foot but he grabs you by the ankle with his free hand, icy metal fingers wrapping around your ankle with a tight hold. “I— fuck me, you’re gonna make me c-cum!”

Your words are supposed to deter him - to stop the assault on your swollen cunt, to stop the ballooning of pleasure building deep in your belly from the way his fingers work you - but he presses his face closer, because that’s what he wants. He won’t be able to do this again, not when you’re in a house full of children and heroes and people who can’t seem to understand what privacy is. This is what he wants to hold with him and carry with him when he’s got a long night with you laying by his side, unable to touch you how he so desperately needs, how he’s so sure both of you want. He wants to be able to bite his lip and still find ways to taste you from his memory.

Bucky pulls away with a filthy wet noise, lowering his forehead to your thigh, his voice suddenly raw. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you,” he confessed, his hands gently spreading your thighs further, his touch reverent, as if he couldn’t believe this was finally happening. “I’ve missed being this close to you.” His lips brushed your opening, a smacking kiss making your thighs tremble before he licks deeper, more fervent than the last.

“Me too,” you cry out, hips lifting up towards his mouth, sweat slicking down the back of your neck. The urgency in your body mirrored the way he gripped you tighter, his hands firm around your hips, pulling you closer, never wanting to let go.

“Fuck, Bucky, come on–”, you cry out, both hands shooting down to grab at his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted– I want you in me”, you beg, unabashed, and he groans against you, the vibrations of it pushing you closer to the edge.

“Give me a good one,” he breathes out, pulling away for a second to nuzzle at your clit. “Just one good one and I’ll give you my cock, doll. How’s that?”

It’s a delicate negotiation, but he never falters. Not until you’re biting down hard on the heel of your hand, desperately trying to silence the scream clawing its way up your throat, shaking thighs closing around his head as he brings you to your orgasm, your other hand twisting into the shoulder of his sweater.

His fingers are just as insatiable as his mouth and you’re panting, crying out his name pulling him closer and pushing him away until the waves of pleasure, one after the other, have subsided and your vision - that had gone dark, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids - is less blurry.

“That’s it,” Bucky breathes, teeth closing on the supple skin of your thigh, his chin, nose and lips glistening with your slick. “That’s my girl.”

Your fingers are shaky but insistent as you pull him upwards, profanities leaving your mouth as he drags himself until he’s settled between your spread legs, jean covered cock pressing against your swollen cunt. He’s still wearing the damned sweater and you nearly scratch him raw in your desperate attempt to pull it off, seeking bare skin and intimacy you had been craving.

When he finally pulls it off and settles on top of you, you taste yourself on his tongue, fingers dragging over the expanse of his broad back, the kiss animalistic and unbidden. “God, I love your mouth–”, you confess, heat pinking up your cheeks at the sincerity.

“Just my mouth?”, Bucky questions, muttering against your neck. You can feel his smile on your skin and you can’t but bite into your bottom lip.

“Your stamina too,” you whisper, moaning when he ruts against your core, the shape of his cock clear even under the fabric of his pants. “Cause I’m not done with you”, you shake your head, accepting the kiss he licks into your mouth.

"You’ve waited long enough, doll”, His eyes locked with yours, a playful yet intense look in them, his lips curling into a smile that spoke of things only the two of you understood. “I’m not going to stop now.”

[starboye]

starring: bucky barnes x male reader

request: Hey, can you write a Bucky x bottom male reader smut? Y/N is a crossdresser and shows Bucky his new lingerie.

warnings: smut, sweet pet names, fingering innuendos, cursing

this was buckys favorite time of the week, you had just went out shopping with all your friends and bought home some new sexy clothes to try on and you know you have to give him a walk through of it all, trying and the different clothes and asking for his opinion on it, but it seems todays items were a little different.

"and what's these darling" bucky asks picking up a piece of lacy underwear from the bag before you snatch them away "i'll show you later" you smile skipping your way into the bathroom, bucky could hear you all giggly as you put on the slutty clothes seeing as you might be a little long he sat down on the couch, legs spread wide open waiting for his babyboy.

"so what do you think" you asks walking out in some sultry lingerie that had bucky quickly closing his legs to hide his growing erection "fuckin' hell you're gonna be the death of me darling" bucky muttered taking your hand and spinning you around to admire how the little clothing clung to your body so well before he pulled you onto his lap.

"wait i have to show you the other ones" you try to push off him but he pulls you right back to him and starts kissing your neck "no i wanna get a closer look at this one" bucky says leaving hickeys across your collarbone, his cold metal hand reaching down to grope your ass while his human on kept a tight grip on your neck.

"you look so fuckin' sexy y/n" he says pulling the underwear down to run his metallic fingers over your hole "no bucky not that one" you warn him before he caught his mistake and brought his human hand down to start fingering you open when he felt something wet already there, w-was that lube?

"already ready for me huh baby" bucky chuckles watching how you turn embarrassed as he figures out you wanted him to fuck you "i just need it bucky" you cling to him, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and he gives in, lifting you up slightly to finally free his aching hard cock to you which you instinctively try to touch "nope not this time darling let me take care of it" bucky coos.

he spits into his hand before lathering that on his cock, making sure it's nice and wet before he slides it into your tight hole, sucking him in so easily like a good boy, his hands find their way around your hips and bounce you up and down on his cock, listening to your moan out whimpers and whines as you feel his grip tighten on you.

"fuck bucky" you whine hiding your face in the crook of his neck, the scruffiness of his beard itching at your cheeks, he chuckled as he watch you struggle to handle him as if you guys didn't fuck just before you left today "you like that sweetcheeks" bucky teases you, his movements into you becoming rougher and rougher as he feels his climax creeping up.

"where do you want it" bucky quickly asks, reveling in the sound when you say "inside me daddy" with that whiny little voice making him cum on the spot, heavy breathes leaving both your mouths until bucky finally spoke up "how 'bout you show me that other outfit huh" he said jokingly but you actually did, limping your way to try on the next set of lingerie that would end up the same one that one has.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[bubblessunshinehoney]

Oh well, can't wait to see them at the blood drive hehehe

Love it!!!

All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

“A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello! Could I get a fic about Bucky accidentally finding the reader’s Christmas gifts to him? Maybe he tries (and fails) to act surprised?

Thank you (ps I know it’s after Christmas, sue me)

Aww~ I don't care that it's too late for the holidays. It's cute! Merry Christmas (belated)

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x reader (code name honey)

Content/Warnings: none it’s just goofy holiday fluff

Author Note: merry late Christmas, this may or may not be loosely based in the Fate Stone AU I have brewing. (which since you are my beta reader ;) you already know about it.)

You are a notoriously bad gift giver, Bucky had been warned many times. He didn’t really care. As long as it came from the heart it couldn’t possibly be that bad. He could put up with socks or a cheesy mug as long as it came from you. But this was worse, so much worse. 

“Sam, I don't even know what to do with it.” Bucky rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, confiding in the only other person he knew that wouldn’t immediately tell Honey. “Can I be honest here, it’s hideous.”

Sam was keeping a pretty good poker face over his mug poker but the situation was undeniably funny. “It can’t possibly be that bad.” But Bucky’s mortified face said it all. “Why were you spying on her gift away?”

“I didn’t mean too! Necessarily. She hid it in the bottom of the closet, man. She didn’t even hide it well... I’m a spy, I notice things. Plus it was pretty hard to miss.” The blanket had been tucked away in the back of the walk-in closet under a few other things. But the obnoxious colors of the corner peeking out from under the folded jeans had caught his eyes. They didn’t own anything in orange. Anything.  

His honey had gotten him a blanket, which would normally have been so very sweet seeing how Bucky hated being cold, but it wasn’t just a blanket. It was one of those viral blankets, the ones that are loosely based on 70’s rock band merch with lighting and thunder clouds rolling in the background. It’s featured pictures of Alpine, every goofy spastic picture of the cat that his girl could find with her name in the boldest font Bucky had ever seen. Honestly it hurt his eyes, and as Bucky went about describing it to Sam the other man damn near fell out of his chair. 

“That is perfect. No really I think she might be a genius. I’m gonna need a video of you opening that one.” Sam goaded.

“You're not helping.” Bucky growls, guilt twisting in his guts like a worm, but Sam was too busy laughing to try and give a shit. “How am I gonna act surprised now? Let alone be excited?”

“I don’t dude, I guess you need to start taking an acting class.” Sam wiped the tears from his eyes.

~~~~

Bucky watched with crinkled eyes as you opened your gifts from him. A nice wool winter coat because all you owned was a puffer, and while it was adorable on you and always kept you warm you always said you wanted something dressier for date night. And in your stocking an assortment of your favorite treats, skin care you were low on, and that perfume that you had been drooling over since October but always talked yourself out of because of the price tag. Bucky had been making a list since your birthday, keeping tabs on what you lingered on in stores and what you sighed at as you scrolled. He knew his girl and he knew her well. And the way you lit up with every item told him he hit it out of the park. 

“Do you like it Honey?” he asked, his chin propped on his hand. His face couldn’t have been softer or voice more full of love as he watched you glow with joy. 

“I love it. How did you even know what eye cream I use?” 

“It wasn't that hard doll.” Bucky laughed, it sits in a clear box on your vanity of course he knows. 

“Here! Open yours.” You hand him his stocking and the present wrapped in pretty silver paper, looking so excited you may vibrate across the floor. He plastered on his best game face as his stomach did a little flip. Do not ruin this for her Barnes. 

He starts with the stocking. Pulling out body wash and a cologne scented with that smoky bourbon and apple scent you were fond of, along with a small batch roasted coffee and some new gloves. So far so good, and he made sure to kiss you. “I love it honey.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t opened your big one.” you say with a twinkle in your eyes that makes him wanna melt into the floor. Should he tell her, confess he saw it? Risk it and pretend he loves it? 

“You’re right I haven’t.” he corrects himself with a smile picking up the package. It was instantly heavier than he remembered and as he tears open the package he has a brief (very guilty) moment of hoping that maybe he was wrong…

But no there it is. That hideous blanket that he knows instantly from the look on your face he is gonna end up snuggling under for the rest of time just to see you smile the way you are right in this moment. He opened his mouth to tell you thanks as genuinely as he could muster but honey was already biting her bottom lip. A fit of giggles falling out of her. “You already saw it didn’t you!” she managed to get out between chitters. 

“What?! No- I…” 

A pillow from the couch flew at his head. “I knew you would. You little sneak, you do this every year!” Honey chastised as Bucky dodged another swing with the pillow. 

“Hey! Whoa!” Bucky's arms go up in a weak attempt at blocking her little onslaught. “I didn’t mean too!”

“Bullshit James Buchanan!” thump, a hit to his ribs. “You did it on your birthday.” Whack, a bump to the top of his head. “You somehow sniffed out the tickets I bought to Coney Island.” one more swing but this time Bucky caught the pillow, pulling you into his lap with it. 

“I did not do it on purpose!” he defended, but he was beaming. Eyes crinkling in the corner as she glared playfully. “I didn’t!” 

“Yeah, you just somehow stumbled upon the blanket I hid under the laundry in the back of our closet.”

“I was looking for my coat!” 

“On the ground?”

Bucky was caught, because yes he had been looking. He always did. The man couldn’t help it, he always was just too curious. “Yea, I thought so you little rat! Do you like it?” she asks earnestly. And Bucky feels that gnawing feeling again, trying not to let it show on his face. 

“It’s… super fluffy.” he tries to deflect, hating to lie to honey, but her face is already breaking into a grin. What the hell?

“You hate it.” she beams. “It’s hideous huh?”

Bucky frowns, slouching back in his chair. Did she want him to hate it. “Uh, yeah it is..” 

“Good thing it’s not your actual present huh.” 

Bucky's eyes narrow. “You little-” She did this on purpose, hid the most outrageous thing she could find just to punish him for spoiling presents. Clever girl. Weeks of fretting over how he was gonna pull this off and SHE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. With a giggle honey climbs off his lap and back behind the couch, pulling out a slim package from the cavern behind, and Bucky’s face nearly splits in half. 

“Here. Merry Christmas.” She offers him the parcel with a kiss, sitting in his lap as he unwraps it, and he feels his heart flutter a little. It’s a scrapbook. Full of pictures of him, her, Alpine and their friends. Taken by everyone who has known them the last few years. There isn’t a lot, he doesn’t like taking pictures, preferring to take them. So she must have scoured their friends' phones to find all of these and Bucky can feel tear picking the backs of his eyes. Good tears. 

“Thank you Honey. I love it. I love you…”

[elixirfromthestars]

I had been meaning to get to these comments sooner, but the holidays had me so busy that it took me a minute 🥺🩷

Grace!!! 🥹🩷 You precious sweetheart, thank you so much for all these lovely comments 🤧🩷🩷 This fic is one I’m most proud of, so to see other people love it as much as I do makes me so happy!! 🥰❤️

I couldn’t get enough of this Bucky and when I saw your Smutty September Fest, I just knew I had to write a part two 📝✨ Like after those kisses in the tent, a steamier night was inevitable!! 👀💗

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this fic 🫶🏼💕and thank you again for leaving me with the most delightful reactions to treasure!! 🥰❤️

A Night of Frights & Delights

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can’t stand is also there?

Word Count: 7k

Warning(s): slight horror themes / suggestive tones + implications / mentions of a past murder (not in graphic detail just campfire storytelling) / slow burn / suspense + other elements of spookiness / touch starved elements / be prepared for lots of back and forth + tension

Prompt: Campsite + forced proximity + “ It’s not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we’ve gotta have a full moon too?”

a/n: here’s my entry for @witchywithwhiskey ‘s summer slasher writing challenge. Any chance to celebrate summerween and I’m there 🤭✨ I got carried away with the spooky element of it and this ended up longer than expected. Thank you for reading! 🧡 Feedback is always appreciated!! 🎃🧡

a steamy part two ❤️‍🔥

“ It’s Friday the 13th! Gather ‘round, for some good ol’ scary campfire stories!” Sam Wilson called out to anyone who would listen. A task that wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for when all the college students in the area were trying to have their last bit of fun before fall semester started. Amongst the ones that weren’t already drunk or passed out, a few were trying to find the perfect opportunity to sneak away into the night.

You on the other hand sat near the bonfire, appreciating the warmth it provided on this chilly night. Your back was resting against a log. The scratchy surface grazes against your black sweater at the slightest movement. Camping wasn’t your ideal choice for a weekend getaway, but when your best friend Jane insisted on you coming along it was hard to say no. Especially, since you had already said no to multiple get-togethers throughout the summer. 

It’s not like you didn’t want to hang out with her. The issue was that wherever she was her boyfriend was—and wherever he was his friends were. And his friends included one smartass star pitcher for your university’s baseball team who made it his life’s mission to be a thorn in your side. 

Needless to say, you couldn’t stand the man.

“ It was actually 1982, not 1985,” Jane whispers her comment to you, nudging your arm lightly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, your clueless eyes meeting her amused ones. 

“ You’re not paying attention to Sam’s story, are you?” She quietly calls you out, leaning slightly closer. You shake your head sheepishly,“ No. Kind of got lost in thought,” you admit. Jane nods in acknowledgment,“ You’re not missing much. He’s just telling the story of the murders that happened here in ‘82,” she explains. You nod slowly, an eerie chill creeping up your spine. Everyone within fifty miles of the town knew of the horrific crime. It was the worst the town had ever seen. 

A group of teenagers had snuck off into the woods to party a week before their senior graduation. They brought their camping gear to spend the night under the full moon to celebrate the milestone. They had gone so deep into the woods no one heard their music blasting all night. 

No one heard their screams either as their life was taken from them. 

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tracing random patterns into the dirt beneath you. Even though you could recite this story from memory it was different hearing it told in gruesome detail. Something Sam was not shying away from doing. 

“ Don’t let Sam’s story get to you—here have a s’more,” Thor spoke up, handing you a small disposable plate with a freshly assembled s’more. His way of trying to comfort you. 

“ Thanks,” you shot Thor an appreciative smile, taking the sweet treat. Jane’s boyfriend had always been kind to you and you got along well. The mutual friendliness extended to all of his baseball friends.

Well, the friendliness extended to all his friends except for one.  

“ He’s telling it wrong anyway, so don’t pay it any mind,” Jane says causing you to let out a small laugh. Leave it to Jane to alleviate your nerves by just being herself. 

You try to drown out Sam’s true crime retelling and focus on the sugary gooeyness on your lap. Jane and Thor snuggle into each other beside you and a small smile appears on your face at the sight. You take a bite of the s’more, letting the flavors melt into your mouth. 

“ The next morning the cops led a search party into these very woods. Everyone searched day and night for three days straight. Scouting every inch, no stone unturned, to find them. And then one day, one member of the search party found something. That member being my Titi—so listen close,” Sam sets up the big reveal. 

“ Wanna know what they found?” A voice you know all too well whispers into your ear from behind. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his breath fans your ear. 

“ I already know,” you grit out, turning your head to glare at him. Bucky can’t help the cocky grin that overcomes him when you look at him like that. He makes his way over the log and sits right next to you. You don’t hide the displeasure on your face. 

“ Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy, James?” 

 “ None worth my time, sweetheart—and it's Bucky.” 

You roll your eyes biting back a snarky comment. No matter the number of times he insists on you calling him by his nickname, you refuse to. Only his friends call him Bucky, and you're not friends—far from it. So to you, he’s James and nothing more. 

“ We’re not friends, James. Friends don’t make you miss your biology final,” you remind him bitterly. He looks at you with slight disbelief,“ You’re still stuck on that? How is it my fault the party went until four in the morning?” You bristle at his defensiveness. 

“ I don’t know. Maybe by not kicking everyone out of your apartment?” you retort, taking another bite of your s’more. Hoping to lose yourself in the sweetness of it before the distaste of his presence taints it. 

“ At least the professor let you make it up…” he mutters under his breath. 

“ That’s not the point,” you snip, unable to let him have the last word. You pretend to focus on Sam’s story, but really your attention is on the flames in front of you. The way they dance and crackle as if telling their own story alongside Sam’s. 

Bucky stares at you, his eyes scanning every detail of your face. His favorite pastime is finding all the ways to push your buttons. There’s something about your reactions that he can’t help but want to see more of. He openly enjoys being the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Hell, you could say he was proud of it. 

“ Stop it.” 

“ Stop what?” 

“ The staring.” 

“ Don't want to.” 

You turn to give him a piece of your mind but abruptly stop when you see the way he’s looking at you—or more so the way he’s examining your lips. His eyes reflecting more than just the golden flames in the bonfire. There was something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar. He had looked at you this way before, and yet it was still unrecognizable to you. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint, but that was heartstopping nonetheless. 

His hand lifts to your face, his thumb brushing away at something on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue instinctively darts out to lick your lips and remove whatever remnants of the s’more are left. Something unreadable flashes in his eyes. You wonder what he must be seeing in yours when his eyes drift from your lips to your gaze. 

“ You had a little something there,” his voice has a deeper cadence to it, contrasting the cheeky grin plastered on his face. That damn grin. It’s all you need to snap out of whatever trance you were just in. 

“ You’re insufferable,” you hiss out, getting up from your spot on the ground and stepping away from the bonfire. You hate how he does this—how easily he’s able to mess with you. It’s like it's his second nature to know exactly how to get a reaction from you. Almost as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

The vulnerability of it all is what ground your gears the most. Bucky was used to this. The flirting, the back and forth, the teasing, and having girls wrapped around his finger. The last time you were in a relationship was your freshman year of college—a few years ago. It had been too long of being touch-starved that the slightest of touches or gazes brought about a yearning deep within you. One that you swore Bucky could see right through and it made you detest the man more. 

You hated feeling like you were being toyed with. But above all, you hated how much you actually didn’t hate the attention he gave you. 

You make your way over to one of the many trashcans around the campsite and dump the last bits of your s’more in along with the disposable plate. Your appetite for the treat long gone after his little stunt. 

You use your phone as a flashlight as you walk over to where all the tents are stationed. It’s not too far from the bonfire, but far enough that the voices of everyone drown out into a low hum. A few people are already in the tents enjoying the night without the warmth of the fire. 

“ Y/n! Hold up!” Jane calls out to you from behind. You face her confused expression, “ Everything okay?” You nod, your hands hiding in the pockets of your grey sweatpants,“ Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna call it a night,” you say tiredly. You don’t want her to worry or keep her from enjoying her night. 

“ Okay…Are you sure? Because you seemed off after Bucky—” 

“ Please for the love of everything don’t mention him.”

Jane drops the subject entirely, “ Okay, okay. I won’t,” she assures you and pauses for a moment before she adds, “ By the way, I’ll be staying with Thor tonight, so you have our tent all to yourself.” 

“ Oh? Oh…behave yourself, Foster,” you warn her playfully. She rolls her eyes waving off your tease,“ No promises.” You laugh together—the exchange alleviating the heaviness in your shoulders.

After a light farewell, your best friend retreats to the bonfire. You find your eyes drifting from her figure to the back of Bucky’s head. He’s still sitting in the same spot, right next to where you had sat. He was drinking away at a beer as Sam continues his story. You look away, ignoring the way your heart feels a small pang as it wonders if it would have been so bad if you had stayed.

Only Bucky had this way of infuriating you, but enticing you at the same time. A magnetic push and pull that tugs at you whenever you’re near him. 

You crouch down and unzip your humble abode for the night. Gazing up at the sky before heading in. The moon is bright and full amongst the dark hazy clouds. 

“ It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too?” you grumble before entering the tent. The knowledge of being in here alone all night sounds less appealing now. You wish Sam had told a different story to set the mood for tonight. 

For the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in your sketchbook. Every corner of the tent became your makeshift desk as the soft scratches of graphite filled the air. A small LED lantern casting just enough glow to guide your intricate curves and shadows across the paper. At first, you were sketching a flower you had seen earlier in the day along a trail. You don’t recognize the species, but the cluster of pretty violet petals vividly lived in your head and you wanted it forever memorialized in your sketchbook. 

At some point, however, the petals turn into doodles and then unrecognizable scribbles. The creative flow taking a life of its own. You soon find yourself drawing a pair of eyes on another page. Giving them a space of their own. These eyes you recognize deep down, but they still have the same unreadable expression from earlier. Almost as if you hoped to decipher it by putting it on paper. 

Maybe then it would be easier to look at them without being affected—without feeling that pull. 

There’s a loud thump that echoes close to your tent. You freeze at the sound. By this point, everyone had called it a night and retreated to their sleeping arrangements. It had been at least half an hour that you hadn’t heard a single sound except for the chirping of crickets amongst a chorus of other creepy crawlers. 

When no sound followed the thump you decided to ignore it—acting like you hadn’t heard a thing. And yet, your fingers swiftly moved to turn off the lantern and close your sketchbook, neatly tucking it beneath your pillow. 

Another noise rang out—the skidding of dirt. And this time it was closer to your tent. Not directly outside it, but almost. You don’t know why your heart dropped or why your fingertips went cold, but they did. You tell yourself it’s probably just someone going out to use the bathroom or some other related activity. 

Your body betrayed your mind as it started to feel enclosed in the tent. Like a prey caught in a trap. Hopelessly awaiting the moment the predator decided to take them out. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and with numb fingers, you grab your phone. The tent shrinking around you as your heart pounded in your chest. Going out to investigate the source of the noise wasn't the smartest idea. However, continuing to be a sitting duck in the tent was distressing you more—and that helpless feeling overpowered anything else. 

You slowly unzip the tent, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. You slip on your moccasins, putting one foot in front of the other as you step out into the night. Your surroundings are cast in shadows as the moon seems to be hiding behind a gloomy cluster of clouds. You look around and notice no one else is awake. Only dormant tents with sleeping residents inside accompany you in the night. 

You scan the area, training your ear to see if you can pick up any noise. 

That’s when you hear it—a rustling in the bushes. 

You peer into the woods, your eyes narrowing hoping to center on something, but you can’t see anything. There’s a slight fog that encases the lines of trees encircling the campsite obstructing your view. 

You take a few steps forward, hugging your sweater closer to your body. The outside air catches you off guard with its falling degrees. The shadows at every corner of the woods become creatures of the night if you stare at them for too long. 

Why were you doing this? Why had you decided this was a good idea? 

You questioned yourself. An unpleasant shiver goes up your spine at the thought of you walking straight into a creature’s claws. Your footing stumbled, and yet you found yourself walking further in the direction of the sound, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your path. You decided against using the actual flashlight on your phone as it could easily alert whatever was hiding in the foliage of the woods. 

You don’t go too far from the campsite. Your legs only take you a few feet away from the perimeter of it before tensing at the way the hoot of an owl cuts through the stillness of the night. Your breath caught in your throat, and you gripped your phone tighter. The edges of it digging into your skin. 

“ What are we looking for?” A voice too close for comfort whispers behind you and it causes you to shriek, your phone tumbling to the ground as you jump away from the source. Your eyes zero in on the culprit—your blood boiling when your gaze meets his ceruleans. 

James Buchanan fucking Barnes.

A deep chuckle erupts from Bucky at your reaction. Not only at the way you jumped, but also at the way you’re now seething. He stands there in a basic white tee and black joggers, his hair slightly unkempt from lying on it earlier in the night. 

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss, bending down to pick up your phone from the ground. The anxiety from before dissipating into irritation. 

“ Me? What’s up with you? Sneaking around in the woods at night. That’s kinda creepy, sweetheart,” he jabs with a smirk. You roll your eyes, exhaling to steady your breath,“ Stop calling me that. And I'm not sneaking around—I heard something.” 

“ And you came to check it out?” 

“ Yeah.”

“ You have no survival instincts, do you?”

“ And you do? You're out here too.”

Bucky crosses his arms, his eyes roaming over your figure. He’s thoroughly entertained by your attempt to catch whatever is out there in your cozy outfit. It’s not exactly monster-hunting material. 

“ I let my buddy have the tent for the night. He’s got a girl in there. Thought I'd sleep under the stars like nature intended,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. A wry smile appears on your face,“ Aren’t you a great friend,” you reply sarcastically. He’s about to give you a snippy retort when a branch breaks ahead of you, causing you both to snap your attention to it. 

You both go silent—wondering if you’ll hear anything more. Bucky takes a few steps forward to stand in front of you. Positioning himself between you and the unknown noise. 

“ Is that what you heard earlier?” He asks, his voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes drift up his form and the way his arm is slightly outstretched in your direction in a protective stance. He’s looking in the direction of where the sound came from, but then his head turns back to look at you. 

It takes you a second to gather your words,“ Sort of. At first there was like a loud thud by my tent and then some rustling—and now this,” you describe the unfolding events thus far.

He frowns,“ Is your tent the one by Wanda’s?”At his question you nod,“ Yeah…why?” He tilts his head slightly as he tries to recollect something. 

“ The two-person one with the purple edges?” 

“ Yeah…” 

His features soften, dawning on a sheepish expression. His protective stance faltering as he scratches the back of his neck,“ The noise was me then—sorry. I tripped over something while looking for a place to piss.” 

“ Oh…” Is all you manage to say. Feeling utterly foolish for getting so worked up over nothing. What you had thought was something going bump in the night ended up being Bucky stumbling to relieve himself. 

Another branch cracks in the murky fog. Reminding you that although the noises you heard outside your tent were explained, the ones here, not too far from you and Bucky—weren’t. 

“ I’m gonna go check it out,” he takes a step forward, but you stop him. Your hand shoots out to grip the hem of his shirt,“ Don’t! Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed or something!”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting you to have that reaction.“ Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” A smirk spreads across his face, a twinkle in his eye.“ As if—screw you,” you deny harsher than you intended, removing your hold from his shirt. This only provokes him more, his smirk turning into a cheeky grin,“ You wanna?” 

“ You know what? I hope whatever is out there gets you.” 

“ Oh, you’d miss me if it did. But don’t worry—if it gets me, I’ll make sure to let it know you’re the one worth chasing." 

Bucky doesn’t give you a second to process what his words really mean. Instead, he takes out a small flashlight from the pocket of his joggers. He turns it on, shining the area ahead of him. A brazen expression is the last thing you see before he wanders into that direction of the woods as if there wasn’t potentially something dangerous up ahead. 

You wanted to protest, but you didn’t. Rather, you end up standing there amongst the wilderness, watching as his form gets smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of the fog. 

You feel uneasy as soon as you don’t see him. Your chest feels heavy with the unknown. You call out to him. Thinking maybe he’s doing this to prove something or to mess with you. When he doesn’t call back you find apprehension in the sinking pit of your stomach. 

Behind you, the campsite is still in sight. The smart thing to do would be to go wake someone up—like Thor—to go after Bucky. However, your feet work faster than your mind does, pushing you to follow after him. 

This time you use the flashlight on your phone to light your path. The luminescence cuts through the fog as you trudge through it. Leaves crunching beneath your feet, and hands outstretched lightly to use the passing trees as support to persist onward. 

You walk for a good few minutes before you finally spot him. He’s standing by a tall pine tree, his right hand tracing over something etched into the bark. 

“ James! Come back to the campsite!” You whisper yelled, approaching him. He hummed,“ So you are worried about me,” the smugness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When he turns to face you his eyes tell you he was expecting you. Like he knew in the end your stubbornness and pride wouldn’t matter because you’d end up following after him after all.

You are worried about him. He needs no further proof than your actions. 

There was a prickling of annoyance building up in your system. More than anything, you wanted to get out of the woods as soon as possible. The campsite feels like a haven awaiting your return. 

“ Can you stop being so insufferably cocky for one second and just come back to the camp before I drag your ass back?” You say through gritted teeth. You wanted to have more bark to your bite, but the inkling dread of what could be out here stopped you from crossing that line. 

He stepped closer to you, the glow of his flashlight reflecting in his eyes in tiny glimmers,“ Why? I thought you didn't care if ‘whatever is out there’ got me.”

“ I don’t—but I’d hate to be an accomplice to that thing.” 

“ Admit it. You’re worried about me.”

By now Bucky was mere inches away from you. Having slowly sauntered right up to you. His eyes were daring you to speak the truth—his arrogant smile tempting you to do even more. 

“ I came to get you back, but if you’re determined to stay here then stay,” you huff, spinning on your heels to storm off. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out and encloses your wrist gently. Just enough to keep you from walking away. He sighs with defeated ire. 

“ Sweetheart, why won't you admit—” he’s cut off by the swift movement of something dashing past the both of you. He immediately pulls you in closer, his arms encasing you protectively—his body a shield. One arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your head. Your own body leans into his as if bracing for impact. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the culprit of the racket. A deer dashing through the woods like it had somewhere to be. You held back a laugh at the revelation. 

This is what had you so worried this whole time? A deer? 

Even so, your heart races in your chest. And Bucky has you so tightly pressed into his that you can feel the way his own heart is thrumming rapidly. Both of your breaths work to steady from their instability as you realize there is nothing truly to be worried about. 

You stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Finding comfort in each other’s arms. The fog dances around your figures as if pushing you closer. The tips of your fingers tingle from where they’re pressed at his chest. 

When you finally register whose touch it is, you pull away. Bucky reluctantly lets you go. His arms awkwardly falling to his sides. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

Why was his instinct to protect you? To keep you from harm’s way? 

And why had you felt the safest all night in his arms? 

You swallow the questions that desire to escape. There’s a part of you that feels like you should thank him, but then the other part feels stupid for wanting to do so. Knowing how much it would feed his ego to vindicate him as a hero. 

“ Guess it was just a deer, huh?” Bucky tries to cut through whatever tension is starting to build. 

“ Yeah…silly us…” you reply, half-heartedly. Your mind still reeling from his touch. 

You both go quiet again. The silence welcomes you where words fail to. 

Out of nowhere, you feel a tiny bead land on your head. Followed by one on your hand and then your cheek. It's beginning to drizzle. The rain cutting through the trees and promising to kiss every inch of your skin. 

“ We should get going,” Bucky says, his palm cupped to catch a few droplets. 

“ Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree, clearing your throat. In other circumstances, Bucky would rejoice and point out how, for once, you aren’t arguing with him. But not right now—not at this moment. Not when the memory of holding each other stirred something within you both. 

No, now instead you walk back to the campsite in silence. You’re a few steps ahead as Bucky decides to tow along at a slower pace. Seemingly lost in thought. 

When you’re back at the campsite your eyes dart to your tent. It’s within reach. A safety you can hideout in until the emotions Bucky arose in you fade away.  

“ Can I chill in your tent for a while? Just until the rain stops,” Bucky surprises you with his request. Until you remember he gave up his tent to his friend for the night. 

“ What? No,” your response is immediate. The thought of you and Bucky alone in your tent causes many scenarios to run through your head. You didn’t think you’d make it through the night with him in it. You were barely hanging on as it is. 

“ I just saved your life.” 

“ You did not.”

“ Did too.” 

“ James, you absolutely did not–” 

“ Please,” his soft plea tugs at the very part of you that wants to say yes. He’s not the kind of guy to beg, but he’ll do anything to not stand out in the cold rain. You being in an enclosed space with him was just a bonus. 

An extremely tantalizing bonus. 

“ Fine…but only until the rain stops,” you concede. You weren’t heartless enough to leave him out in the rain. 

You zip open the tent and climb inside. You remove your moccasins and leave them by the entrance. The inside is spacious enough for the two of you, but you still find yourself going into the furthest right corner of it. You sit crossed-legged as you turn on the small LED lantern to illuminate the tent with its muted glow. He makes his way inside, his hair glistening from the rain. He leaves his muddied slides by your moccasins. 

“ This tent is way nicer than the one Sam and I got,” he comments, running a hand through his hair to dispel the droplets. He’s trying to make light conversation, keeping his distance as he sits in the corner by the entrance diagonally from you. 

“ Jane’s family is really into camping so she had this one laying around…” you mention. The oddity of small talk between you fills the space with a foreign dynamic. The rain goes from a sprinkle to a pour. Hitting the top of the fabric cacoon in harsh strokes.  

He chooses to pivot the conversation.“ Do you have everything ready for fall semester?” He asks you, maneuvering to sit with his knees bent, his shirt hiking up the smallest bit to expose the skin at his hips. You avert your gaze when your heart does a little flip. 

“ Almost. I still have one or two textbooks to get,” you reply, playing with a few loose threads of the blanket beneath you. Anything to not have your eyes wander back to him. 

He scoffs lightly,“ You already got your textbooks? There’s no way. I always get ‘em after the first week.” Unlike you, he can’t seem to keep his pretty blues away from you. Your features heightened in the gentle sheen of the lantern. Intricate shadows scattered across your figure that made you look ethereal. The way his heart hammered in his chest romanticizing the sight of you.

“ That's because I’m responsible and you’re not.” 

“ I am responsible. As captain of the baseball team—”

“ Spare me the team leader speech, please,” you groan, stopping him from continuing. There’s only so much you can take for one night. And hearing Bucky light up as he talks about the one thing he’s passionate about—the one thing that humanizes him to you beyond his usual cheeky self. It would do more to you than just make your heart do a little flip.

You’d end up saying or doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“ Look, Y/n, I’m just trying to make conversation here. You don’t have to be so difficult all the time. Just talk to me,” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts not only by his exasperated tone, but by the way your name rolls off his tongue. He so rarely calls you by it. He’s called you sweetheart endlessly—and he’s even slipped a few sunshines in the mix—but your name was foreign to his vocabulary.  

 Bucky is usually good at dealing with your constant back and forth. Some days it's the only thing he looks forward to. However, right now it was irritating him how much you pushed back. He wanted you to give in. To what, he wasn’t sure. But he wondered what normalcy felt like with you—what just a damn friendly conversation felt like. 

You sigh, meeting his eyes.“ I don’t want to talk. Sorry, I think I’m just tired. Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, hoping that if he says yes you can sleep away the bubbling of emotions in your chest. 

You can see the way he contemplates something, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Now he’s the one holding back. A beat passes and you nervously wonder if he’ll turn down your suggestion. 

“ Fine—it's late anyway. But only if I get to sleep next to you. I promise I’ll keep my distance. It’s just there’s water leaking through the zipper at the entrance,” he mentions, his hand motioning to the entry. Your eyes dart to where he’s pointing and sure enough there’s a small puddle of water pooling by it. Not knowing how long the rain would continue, you knew you had to deal with the issue.

You grab Jane’s camping gear that holds numerous amount of supplies in all of its various pockets. She always came extra prepared no matter the occasion. You take out a washcloth, scooting over to the entrance to soak up the forming puddle. You decide to leave it there neatly tucked underneath where the water was finding its way in.

“ Alright, but if you snore I'm kicking you out,” you warn, but it’s more playful than serious. Something to lighten the mood before you go to bed. A way to dissipate whatever tension’s built up so you'd be able to fall asleep. 

It’s hard to cut through the tension and alleviate its symptoms when your shelter from the storm seems to shrink the more you chat with Bucky. And now sitting right next to him—shoulder to shoulder—it seems like a damn near impossible task. 

" I’ll take my chances. But just so you know, I don’t go down without a fight,” he winks at you, your shoulders brushing. Your heart rate picks up and it takes everything within you to stare into his eyes and not focus on the way that simple contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

His eyes drift to your lips causing your breath to hitch. The implications of where this could go are enough to pull you away from his spell. 

“ Goodnight,” you choke out. Subtly rushing over to your sleeping bag and settling into it. You don’t see when he shakes his head, but you do hear how he chuckles lowly. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t pick it up. 

He makes his way over to Jane’s sleeping bag, but lays on top of it instead of nestling into it. Choosing to cover himself only in the maroon fleece blanket that was draped over your body too. 

“ Goodnight,” he finally says, his body turning to face away from you. You respond by turning off the lantern. The space is now engulfed by darkness. Only the faintest of light shines in from the outside, letting your eyes trace the outlines of objects. 

 You turn to your side. Your back facing his. You take a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the rain to hopefully lull you into a slumber. But the air felt too thick and your body was burning up from the heat radiating under the blanket. There was a good foot or so separating your body and Bucky’s. And yet, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as if he was pressed up right against you. 

It was too much. You swore you started sweating, so you shuffled under the covers and out of the sleeping bag. Every movement slow and deliberate as if to not snap the rope keeping the palpable tension in place. 

When only the plush fleece covered your body, the heat radiated less. But the fluttering of the blanket caused Bucky’s cologne to waft your way. A pleasant scent of musky woodiness with a hint of something that was entirely him. You gripped the cover tightly and counted to ten in your head. You were going mad. 

“ Would you stop hogging the blanket? ” Bucky muttered from beside you. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you to stop doing. Because you and your constant fidgeting were driving him crazy. Every fiber of his being holding back from doing something to snap that rope. 

You didn’t realize you had been pulling it your way until he mentioned it. Your grip on it loosened,“ Sorry. I wasn’t hogging it though,” you argued for no reason other than to fill the silence. 

“ Yes, you were.” 

“ No, I wasn’t.” 

There was something about the proximity of your bodies that made the blanket seem smaller. Like there was no possible way it could equally cover both of your sleeping forms. Maybe this is what caused you to then tug at it, however, he holds it firmly to himself too.  

Persistently you pull at the blanket again. He pulls back—a tug of war ensues between you. You can hear him huff in the darkness, but you're not letting up. Bucky couldn't care less about the blanket. He only cared about not letting you get the upper hand. His competitive streak showing.  

While you solely really didn’t want to let him win. 

You wrap the end of the blanket around yourself—almost like a cacoon. The delicate fleece encases you. Leaving the bare minimum amount for Bucky to cover himself with. 

“ You have got to be one of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my goddamn life,” he practically growls as he yanks forcefully on the blanket. A tiny yelp escapes you as you get pulled along with it. 

You underestimated the strength of the star pitcher. 

You end up on top of him. The blanket now an extra cushy barrier between your bodies. In the dim light, your eyes lock, and you can faintly see the outline of a boyish grin on his face. You don’t move away. There’s like an invisible force that keeps you there. Your body pressed against his feeling his warmth tenfold. You can’t tell if either of you are breathing because all you're aware of now is how his heart beats in time with yours. 

“ You’re insufferable you know that?” you swallow hard, your voice lacking its usual bite.

“ You sure about that, sweetheart?” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushing against yours with feather-light contact.

When had your lips gotten so close? 

You don’t know who leans in first. The one who finally breaks the standoff because your lips seem to meet at the same time. The kiss is sweet, but with a slight hesitance to it. As if neither of you are completely sure the other wants this. Or more like neither of you believes this is happening. However, when his hands grip the back of your thighs, sliding your legs from on top of him to his sides so you straddle him—you believe it. And when your hands find themselves threading in his hair—he believes it. 

One kiss that tests the waters turns into one that slowly sinks into the feeling. Until the two of you fully submerge into the depths of whatever has been simmering between you for what seems like too long. Delicate kisses that get more heated—more intense as your lips continue to meet. Bucky beams at the fact that you’re no longer pushing, but pulling into him. His craving for you only increasing now that he’s had a taste. 

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, slow and gentle. Asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Bucky Barnes isn’t the type to be slow and gentle—but when it comes to you he finds himself wanting to relish every second he gets. Not knowing when he’ll get another moment like this with you again. 

Your lips part enough for him to slip his tongue in to truly kiss you like he wanted to. As soon as you grant access he takes full opportunity to explore every corner of your mouth. His tongue molding with yours in fervor. Your fingers lightly tug at his hair while his hands roam your body memorizing every curve and dip. Wherever he gripped and caressed, his touch left heat in its wake. 

A heat you had to contain before it consumed you both. 

“ If you think you’re getting lucky tonight—think again. This is the most you’ll get,” You say breathlessly, pulling away to help your lungs remember what oxygen is. 

He groans, breath panting, the outline of his pout evident in the dim light,“ Don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Can’t leave me like this.” His voice a desperate whine that allured you to keep going. 

“ Too bad. You're dreaming if you think this is going any further.” 

“ God, you don’t wanna know what I've dreamed about.” 

“ Shut up,” you cut off his groan with another kiss. Fierce enough to silence him immediately. He hopes you shut him up like this more often. 

Your lips meet again in a hasty lock. No hesitation now as your tongues meet quicker. You seem to be obsessed with his hair as you run your fingers through it again. He shivers at the touch. His hands slide under your sweater to trail along your soft skin. Keeping his hands along your back and waist. Teetering around the boundary you drew, so he didn’t get carried away. But it was hard when kissing you felt as good as throwing the perfect game—maybe even better.

He realizes the emotions you bring out of him are worth a lifetime waiting for.

He pulls away this time to catch his breath, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face,“ I’m in no rush, sweetheart. I’ve got all the time in the world to take it all the way—make you fall for me.” 

You hum, leaning into his touch,“ You seem sure of yourself. ”

His voice is rough yet affectionate when he speaks,“ I’m sure of you, sweetheart. You’re worth every second, and I’m not stopping until you see it too.” 

He gives you one final tender kiss. One that's full of promise for the future. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the meaning in the kiss that stole your breath away. 

After a few seconds, you both pull away. Separating your bodies from each other to provide that much-needed space before lines were crossed.

“ Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you would keep your hands and lips to yourself come tomorrow. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you called him by his nickname. Bringing a genuine smile to his face, loving the way it sounded coming from you. 

“ Goodnight, Y/n.”

Even after saying goodnight, the two of you can’t fall asleep immediately. You try to, but there are small moments in the night where you drift back to each other. Where in the darkness your lips meet again and again—satiating the tension in parts. Where your hands find themselves under the covers and layers of clothing. Flaming the fans of desire just enough so it doesn’t completely burn out, but smoldering to be reignited at any moment’s chance. 

You don’t realize when you fall asleep. Your eyelids growing heavy at some point tangled up in his body under the covers. Your face in the crook of his neck. His head resting on top of yours. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces like they were meant to be connected in every way. 

It’s not until that morning when you wake up and find yourself in his arms, snuggled into his side, that the events of last night sink in. You pull away the tiniest bit. Merely enough to be able to get a look at him. The brown strands of his hair tousled and clinging to his forehead. The slope of his nose, his dark lashes fanned delicately against his skin, and the tiniest parting of his lips. He looks peaceful—almost angelic as he slumbers. 

You’re itching to sketch the image in front of you. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the strands at his forehead. It’s enough to have his eyes flutter open, their color brighter in the daylight. He gives you a lazy smile the instant he realizes last night wasn’t a dream and you really were here, nestled in his arms. 

No words were exchanged, but both of you were conscious of the line you had drawn last night. And yet, you both also knew that in time, that line would be crossed again and again. Until the line blurred into oblivion.

[navybrat817]

Season of Giving

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: A small glimpse at your first holiday with Bucky.

Word Count: Over 500

Warnings: Fluff, small insecurities, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: A quick thing inspired by an anon ask. Continuing with Moving in Slow Motion, Heart and Home, and (Im)Patiently Waiting! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You spend the morning with Sweet Pea in matching pajamas as she opens gifts. The matching pajama tradition began when she was a baby and you’re happy she still wants to do it.

You make breakfast as she plays with some of her new toys, and you hang up the new calendar she made on the fridge. You also put the snowglobe she made on your desk, complete with her picture inside.

Sweet Pea shares some of her stocking candy with you and when you ask her why she says it’s because it's the season of giving and sharing. You’re raising her right.

And being the season of giving, you hope you’ve given her enough. She doesn't get gifts from her dad or that side of the family, so you always do your best to give her a nice holiday.

It’s more than enough, even if you doubt yourself now and again.

Bucky invites you over for the afternoon. He doesn't want to interrupt your morning time with your daughter.

You two decide to make holiday treats for Bucky because you don't want to show up empty handed. Sweet Pea also makes a homemade card and paints a coffee mug for him, which becomes his new favorite.

You can't help but smile when you see Bucky in a nice sweater that matches his blue eyes because he looks so handsome. For a moment you worry that you're a bit undressed until he tells you how beautiful you look.

Your smile only widens and your heart melts when he crouches down to pick up Sweet Pea and carry her around. She tells him all about the morning with great enthusiasm, and he listens to every word.

How is he so perfect?

He has gifts for both of you under the large tree in his living room because he wants to spoil you, but he won't “upstage” you by getting more gifts for your daughter than you did. You appreciate that more than you can say.

There are games set up so you can all play together, snacks and blankets for movies, and he has a few books out, too, in case Sweet Pea wants him to read. She does.

Dinner is simple and low-key because you want it to be something your daughter will enjoy, and it’s full of smiles and laughter.

You tear up after dinner when Sweet Pea starts to get sleepy and Bucky wraps her up in a warm blanket so she can lay on the loveseat. You try to wipe the tears away before he catches you.

He sees them anyway and doesn't show how emotional he feels, but it hits him square in the chest.

Because while he saw his friends in the morning and they are his family, he doesn't have this.

And when you're curled up beside Bucky later on the couch, you thank him for giving you and your daughter a wonderful holiday. It was one you wouldn't forget.

He thanks you for doing the same for him, and hopes it’s the first of many.

Oh, they deserve the world. Love and thanks for reading! And all the good vibes during the holidays. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[accihoe]

Christmas Surprise

Pairing: Sergeant!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: I don't want to spoil it, read and find out 💕

Warnings: mentions of war and army stuff

A/n: Merry Christmas, folks. I hope you all have a blessed day. I think it's kind of obvious what the story is about, but I hope you like it.

Read this pls❤️

Xxxx

"It's a pity James won't be making it this year. He's scarcely been around for Christmases since Papa passed, and Y/N seemed to have changed that, I thought. Though I suppose he is part of the army now, and they need him for war and all that."

"I was under the impression that all soldiers in training got Christmas off. But I know nothing about military matters, so don't trust my judgment."

Y/N stood in the hallway as her sisters-in-law spoke, Rebecca and Rudy (I made Rudy up for the sake of the story). Her heart beat heavily in her chest as she stared at the framed sketch of James Buchanan Barnes, drawn by Steven. G. R. .

With a smooth of her hands down her apron, she walked into the kitchen. The chatter instantly and awkwardly shifted to the peas that stood on the counter, and Rudy scattered to look for the rolling pin, that was tucked into the front pocket of her apron.

"It's alright, I heard. And Rudy's right. Jamie was supposed to come home four days ago, but for some reason him and his commando friends got refused dismissal or something."

Rebecca sighed, setting down her eggnog, and went to Y/N, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Y/N/N,"

"Becca, it's quite alright. I really understand your concern, I do. I just feel bad for Jamie. He often spoke of his fondness for Christmas."

Rebecca gave another sad sigh and looked at Judy, who understood the silence.

"Well, on a different note. We've managed to scrounge together some canned versions of James's favourites. It ain't the real deal,"

"But it's pretty damn near."

Rebecca finished Rudy's sentence, allowing a little humour to fill the space. Y/N chuckled lightly, picking up a can of peas. This Christmas would be their 5th without Rudy's husband Joe, their 3rd without their father, and their 16th Christmas without their mother. And now, it would be their 3rd with Y/N, and 1st without Bucky. The three sisters (minus Y/N, merely Bucky's girlfriend, but they went by that nickname), were left to spend Christmas by themselves.

A knock at the door pulled the three women from their thoughts. They shared a look: that was not a feminine knock. It could mean one of three things;

•James was home by some miracle

•They were about to geat dreaded news about James

•The old man next door sent by his wife for sugar

•Rebecca's secret admirer (though this thought was only shared by Y/N and Ruby, and had James been there, him too)

"I'll go get it."

Y/N rushed to the door, heart pounding excitedly. To her dismay, it was Tom, the butcher's son. Y/N's heart sank and her smile faded to an annoyed expression.

"Tom. What can I do for you?"

"Merry Christmas, beautiful."

Y/N sighed, about to close the door when he handed her an envelope. Y/N cocked a brow, hesitant to take it.

"What's this?"

"It's from the post office. Mr. Bennett asked me to deliver it to you. Says the sender pleaded."

Y/N reached to take it but Tom pulled it back.

"Uh uh, first, Malcolm sent you something, and you need to take it before I give you your letter."

Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes.

"I am not obligated to take it."

"Well I'm not obligated to give this letter to you. It's just a favour."

Y/N narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips into a fine line.

"Fine."

Tom picked up a wrapped tin box and handed it to Y/N. Her gut sank, she knew what was in the tin. Tom placed the letter on the box and left. Y/N retrieved inside silently and placed her belongings upstairs in her room. She locked her door and ripped open the paper, sighing heavily when she saw the note on top of the expensive boots she'd been dreaming about.

Just a glimpse of what a real man could give you. Merry Christmas.

The note read.

She felt too bad to open the letter she knew was from James.

-Fast forward to eating time-

After the girls had dished up and said Grace, they sat at the table, ready to eat. Another knock sounded at the door, a man's knock. But a specific pattern belonging to only one man.

"James!"

The three girls said together and got up, but Y/N beat the rest to the door. The door was jerked open, blowing Y/N's hair from her face from the friction. Her stomach swarmed with fiery butterflies when her eyes registered the man before them.

"Buck,"

His signature grin spread across his face before he stepped forward, dropping his bags. Before she knew it, her lover was crushing her bones (just about) in a hug. Y/N's arms wrapped around his neck as he stood on a step lower than her. She felt his figure move as he inhaled her scent.

"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't allowed?"

"I'm not. But no command from any general jackass is gonna stop me from seeing my baby on Christmas."

Y/N laughed, pulling away to flick his forehead before hugging him again. The 'three sisters' made quick work of fixing Bucky a plate while he freshened up upstairs. Y/N couldn't keep her eyes from James as they ate the lunch. She could see the beginning of stress on his features, the slight fatigue from training, but there was something else.

He'd always been a pro at masking his true feelings, but the usual "Bucky shimmer" in his eyes was missing. He tried hard not to lock eyes with Y/N over lunch, but he couldn't keep his eyes from her. Though it'd been a mere two weeks, he'd missed her.

"Becks? I feel something is the matter with James. But I don't want to worry him asking, or pry, he just- oh I don't know he seems off."

Rebecca put down the plate she was washing and turned to Y/N with her own signature look.

"If anyone knows him well, it's you. So I'd say to trust your gut."

With that, Rebecca returned to washing the dishes. Y/N smiled faintly at the tilted floors of the Barnes' kitchen and nodded to herself.

"If it's alright with you, I think I'm going to have a word with him. See if he's alright."

"It's fine by me. Judy's the one you should be worryin' about. Now go, shoo, before she comes back from her rendezvous in the powder room (yes I'm implying that she's taking a dump)."

With a giggle shared between the younger girls Y/N scurried upstairs, knocking on the door of the guest bedroom, her bedroom for the holidays.

"Give me a moment."

James called back.

"Jamie, sugar, it's me."

"In that case give me two moments."

Bucky sassed. At least he was being himself. Y/N pushed the door open, thankful it wasn't locked. She instantly knew what was off. The stupid boots from Malcolm.

"What happened to respecting a man's privacy?"

He frowned at her.

"Darling I don't believe you get much of that in the army, and besides, I don't want us to spend the little time we have together on the blessing of a day brawling about a stupid third party inconvenience."

"So the fella you've been seeing is called 'stupid third party inconvenience?'"

Y/N shook her head with a soft laugh.

"I'm not seeing anybody, James."

"Then what's this?"

He pointed toward the boots, that remained untouched. Y/N sighed, putting the lid over them.

"My letter is right next to them. You didn't even open it. Though perhaps a mere letter that I split my ass to get to you isn't 'manly' enough is it?"

"James, language, and please, let me explain."

His furrowed brows dropped slightly, and Y/N took his silence as her opportunity to explain.

"You remember that rich kid whose father owns the country club?"

Bucky nodded apprehensively.

"I accidentally knocked my bag off a table a few weeks back, and he assisted me in picking up my belongings. He hasn't left me alone since. He's had his friend, or more like servant Tom deliver things to me ever since. Tom wouldn't give me your letter unless I accepted his gift. And I knew what it was going to be, but I was so horrified at his gesture, that I felt too ashamed to open your letter. I'm sorry."

".....Well he's not man enough to enlist."

James said after a moment of silence. Y/N chuckled through her nose and nodded.

"And he's not man enough to deliver the gifts himself."

Y/N nodded, smoothing a hand down James's arm, and then took ahold of his hand.

"You're all I want, Bucky. Believe you me. There's no overly priced pair of boots that could make me change my mind about that."

It was Bucky's turn to laugh at her comment.

"But does he know you've got a suitor?"

Y/N nodded, an irritated expression across her features.

"He knew when I dropped my bag, he knew when I was at the train station to send you off and he waited there to talk to me. And the gifts have ampled since your departure."

Bucky's jaw ticked, and Y/N felt his fingers clasped around hers twitch.

"What do you say you and I pay him a visit and return his gift?"

"Isn't that a little rude, especially on Christmas day?"

"Dollface, we're amidst a world war, I couldn't give a damn about being polite to a jackass who's tryna steal my girl."

"Buck you know he'll never succeed, right?"

"I do trust so. But still, I want to rub it in his face."

"James, baby, come on. If we give him a reaction, he'll probably like it. It'll give him the impression that he's getting to you."

"You were always the clever one in this relationship. So what do you suggest we do, miss smarty pants?"

Y/N hummed, pretending to think as she rubbed her chin.

"Well, for starters, you never call me that again. And, perhaps you and I dress nicely, beg Becca to use her camera, and post him a picture of us with Christmas regards written on the back."

"Not mean enough."

"There's a twist?"

James cocked an eyebrow, intrigued.

"I'm wearing the boots he sent."

James's face broke out into a boyish grin.

"Sounds more like it. I'm in. Get dressed, dollface, I'll use my baby blues on Becks."

"Work your magic Sergeant."

Y/N called as he left the room.

Xxxx

Fin. Merry, merry Christmas, people. I've derailed a little, I'm sorry. Never forget the true meaning behind Christmas, and never forget that you're loved.

Lots of love and best wishes

(Yes I am planning on a pt.2 depending on how well this does)

[the-winter-spider]

Say Don't Go | Part 6

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Asshole steve, angst, i think a swear or 2 lol

Masterpost

----

The crowd’s energy had shifted from electric to chaotic in an instant. Cheers had turned into murmurs of confusion, and the tension in the arena now felt suffocating. Your camera hung useless around your neck as you watched the scene unfold. Steve and Bucky were being dragged off the ice, both bloodied, jerseys disheveled. You barely registered the referee’s whistle cutting through the air or the crowd’s scattered boos as your focus remained on them.

Bucky’s head hung low, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t look back. But then he did. His blue eyes locked on yours across the chaos, filled with something raw—shame, regret, fear. He held your gaze for a heartbeat, and then he turned away, jaw tightening as the locker room swallowed him.

Beside you, Natasha had gone still, her sharp gaze cutting between the ice and the exit. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her arms crossed tightly.

“What the hell was that?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crowd’s restless noise.

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look at you. “That,” she said, her voice low and clipped, “was Steve losing his shit. And Bucky letting him.”

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising in your throat. “You told him,” you said, your voice cracking. “You told Steve.”

Natasha finally looked at you, her expression unreadable. “He deserved to know.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her. “Nat, I trusted you.” Your voice wavered, the tremor undeniable.

Her face softened, regret flickering across her features. “I didn’t think he’d—” She cut herself off, her head snapping toward the exit. “Come on.”

You didn’t have time to argue before Natasha grabbed your arm, pulling you through the maze of hallways under the arena. The distant sound of the crowd faded, replaced by the unmistakable sound of yelling—a voice you knew too well. Steve’s voice, sharp and furious, echoed down the corridor.

By the time you reached the locker room, the shouting had quieted, replaced by muffled voices and the clang of something heavy hitting the floor. Natasha pressed her back against the wall, her body tense, ready for a fight.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run.

Natasha glanced at you, her expression unreadable. “If we’re not here, Steve’s going to say something worse than he probably already did, and Bucky’s going to do something even stupider. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

You stared at the closed door, each muffled sound twisting the knot in your stomach tighter. Before you could decide whether to stay or run, the door slammed open. His gaze landed on you like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

“Stevie—” you started, voice trembling, but he shook his head sharply.

“Not now,” he snapped, his voice cold and clipped. “Go home, Bee. I’m not playing right now.”

The nickname, one that had always felt warm and comforting, now felt like a knife to the chest. You flinched, taking a step back, but he wasn’t done. His gaze burned into you, his words cutting deeper than any wound.

“You know,” he said, his voice eerily calm, “I told you not to get involved with him. I told you this would happen. But you couldn’t listen, could you?”

“Steve, I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Didn’t think about how this would affect me? Didn’t think about the team? Or didn’t think at all?”

"Steve, that’s enough,” Natasha said sharply, stepping between you.

But Steve wasn’t finished. He glared at her, frustration boiling over. “Don’t, Nat. You started this when you told me!"

Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise, but Steve had already turned his attention back to you. With his gaze back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and something darker, something that looked almost like betrayal. He shook his head and let out a bitter laugh.

“You know,” he started, his voice eerily calm, “I hate to say it but you deserve this, all of it, you just couldn't keep your legs closed! And now look where we are.”

Your chest tightened, guilt and confusion tangling together. “Steve, I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” he scoffed, his voice rising. “You’re sorry? You really had to fall for the first guy who looked your way, didn’t you?”

You felt the blood drain from your face, the words hitting harder than any punch. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “That’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Fair?” he scoffed. “You want to talk about fair? I’ve spent my whole life looking out for you, Bee. I’ve done everything I could to protect you. And this—” He gestured wildly, his voice cracking. “This is how you repay me?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. Steve had never spoken to you like this, never thrown your insecurities back at you. Tears stung your eyes, but you fought them back, swallowing hard.

“Steve, what the hell!” Natasha interjected, stepping fully between you and him now.

But Steve ignored her, his focus unwavering. “He’s my co-captain, Y/N. He’s on my team! We’re a team! He’s my friend. And you—” His voice cracked, but he pushed through, letting out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t have to sleep with him!”

His words hung in the air like a poison, suffocating and undeniable.

“Steve, stop!” Natasha’s voice was sharp now, her hand reaching for his arm, but he pulled away.

He turned to you one last time, his shoulders slumping slightly as if he had drained himself of his anger. His voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. “You couldn’t just listen, could you? I don’t ask much of you. I bend over backward for you, Bee, always have and unfortunately always will! It's that stupid trauma bond isn't it?!" He laughed "But I guess that was too much to ask.”

Steve!” Natasha snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. “That’s enough.”

But Steve just shook his head, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his anger had finally drained him. His next words were quieter, but no less cutting. “I hope it was worth it.”

He didn’t wait for a response, turning and storming down the hallway without a backward glance. The sound of his footsteps echoed long after he disappeared, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

Natasha’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you. “Don’t listen to him,” she said softly.

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “You should go after him,” you murmured. “He needs you.”

Natasha hesitated, her gaze lingering on you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just… could you text me later? Let me know how he is?”

Her hesitation was brief, but then she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll check in.” She gave you one last look before nodding and heading after Steve, leaving you alone in the empty hallway.

And then she was gone, leaving you alone in the empty hallway. You stood there for a moment, the walls around you closing in, the weight of Steve’s words settling heavily on your chest.

Your hands trembled as you braced yourself against the wall, staring at the floor as tears finally broke free, hot and unrelenting. Steve’s words replayed in your mind, each one sharper than the last, each one carving deeper into the ache that had already taken root.

The silence was deafening. The ache in your chest unbearable.

--------

The locker room felt like a prison, the flickering fluorescent lights casting jagged shadows across the walls, the dripping faucet in the corner echoing louder than it should have. Bucky sat hunched on the bench, his hands still trembling, his knuckles raw and split from the fight. Blood crusted over his lip, mingling with the sweat that clung to his skin. His heart pounded relentlessly, the adrenaline from the brawl refusing to dissipate, as though his body was stuck in fight-or-flight mode.

The memory of Steve’s words reverberated through his skull like a hammer striking an anvil.

“You deserve this, all of it, you just couldn't keep your legs closed!"

Even now, it made his stomach churn. He’d heard venom in Steve’s voice before, but never like this—not directed at you. The implication of those words cut deeper than any punch Steve had landed.

Bucky clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He’d sat there, silent and frozen, as Steve’s words lashed out at you like a whip. He could still hear your voice—quieter, almost pleading—trying to defend yourself against something that wasn’t even true.

And he hadn’t stepped in. He hadn’t opened his mouth to stop it. Not to defend you. Not to admit the truth. Not to own up to what he should have said days ago. Instead, he let the silence bury you, bury him on the other side of the wall.

The locker room door creaked open, snapping him out of his thoughts. He half expected to see you there, standing in the doorway with tears in your eyes, ready to demand answers. But it was just one of the assistant coaches, face flushed with fury, jaw tight with barely restrained anger.

“Barnes,” the coach barked, his voice sharp and grating. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was out there?”

Bucky didn’t lift his head, his gaze glued to the floor where blood had pooled.

The coach’s footsteps thundered closer. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Slowly, Bucky raised his head, his eyes hollow and rimmed with exhaustion. He didn’t have the energy for this—not when his mind was already tearing itself apart.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice came out hoarse, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears.

“I want you to explain why two of my captains were throwing punches at each other in front of Goddamn everyone! You’ve got teammates out there looking up to you, Barnes. You think they saw leadership on that ice?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, the coach’s words bouncing off his mental walls without really sinking in. Leadership? That wasn’t what this was about. This wasn’t about hockey, or the team, or the stupid game they’d lost because of the fight. It was about you.

“It’s personal,” he muttered after a long pause, his voice flat.

“Personal?” The coach let out a bitter laugh. “You’re on the ice. Nothing’s personal out there! You leave that shit in the parking lot, or you don’t play. You hear me?”

Bucky nodded mutely, his mind already slipping away again.

“I’m serious, Barnes. You’re hanging by a thread right now! God the press is just gonna love this! Don’t bother showing up to practice Monday if you can’t get your head out of your ass..... I swear to fuck if this is over a girl Barnes!" The door slammed shut behind the coach, and silence once again swallowed the room.

Bucky stared down at his hands, at the blood caked under his nails, at the faint tremor in his fingers. He hated the feeling building in his chest—the guilt, the shame, the crushing weight of knowing that you deserved so much better than what he’d given you.

The fight with Steve replayed again, every punch like a snapshot burned into his memory. Steve’s rage had been justified, Bucky knew that. He wasn’t angry at Steve for what he’d said or done. He deserved all of it. But it wasn’t Steve’s voice that haunted him—it was the memory of yours.

The way you’d hesitated, as if you weren’t even sure you could believe your own defense. The way your voice had wavered, so quiet, like you didn’t think it mattered.

God, he’d done that to you.

The locker room walls felt like they were closing in as Bucky finally dragged himself to his feet. The shower water was scalding as it hit his skin, but he didn’t move. He let it burn, let it sting his battered body. Maybe it was penance. Maybe he deserved to feel every ounce of the pain he’d caused you.

As he stood under the stream, he imagined you walking out that door. Were you crying? Angry? Hurt? Had you stayed to listen to Steve, or had you run before he could make things worse? He didn’t know which was worse—the thought of you believing Steve’s words, or the thought of you knowing they were lies but doubting him anyway.

By the time he was dressed and ready to leave, the locker room was empty. The muffled sounds of the crowd had long since faded, replaced by a suffocating stillness. His bag hung heavy over his shoulder as he walked toward the door, pausing just before pushing it open.

For a moment, he thought about going to find you. Maybe you were still outside, maybe you were waiting for him, hoping for an explanation. But then reality crashed down on him like a tidal wave. What good would an explanation do? He couldn’t erase what had happened. He couldn’t erase what he hadn’t done.

He sank back onto the bench, his head in his hands, his heart heavy with the weight of what he’d lost.

The truth was simple, and it crushed him: He’d already lost you, and it was his fault.

Everything was always his fault.

-----

You stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway outside the locker room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if you could hold yourself together. But you couldn’t. Steve’s words wouldn’t stop echoing in your head, each syllable landing like a slap:

“You really had to fall for the first guy who looked your way.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the sting of tears or the ache in your chest. Steve had never spoken to you like that before—never been so cruel, so deliberately cutting. He hadn’t just questioned your judgment; he’d dismissed your worth entirely.

Natasha’s earlier attempt to console you felt like a distant memory now. You weren’t sure if you wanted her to come back, or if you wanted anyone to see you like this—raw and shattered, barely holding on.

The locker room door creaked open, the sound pulling you back into the present. Your heart dropped as Bucky stepped out, his movements sluggish, his face a mess of bruises and exhaustion. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rough, like he’d been screaming—or crying. "You're still here?"

You stared at him, your gaze flitting over his split lip, the blood still crusted on his knuckles. He looked…wrecked. But worse than the physical damage was the way his eyes begged you for something you couldn’t give—not tonight.

You wanted to reach for him. God, you wanted to. But in the end you really weren't ever anything, right? You flirted here and there, lingering looks and subtle touches all leading to the night at the party but you were never actually anything to him. The weight of everything—the fight, Steve’s words, the humiliation—kept you rooted in place, a wall of silence between you.

“I—” he started, then faltered. His hand raked through his damp hair, and for a moment, he looked utterly lost. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling. It hurt to say it, but it would hurt more to listen.

His head shot up, panic flashing in his eyes. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t try to explain,” you choked out, barely holding back a sob. “Not tonight. I can’t—I can’t do this right now.”

He took a hesitant step forward, his hand half-reaching for you. “Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just…let me explain. Let me make this right.”

“No,” you snapped, sharper this time. Your anger surged, hot and unstoppable, breaking through the pain. “Do you have any idea what it felt like? Hearing them laugh about me? Hearing you say nothing? Standing there, letting them think I’m just nothing? And talking me down? Talking down an intimate moment, I just .... it meant something to me, you meant something to me, I don't just sleep with anyone, I thought... Never mind, it doesn't matter anyway, Im just just fucking stupid”

“I didn’t—” He flinched, his shoulders hunching as if bracing for impact. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“You didn’t mean what?” you demanded, your voice rising. “You didn’t mean to stand there and let them tear me apart? You didn’t mean to hurt me? What, Bucky? What didn’t you mean?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your laugh came out bitter, hollow. “That’s what I thought.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand!” you yelled, the words bursting out before you could stop them. “Say something that makes this make sense because, right now, I feel like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet for ever trusting you!”

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

And that silence—it broke something in you.

Your voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “I thought you were different, Bucky. I really did. But you’re just like the rest of them. All talk, all charm, and when it matters? Nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Why not?” You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “No. It’s not. You’re—God, you’re everything, Y/N. I just…I screwed up. I know I did, but you have to believe me—”

“I don’t have to do anything,” you said, cutting him off. “Not for you. Not anymore.”

His face crumpled, the fight draining out of him as he took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words trembling with sincerity.

But it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

“Me too,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I thought you could be better.”

With that, you turned and walked away, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. You didn’t dare look back.

Bucky stood frozen in place, staring at the spot where you’d been. The silence pressed down on him like a physical weight, the hollow ache in his chest spreading until it felt like it might swallow him whole.

He leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold tile floor. His head dropped into his hands, and for a long moment, he just sat there, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to do anything but feel.

But it was impossible.

The memory of your face, the way your voice had cracked, the tears in your eyes—it was unbearable. And worse, the memory of the locker room—his teammates laughing, the vile things they’d said about you—played on a loop in his mind.

He hadn’t laughed with them. He hadn’t joined in. But he hadn’t stopped them either. And that was just as bad.

“I’m such a fucking coward,” he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing.

He thought about running after you, about begging you to let him explain, to let him fix this. But what could he say? How could he even begin to make up for what he’d done—or hadn’t done?

The truth was, he didn’t deserve you. He never had. He knew that.

And now, he’d finally proven it.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Keeper of my Heart

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: mostly fluff

Summary: You live in a world where people’s hearts are kept in pocket watches to give to that one special person. You go through life thinking you’ll never find the one when you run into Bucky one fateful night.

Square Filled: au: steampunk (2020) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“How about this one?”

You walk out of the closet wearing the dress you wore for Homecoming in high school. It’s purple, goes down to your knees, and is strapless. You lost some weight since then so the dress fits you not snug like a glove but good enough for this blind date. Vanessa looks at you and shakes her head.

“Why do you still have that dress? Throw it away. That’s like you’re saying high school was a peak for you.”

“Then I don’t know what to wear. I haven’t been on a date since Mario, and I don’t know what to do. Maybe I shouldn’t go,” you sigh.

“You’re thirty-one, Y/N, and you still own your heart. It’s time you find someone to give it to.” You groan as you walk back into your closet, already annoyed by the story you know is coming. “As you know, I gave my heart away when I was eighteen to Vaughn. Oh, it was magical. Sure I was dating him all throughout high school, but I took one look in his eyes and knew. He was the person I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. I look at you and become sad that you don’t have that person to share things with. You live alone.”

“Thanks for that very touching story that I definitely haven’t heard before,” you say sarcastically, “but I’ll be fine.”

You walk out of the closet wearing a different dress. It flows all around you loosely, has pink flowers on it, and has puffy sleeves that go down to your wrists. It’s very flattering, and judging by the way Vanessa’s eyes light up, you found the one.

“You’re my little sister, Y/N. I will always worry about you.”

“I know.” You smooth down your hair and start looking around your room for something. “Now if I can only find my heart. Where did I put the damn thing?”

You look on your messy vanity desk but it’s not there. You fling clothes out of your closet looking for the damn thing. You’re always losing your heart which is not a good thing. If something bad happens to it…

“It’s on your bed, Y/N,” Vanessa sighs.

You walk over to your bed and pick up the delicate pocket watch. You open it and stare at your heart beating rhythmically inside. When people are born, they are born with their hearts in a sac outside of their bodies. Doctors then provide a pocket watch to put the hearts in, something that will protect it always. Everyone outgrows their first pocket watch, so parents gift their children new ones every few years to keep up with their growing organs. By the time someone turns eighteen, their heart is at the biggest it will ever get, so they get one pocket watch and stick with that one for years, decades even.

Everyone goes through life looking for their special someone. Time and time again, you’ve heard stories of people finding true love and giving their hearts over. It’s supposed to be magical. Vanessa never misses an opportunity to tell the story of how and why she gave her heart to Vaughn. Your mother gave her heart at a young age, and your friends have already given their hearts over.

You’re the only one who hasn’t found your one true love or whatever shit people say these days. You’re not good at dating, and you seem to mess up every relationship you’ve ever been in. With Mario, you thought he was the one until you accused him of cheating. He broke things off with you and made you feel bad about accusing him like that. 

Turns out he was cheating on you, and you haven’t been on a date since.

Vanessa found someone at her work to set you up with, and you agreed only to keep from hearing her annoying story again. You close the pocket watch and place it inside your small handbag. Vanessa sees you out, and you drive to the bar to meet Jerry, her coworker. You’ve heard a few stories about him but not enough to develop an opinion. Maybe this date will go well. Maybe Jerry might be the one.

You enter the bar and find Jerry already at a table sporting a tall glass of beer. He smiles when he sees you, and you’re suddenly cautious of the way your legs look in the dress.

“You must be Y/N,” he smiles with unbelievably white teeth.

“Yeah. You’re Jerry,” you chuckle nervously.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me with me. I know how blind dates usually go. Vanessa has told me so much about you.”

“I don’t know if I should be scared or not.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all good things.”

Jerry seems pretty cool, and you two hit it off from the start. This might be looking like the date is going well until about three drinks in.

“So, Vanessa never told me what you do.”

“Oh, I work at the local bookstore, A Thousand Lives.”

“Yeah, but what do you want to do in life?”

The question makes your hands clammy. Your voice drops a few tones. “I work at a bookstore.”

“You want to do that for the rest of your life?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out of it. Do you? You love working there. You’re surrounded by a thousand little lives and amazing stories.

“I guess I never really thought about it. I like writing but that’s something on the side. I don’t do it a lot.”

“So, you have no ambition?”

Suddenly, you don’t feel like being here with Jerry. This needs a change of topic. “What do you do? I mean, I know Vanessa works with you but she didn’t really touch on it.”

“I work in finance. I’m one of our top accountants. I’m quickly earning my place on the boards. I hope to be CEO one day.”

“That’s amazing. I hope you get it.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his pocket watch. “I hope to give this to someone special one day.”

“I have one too.” You put your purse on the table and sift through the contents. “Fuck, where did I put it?” you laugh nervously. “Sorry, Jerry. Give me a second.”

Jerry sighs and pockets his watch again. “I gotta go.”

“No, wait.” You practically dump half your purse onto the table before finding the watch. “I found it.”

You look up but Jerry isn’t sitting across from you anymore. In fact, he left the bar. You sigh sadly and put the watch back into your purse. You should have stayed home. After cleaning the table of your things, you walk to the back where the bathrooms are. This is the last time you have Vanessa set you up with anything. Maybe it’s fate that you end up alone. Just you and your books.

After you’re done, you walk out of the bathroom with your eyes on your phone. You’re not looking where you’re going and end up knocking into someone. Your purse falls and all of the contacts scatter across the ground.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you gasp.

You look up and notice dark blue eyes. Dark, short hair. A strong jawline that’s covered in facial hair. Slight freckles on his face. Bulging muscles. Fuck, he’s attractive.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault,” you mutter and drop your knees.

The stranger gets on his knees to help you pick up your things. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your hand brushes his when you grab your things from him, and heat floods your body from the slight contact. “I’m Bucky.”

“Y/N.”

“Are you here with someone?” he asks when you two stand.

“I was just leaving, actually. Not really my scene. It was nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m sorry, again.”

You blush and duck out of view before he has a chance to say anything back. Bucky watches you leave the bar, his mind already fuzzy with the thought of you. A stranger but he finds himself wanting to know you more. After using the bathroom, he walks out and notices something shiny on the floor in the hallway.

A pocket watch. It’s delicate, a reminder that it’s fragile yet heavy and sturdy enough to protect the heart that’s inside. Some people put their names on it in case they ever get lost, but there isn’t a name on this. Bucky opens it and sees the precious heart beating. He can’t just leave it here, and he doesn’t trust the owner of the bar enough to leave it with him.

He pockets the watch and leaves the bar.

After your date with Jerry, you tried avoiding your sister as much as possible. You declined her calls and refused to see her, claiming you were busy with work. A couple of days go by with you working at the bookstore when Vanessa walks in with determination on her face.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath.

“Way not to call me back.”

“I’m busy with work.”

She looks around the empty bookstore. “Clearly.”

“What do you want?”

“How did the date go? Did you and Jerry hit it off?”

“He’s not the one for me.” She opens her mouth to protest but you cut her off. “I’m not good at this whole thing, and he seemed a little too arrogant for my taste.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find someone else for you.”

“No, Vanessa. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it but this is something I have to do alone.”

“Fine.”

You just don’t know how to tell her that you might be alone for the rest of your life.

Bucky walks into his home, tired from the day’s events. He shuffles into his room and yanks off his police belt before tossing it on the bed. His precinct just got a new Captain, and he hasn’t been exactly welcoming to the team. All he needs is a hot shower, some food, and a good night’s rest.

He sits on his bed and allows himself ten minutes of blissful silence, but that’s when he hears it.

A heart beating.

He takes out the pocket watch he found and opens it. Still beating. It doesn’t even know it’s missing from its owner. He’d give anything to know who this belongs to. Bucky reaches into the drawer beside his bed and takes out his own pocket watch. Both hearts are beating but out of sync.

Beat. Beat.

Beat. Beat.

Beat… 

The two hearts find rhythm together and start beating at the same time. Suddenly, every bone in Bucky’s body starts relaxing. He doesn’t even know who the heart belongs to, but he feels safe with it. He feels like whoever this belongs to wouldn’t judge him or the mistakes he’s made in the past. The steady beat of both hearts is enough to lull Bucky to sleep… still in his uniform.

It’s only the next day when you notice it’s missing. You just about turned your house upside down trying to find it. Your heart is missing. Vanessa is on her way over to your place right now as soon as she gets the frantic call from you.

“I’m here!” she announces when she walks inside. She pauses at the state of your house. “Whoa. Y/N?”

“In my bedroom!”

She steps over the fallen pieces of furniture and walks into your room which is even messier. “Wow, you didn’t waste any time.”

“I lost my heart, Nessa! If I show up to Mom’s without it, I’ll be ridiculed. Like I need to give her yet another reason to be disappointed in me,” you sigh.

“Don’t freak out yet. When was the last time you had it?”

“At the bar with Jerry. I bumped into this guy and my purse fell, but I could have sworn I picked it up. It could be anywhere by now. If it gets damaged…”

You let the sentence hang unfinished. If a heart is damaged, the owner can get really sick or die depending on what the damage was.

“Don’t worry. We’ll go down to the police station and report it missing. These things have trackers on them.”

“The new ones do, Nessa. When we were born… They don’t have trackers in them.”

“It’s okay. It’s going to be fine. Come on, I’ll drive.”

Bucky walks into work feeling better than he has in years. He doesn’t remember a time when he slept and didn’t have nightmares. It’s all because of that heart he found. He should have reported it missing and posted something on local social media sites, but he can’t seem to part with it. What if the person doesn’t like him? What if the person hates him for stealing it? He’d never let anything bad happen to it which is why he carries it with him everywhere.

Right where a heart should be.

“Damn, Bucky, you look refreshed.” Bucky looks at his best friend and partner, Steve. They both joined the force right out of high school. “Did you get laid?”

“No, I just had the best sleep last night. No nightmares.”

Bucky walks to his desk and gets started on the paperwork he left last night. After about two hours sitting at his desk, he grabs his empty coffee mug and heads to the break room. He passes by the front door to get to it, not seeing you and Vanessa walking toward the building. He disappears into the break room at the same time you enter, and you look around the precinct for someone to help.

There is a blond man at his desk with his eyes on his phone, and you decide he’s the officer you want helping you. Everyone else looks busy.

“Excuse me, Officer?”

He looks up and puts his phone away. “What can I do for you ladies?”

“I’d like to report something stolen… missing… whatever. It’s my heart. I don’t know where it is.”

“What makes you think it’s stolen… missing… or whatever?” You give Officer Rogers your statement about the entire night you knew you had it. Meeting Jerry, showing it off, and bumping into someone. “Alright, I’ll look into this. I’ll give you a call if I find something.”

There’s not much you can do except wait, so you and Vanessa leave with a sinking feeling in your chests. The second you leave the precinct, Bucky walks out of the break room and heads to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee.

Instead of going to your mom’s for dinner, you decide to stay at work the whole time. It’s better than being at her place and being judged for not finding your “one” yet. You’re always being compared to Vanessa or your cousins since they’re all in successful relationships and you’re not.

You’re sitting behind the counter playing a game on your phone when the bell rings, signaling someone walked into the bookstore. You look up and meet familiar dark blue eyes.

“Bucky, hi,” you smile.

“You remember me?”

“You’re kind of hard to forget,” you mumble with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering if you had a certain book in store. The Giving Tree. My niece’s birthday is coming up, and she loves that book.”

“Yeah, it’s upstairs in the kid section.”

Bucky nods and walks off but comes back seconds later. “I always get lost. Will you show me?”

You smile and step away from your desk. You look at Bucky’s uniform in thought.

“I didn’t know you were a cop.”

“We only talked for three minutes,” Bucky laughs.

“Fair point. Do you like being an officer?”

“Love it, actually. I love being able to help people and bring justice to those who need it.”

“That’s very honorable. Better than being in this bookstore, I imagine.”

“Now don’t sell yourself short. This is a good place to work. You’re a guardian for a thousand worlds.”

“I actually haven’t heard that one before. Thanks,” laugh.

You and Bucky find yourselves lost in conversation even though you showed Bucky where the book was several minutes ago. You’re both single, you both prefer alone time rather than the bars, and you both love reading. Eventually, you have to go back downstairs to check him out even though you don’t want the conversation to stop.

“I hope this isn’t too forward but you’re very easy to talk to. I can tell you’re a good guy.”

Bucky leans on the counter with a dazzling smile. “Would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow? I can pick you up.”

“I’d love to,” you grin.

That’s the start of your relationship with Bucky. It doesn’t matter if you’re in your small bookstore or at a crowded restaurant, he makes everyone around you two disappear. All your problems melt away when you’re with him, and you think he feels the same about you. A few months pass of flirty comments and romantic dates when you think about asking him to be your boyfriend, to be in a more serious relationship.

Bucky can’t contain his happiness even at work, and Steve watches him with a slight smile on his face. It’s been a long time since he’s seen his friend be this happy.

“She makes me happy, Steve. I want to ask her to be my girlfriend.”

“Are you having any more nightmares? Even from my apartment, I could hear your screams.”

“They’ve gone away. Ever since I found that heart, I’ve been sleeping better.”

“What?”

“What?” Bucky asks in confusion.

“A few months ago, Y/N came into the precinct to report a missing heart. You never mentioned it before, and I’ve been waiting for the owners to get back to me with the footage inside the bar. I was just about to look at it.”

Bucky gets up and walks behind Steve so that he can see the video. Steve takes out the flash drive that’s on his desk and plugs it into his computer. Footage of the bar comes up on screen, and Steve fast-forwards it to the night you were there with Jerry. There is only one camera pointed at the main dining area, so they can only see the back of your head and Jerry’s face. 

Thirty minutes go by when he leaves, leaving you all alone. You leave to go the bathroom and Steve switches to the camera that’s in the hallway where the bathrooms are. When you leave, you end up bumping into Bucky and your purse falls to the ground. Something clunky rolls away from you two and skirts to a stop in the corner.

Forgotten about. Left for anyone to find. Left for Bucky to find. Your heart.

After you leave, Bucky ends up picking the heart. Bucky reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out the heart he’s come to be so fond of.

“This is hers?” Bucky whispers.

“You know what you’ve got to do.”

Right before your shift ends, Bucky walks into the bookstore wearing dark jeans, a black button-up, and a black jacket. He looks so devilishly handsome.

“Hi, Bucky,” you greet. You lean forward and kiss him across the counter. “I’m just about finished with my shift.”

“Okay,” he nods.

“Are you okay? You look nervous.”

“I’m okay. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

You finish putting away the last of the books back on the shelves before changing into your date night clothes. It’s a simple sundress that stops at your knees. Perfect for the warm weather outside.

“I’m ready,” you grin.

There is a restaurant that was built right next to a calming river that Bucky takes you to. You’ve wanted to come here but you didn't want to go alone. Bucky gets a table near the river so you can enjoy the sound of trickling water while you eat. After the waitress takes your drink orders, Bucky clears his throat.

“Okay, why do you look so nervous?”

“I want to ask you something but I can’t knowing I have something of yours.”

“Of mine? What is it?” Bucky takes out your pocket watch from his jacket and you gasp softly when you see it. “I’ve been looking for that for months. I thought I lost it. Where did you find it?”

“At the bar when you ran into me.”

“You’ve had this for months?”

“I didn't know it was yours until this morning. This is mine.” Bucky takes out his pocket watch and opens both of them. They’re still beating in sync like they belong together. They only do that when you’ve found the one. “I’ll give you yours back but what I’d really like to do is give you mine. You make the… The first night I took this home, I didn't have any nightmares. I’ve been having them since I was a teenager. You make them go away.”

“Bucky,” you whisper.

“I know it’s selfish bringing this up but I really like you. I was going to come here and ask you to be my girlfriend. It was supposed to be this whole thing, but I understand if your answer changes knowing I’ve had your heart the entire time.” You stare at him like he has three heads, and he sighs. “Am I messing this up?”

You grin after a few seconds. “No. I’m usually the one who messes it up.”

He reaches across the table and grabs your hand. “What I feel for you, I’ve never felt about anyone else. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation.

He slides his pocket watch over to you. “This belongs to you now.”

You grab it and hold it close to your chest. “I’ll cherish it always.”

You make a vow there and now that you’ll never misplace a pocket watch ever again.

x

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[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Cereal

Bucky Barnes x Single Mom! Reader

The Boy looks upon the many shelves of cereal. Some are bland, some are sugary, and others are healthy. Some have cartoon characters on the box, and many have real-life heroes. With all these heroes, he still couldn't find his. The boy sighed, his lips quivering. He wipes his eyes before his tears even begin to slip.

"Honey?" his mother called for him.

"He's not here," His voice shakes and tears spilling over.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she gently moved him to the side out of the way of after customers.

"H-he doesn't have o-one." He points to the shelves as he begins to cry. She tucks his face into her stomach as she takes a look at the shelves for herself. And her boy was right, his hero was not amongst those on the shelve.

"I'm sorry," she tried to rub his back, providing some comfort. " We'll look at different stores. Don't worry."

"No," he cried. This was the third store in a week, and they still hadn't found it. He was tired, and he knew they weren't going to find it. Frustratedly, he snatched off his prosthetic arm and tossed it down the aisle. ( Moments like this made her grateful she bought plastic).

"Absolutely not. We don't throw things." The round of gasps and how quickly the aisle emptied told her all she needed to know. They would not be making any purchases here today.

Wiping his tears, she stood up to retrieve the arm, only to find a man holding it.

"Excuse me, that's my son's." He was a tall, big man in a baseball cap, thick coat, and leather gloves. And in those gloved hands was her son's prosthetic.

He hands it to her, and she gives him a small thanks.

"How'd he lose it? If- If you don't mind me asking?"

She took a deep breath. This was going to go one of two ways. The educational route and she'd possibly teach this man something new or bashing route, and this man would get disrespectful, and she'd probably have to call security or the police.

"He didn't lose it. He was born without." She moved to her son, tucking him into her side. His cries had stopped, but his tears were still streaming.

"I ....there was an accident and lost mine." The man said, massaging his left hand. She didn't understand why he was telling them this. But she did appreciate him sharing a piece of him. " Why is he crying?"

"He has a favorite hero. He's like him, and we were trying to find his cereal or his snack or... just anything with him on it. We can't seem to find him anywhere."

"May I?" the man asked, motioning to her son, asking permission to approach him. She granted it and watched as he kneeled in front of her son, who was still tucked into her side. His tears had dried, and he seemed to be in ...awe?

It wasn't until the man removed his gloves, then cap, that she realized who he was, and she felt like an idiot. She had been researching this man with every free moment she had ever since her son declared him to be his favorite and just like him. And she couldn't tell the difference between him on stage and him in a baseball cap.

Embarrassing.

"Hi, my name is Bucky, what's yours?"

Her son whispered his name as he blushed. " That's a cool arm you got their bud."

"I have another one that's cooler. It has space on it," he said as his mother kneeled, putting it back on his elbow.

"That does sound cooler. Mine doesn't really have anything on it." Bucky said, pulling up his sleeve to show off his metal appendage. The son gasped in amazement as he stepped forward, his little fingers reaching and tracing the gold and black plates. The man watched him carefully as he touched and stayed very still.

She would have corrected her son's rude behavior any other time, but right now, with the awe on his face and the smile on Mr. Barnes's face, she didn't want to interrupt. Plus, she was as in awe as the fluorescent lights made it shine—both the arm and his smile.

"A friend made it for me. It's made of a special metal called vibranum."

"Like your friend's shield?" He whispered as he pulled away.

"Exactly," he whispered in return as he stood up. She stood up as well.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes. That was very kind of you, and we really appreciate it."

Bucky is fine, Mrs?" he said.

"(Y/n), (Y/n) (L/n). No, Mrs. No husband," she regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. But that didn't shut her up. " There is no one else. Just me. Just us."

Bucky gave a soft smile and nodded. " I'm sorry to hear that." He didn't look or sound sorry. "Listen, Um, I volunteer at this rehab for kids, and they have a lot of programs there, so if your son wanted, he could come join." Bucky pulled out a flyer from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it over to her. It looked to be a place for physically disabled children.

"This looks nice, actually. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. My number is on the back if you need any help with the program or stuff. or just ... Want to hang out ." Bucky cringed on how that came, but she just smiled and laughed. She turned the flyer over to see his number was indeed on the back.

"Oh"

"Hopefully, I'll see you two there."

"Definitely, I mean, yes. We'll be there, won't we, buddy."

"Will you be there?" The boy asked.

"As long as the world doesn't need saving, I'm there every other afternoon."

"Hopefully, the world doesn't need saving when we come by." she teased.

"Even if it did, I'm sure the others could handle it on their own. I wouldn't leave a doll like you waiting."

Doll.

Doll. She didn't know how, but with a single word, the man nearly put her on her knees. Suddenly, her heart had quickened, and her legs were shaky. And the way he bit his lips after and looked her up and down. Was he trying to devour her with such a stare? When did the atmosphere change?

A little squeak brought them both back to reality and reminded them of their little audience. No flirting in front of the babies.

"We'll be there, Mr. B...Bucky. We'll be there." Taking her son's hand, she turned to leave before stopping and saying, " I'll call."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Bye-bye," the boy waved to his hero with a big grin on his face. As he watched them walk away. His cereal crisis was long forgotten.

[fablehaven-rulez]

Awwwww, this is so fucking cute, holy shit

Crumbs of Connection

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff.

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

Word Count: About 11.8k.

Bucky dragged his feet along the cracked sidewalk with slumped shoulders, as the chill of the night seeped through his tattered jacket. He was almost at the building he’d moved into a few days ago, but each step felt heavier than the last. The mission that was supposed to be a walk in the park had left him with a pounding headache, a sour mood, and a stomach that wouldn’t stop growling.

That’s when he noticed.

The little bakery on the corner was still open, its warm light spilling onto the dark street. He frowned. What kind of place stayed open this late? Before he could question it further, the smell of fresh bread, herbs and butter hit his senses. His feet carried him inside before his brain caught up.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and he stepped into the warmth. His eyes scanned the counter, landing on a tray of focaccia behind the glass display. Golden, perfectly crisped, dotted with rosemary and sea salt. His stomach twisted with hunger as he stared, almost entranced.

“Um,” a voice broke through his daze, soft but tinged with caution, “if you wait a little, I can fix something for you.”

Bucky blinked and turned toward the counter. The woman standing there wasn’t what he expected at this ungodly hour. She looked alert, not a trace of exhaustion in her bright eyes or the easy way she held herself. Before he could respond, she disappeared through a door behind the counter.

He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the light above the counter made his headache throb harder. A few moments later, she returned, holding a small paper bag.

“Here,” she said, offering it with a small smile. “It must be hard in this cold.”

Bucky stared at her, the bag, then back at her.

“What?” he rasped, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Don’t be proud now,” she said, firm but not unkind. “Just take it.”

His mouth twitched, halfway to a sarcastic retort, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind a basket of bread. Mud-streaked face, greasy and plastered hair. His beard was a week past needing a trim, and his split lip and tattered clothes didn’t help either.

He swallowed hard, suddenly unsure whether to laugh or groan. She thought he was homeless. His mouth opened and closed, and then he muttered, “I’m not a beggar.”

Her expression didn’t change. She just stared at him for a beat, then muttered, “Okay?” like she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Bucky squinted at her, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had a bad night,” he said finally, the admission tasting bitter in his mouth.

She quirked a brow, with obvious skepticism.

“Can I just get a focaccia?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He kept his movements slow, hiding his bruised knuckles from her as much as possible. He grimaced as he came up with a crumpled bill and a few coins. He counted them twice, deepening his frown. He must have lost his wallet somewhere during the mission, or maybe it was back at the apartment. Either way, what he had wasn’t enough.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at her, unsure of how to explain, but she was already watching him.

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, her gaze softened, though he noticed the faintest flicker of wariness still in her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said after a moment, with a gentle voice. “Just take it.”

Bucky stiffened. “No, I-”

“You’ll pay me back when you get some money,” she interrupted firmly, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “It’s late, cold, and you’re hungry. It’s not going to hurt me to let one focaccia go.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look she gave him shut him up faster than he liked to admit. There was no pity there, just unwavering practicality like she’d already decided and wasn’t about to budge.

“I don’t need charity,” he muttered, the words falling flat even to his own ears.

“Good thing this isn’t charity then,” she shot back, arching a brow. “It’s credit. You can pay it back tomorrow, or the day after, whenever.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a tight line, his pride warring with the hunger clawing in his stomach. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and reached for the bag.

“Fine,” he said, with a clipped voice. “But I will pay you back.”

“Sure. Okay.” she replied, handing it over with an ease that only frustrated him more.

He didn’t thank her. Not out loud, at least. He just nodded stiffly and made his way to the door, the warm paper bag cradled in his hands like it was the first good thing to happen to him all day.

As the door closed behind him, she sighed softly, shaking her head. The man looked like life had chewed him up and spit him out. Maybe he’d just fallen through the cracks recently, it was always hardest in the beginning, learning to ask for help. She glanced at the counter, absently smoothing her hands over her apron.

If she saw him again, maybe she could mention her friend at the community center. They were always looking to help people find stable footing before things got worse. And for someone like him, someone who clearly still had some pride, maybe it wasn’t too late to get him back on his feet.

The sound of the bell snapped her out of her thoughts.

Two cops strolled in, familiar faces, and she greeted them with a small smile. “The usual?” she asked, already moving to grab a pair of pastries from the display.

As she handled their order with practiced ease, her thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome stranger with the haunted eyes.

------

Bucky shoved open the door to his apartment. The space was dark, empty, and cold, but he barely noticed. He kicked off his boots, shrugging out of his jacket and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. His pants followed, the trail of his discarded clothing leading to the kitchen sink.

He turned on the tap, scrubbing his hands under the warm water and letting out a tired sigh as the grime and blood washed away.

Finally, he opened the bag and pulled out the focaccia, its edges still faintly warm. He bit into it without ceremony, his teeth tearing through the crisp crust and sinking into the soft, herby center.

The groan that escaped him was involuntary.

“Jesus,” he muttered, leaning against the counter. He wasn’t sure if the bread was actually this good or if it was just because he was starving, but it didn’t matter. He tore off another bite, then another, letting the flavors fill the hollow ache in his stomach.

His mind drifted back to the clerk. She had been… unexpected, in a way. Not just because she was there at that hour, but how she’d looked at him, unafraid, and then her gesture, offering him the bread without hesitation, it threw him off. He wasn’t used to kindness without strings attached.

Bucky frowned at the thought, swallowing another bite. He knew he’d acted like an ass, stiff and gruff, but he hadn’t known what else to do. His gaze drifted to the paper bag on the counter, now empty except for a few crumbs. Tomorrow, he’d pay her back. He’d make sure of it.

And maybe while he was there, he could look around properly. He’d been too tired to take it all in, but in the brief glance he’d caught, he’d seen shelves lined with pastries, bread, and other things that looked more tempting than they had any right to be.

It wasn’t just about the food, though. It would be a way to repay her. To even the scales.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Bucky sighed and pushed away from the counter. As he collapsed onto the messy nest of sheets in his living room, his last thought was of the clerk: her calm voice and the smile she’d given him as she handed over the bag.

---

The next morning, Bucky stood under the hot shower spray, letting the water beat against his sore muscles. He scrubbed the grime of the previous day away, trying to clear his head. Afterward, he brewed a cup of coffee, jolting his brain into something resembling alertness.

Setting the empty mug in the sink, he began hunting for his wallet. He turned over the few possessions he had in his apartment, muttering curses under his breath, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Great,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

Reluctantly, he went to the stash of cash he kept hidden under a loose floorboard. Pulling out a few bills, he tucked them into his pocket and took a quick look in the mirror. His split lip was still healing, but his beard was trimmed now, and the dark circles under his eyes were a little less pronounced. Also, his clothes didn’t look like they were dragged against a concrete road. Good enough.

The walk to the bakery was brisk, the chill of the morning sharp but not unpleasant. He felt more like himself than he had the night before, ready to repay the debt and maybe even buy something else.

But as he approached the corner, his steps faltered.

The bakery was closed.

He frowned, sweeping his gaze  over the dark windows and drawn curtains. The sign on the door mocked him with its clear Closed lettering.

What kind of bakery was closed at 10 a.m.?

His mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Maybe something had happened. Maybe the clerk stayed too late and ran into trouble on her way home. His jaw tightened as he peeked through the curtains, searching for any sign of movement inside.

But then his eyes landed on the sign taped to the door:

Open: 4 p.m. - 12 a.m.

Bucky blinked.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, straightening.

What kind of bakery worked on a schedule like that? Who baked bread for the night shift? He rubbed his jaw, baffled, and glanced at the darkened windows again.

With a shake of his head, he turned back the way he came, the mystery of the night-shift bakery simmering in his thoughts.

---

The day passed in the kind of monotony Bucky had learned to tolerate. Cleaning his gear, half-watching a soccer game, biting back the urge to snap at Dr. Raynor during their session, and ignoring Sam’s persistent calls. By the time evening rolled around, he was restless enough to head out again.

Around 9 p.m., he set off to the bakery, the mystery of its late hours still nagging at him. Who needed baked goods at this time of night? Well, besides himself. Sleep was always a gamble, if he was lucky, he’d be out by 2 a.m., though that was probably wishful thinking.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted movement by the shop. Three bikers, with leather jackets patched with gang insignias, stepped out of the door, each carrying large paper bags stuffed with… something. Bucky couldn’t make out what was inside, but they seemed satisfied, securing the bags to their saddlebags before waving toward the bakery window. His brow furrowed as he slowed his pace. The clerk waved back before she turned and disappeared behind the counter.

The bikers mounted their bikes and roared off into the night, leaving Bucky to stare after them for a moment. He quirked a brow. Well, it seemed the place had its regulars.

Pushing open the door, the soft chime of the bell announced his arrival. The warmth hit him immediately, carrying with it the now-familiar scent of herbs and fresh bread.

She was at the counter again, arranging some pastries on a tray. The sound of the bell made her look up, and her movements stilled when she saw him. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of hesitation, but he caught it. Then, like flipping a switch, she composed herself, her face smoothing into a polite smile.

“Hi,” she greeted him, he thought he caught a hint of surprise beneath it.

“Hey,” Bucky replied, almost gruffly. He stepped forward, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

For a brief moment, silence hung between them as their eyes met. Neither spoke, just staring at each other, the air charged with an odd sense of recognition. Then she blinked, snapping herself out of the trance, mentally slapping herself.

“Hi,” she said again, her voice a little higher this time, followed by a flustered, “What can I do for you?”

Bucky shifted slightly, pulling one hand from his pocket and holding out a few bills. “I came to pay you for the focaccia,” he said simply. “And… I wanted to buy some other things too.”

Her brows lifted, and she laughed softly, taking the money from him. “That was fast. I wasn’t going to charge you interest, you know,” she chuckled.

“Appreciate it,” he muttered, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“So,” she said, her professional demeanor slipping back into place, “what can I get you?”

As he scanned the shelves and pointed to a few items, she efficiently began sorting them into paper bags. But he noticed her hands slowing now and then, her lips pressed together like she was working through something. Finally, she turned toward him, bag in hand, and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly. “For what?”

“For assuming…” She gestured vaguely toward him, her expression tinged with embarrassment.

He blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, I looked like shit,” he said bluntly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Can’t blame you.”

Her shoulders eased at his reaction, and she gave him a small, relieved smile. “Thank you for… you know,” he added, signaling vaguely toward the counter where the focaccias where exhibited.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied and then extended a hand, “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Bucky,” he said, his vibranium hand staying tucked in his pocket as he shook her hand briefly with the other one.

As she returned to filling the bags, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned slightly against the counter, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “what’s up with the hours here? Four to twelve?”

Her head popped up, a faint look of surprise crossing her face before she laughed softly. “Oh, that.” She handed him the filled bags, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he replied in a casual tone, though his gaze made clear that he actually wanted to know.

“This bakery… my grandparents opened it in the ’60s,” she began. “When my gramps passed in the early 2000s, my granny made some changes. One of them was the schedule.”

Bucky tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. “The late hours?”

She nodded, leaning lightly against the counter. “Yeah. There’s a lot of nightlife in this neighborhood and a surprising number of residents work night or late shifts. She figured people needed somewhere to grab a decent meal at odd hours. It was risky, but eventually, it worked out.”

He let the idea sink in, flicking , his gaze briefly to the trays of baked goods. It made sense, in a way.

“When she passed the shop to me,” she continued, with a voice tinged with fondness, “I decided to keep things just the way they were. It feels right, you know? Like I’m keeping her legacy alive.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Besides, I don’t get sleepy at night, anyway. I’ve always been more of a night owl. I end up sleeping all morning, so the schedule works for me.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, taking in the mix of pride and nostalgia in her expression. She seemed connected to the place in a way that made the odd schedule seem less strange and more… fitting.

“That’s… different,” he said finally, his voice softer than usual.

“Different good or different bad?” she asked, quirking a brow as she crossed her arms.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Just different.”

But he couldn’t leave it there. The question burned in his mind, and he found himself asking, “Don’t you think it’s dangerous being open this late? Alone?”

She tilted her head, not missing a beat. “I’m not alone. Liam, the main baker, is in the kitchen.”

Bucky gave her a pointed look, one brow lifting in a way that clearly said, Seriously?

“And if someone armed gets in here, he’d chase them off with a spatula?”

She laughed softly, but there was a flicker of something thoughtful in her eyes. “We’ve had our share of… episodes,” she admitted, “but it’s been a long time since the last one.” She gestured toward a small table near the counter with a nod of her head. “The cops come by all the time to grab something or even sit and eat.”

“That’s not exactly foolproof,” Bucky muttered, unconvinced.

Her lips curved into a wry smile, and she leaned in a little, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “Let’s just say having the local bikers as regulars doesn’t hurt either.”

He blinked, frowning. “The guys I saw earlier? So they… behave?”

“They’re good guys,” she retorted, then paused and corrected herself with a grin. “They’re nice guys. Most of the time.”

Bucky raised a skeptical brow, and she continued, “Sometimes they even help out. Like last week, when the mixer broke. They swung by after their ride and got it working again. One of them’s pretty handy with tools.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, though this time it wasn’t out of suspicion. He wasn’t sure whether to find the whole setup amusing or… concerning.

“Guess that’s one way to stay safe,” he muttered, glancing around the shop like it might reveal more secrets.

“It works,” she said shrugging. “Besides, most people aren’t looking for trouble when they’re hungry.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. Then he picked up the bags and nodded at her, and she offered him a small smile, “Come again.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at her. “I will.”

With that, he was gone, the door chime softly announcing his exit. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, leaning against the counter for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the door, her mind replaying the way his broad frame looked in those casual clothes. Effortless, like he didn’t have to try at all to look that good.

The thought was interrupted by the sound of the door chime again. She straightened quickly, spotting two guys in uniforms marked with the local electricity company’s logo.

“Hey,” one of them called, grinning. “Got any donuts left?”

---

Time passed, and Bucky started showing up regularly, his visits becoming a constant in her evenings. Three days a week, like clockwork, the bell would chime, and there he’d be, gloved hands tucked into his jacket pockets and that quiet, brooding air about him.

What surprised her most wasn’t the frequency of his visits but how much he bought each time. He’d point out loaves, pastries, and cookies, practically cleaning out half the display case on some nights. At first, she thought it was just politeness, a way to make up for that first night. But as the weeks went on, it became clear that this was just his thing.

One evening, as she packed his usual haul into bags, curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced up at him with a smile. “Wow, your family must really enjoy our goods,” she said playfully.

The comment made him pause. His smile faltered, just for a second, and his eyes flicked away like he was retreating inward.

She noticed the shift immediately and quickly tried to smooth things over. “Oh,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand, “great appetite then. I won’t complain about that.”

His gaze returned to her, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Something like that,” he murmured.

She handed him the bags, softening her smile. Whatever that moment had been, she wasn’t going to push. “Well, you’re keeping me in business, so thank you.”

He nodded, a quiet “thanks” leaving his lips before he turned to leave.

---

As Bucky walked the short distance back to his apartment, the bags swinging lightly in his grip, his mind churned with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. Her comment replayed in his head: Your family must really enjoy our goods.

Family.

His jaw clenched slightly. He didn’t have one, not anymore. The people he cared about… well, they were scattered or gone, and the thought of sitting at a table surrounded by warmth and laughter felt more like a faded memory than a reality.

He adjusted his grip on the bags, slowing his steps as he reached his building. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She hadn’t meant anything by it, just an innocent assumption. And she’d recovered quickly, giving him an out he appreciated more than he could express.

Still, the weight of the moment stuck with him. The way her words had scratched at something raw and unhealed, something he thought he’d buried deep enough that it couldn’t sting anymore.

In the quiet of his apartment, he set the bags on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. He pulled out one of the pastries she’d packed for him, a warm smell of cinnamon and sugar wafting up as he took a bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, giving him a fleeting comfort.

She was kind. That much was clear. Her warmth wasn’t forced or rehearsed; it was just… there. Bucky leaned against the counter, staring at the pastry in his hand like it might hold some answers. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but his reaction had been automatic, a wall thrown up before he could even think about it.

He couldn’t deny that he liked going to the bakery, liked seeing her. He finished the pastry and sighed, glancing at the bags of baked goods. He’d go back, of course. It was becoming part of his routine, and he found himself looking forward to the short conversations, the moments of normalcy she unknowingly offered him.

He just needed to keep things simple. Keep the walls up.

----

Keep things simple, Bucky had told himself more times than he could count, the mantra almost automatic by now. But as he stood at the counter that Wednesday night, watching her nervously wring her hands, he felt a crack in his resolve.

“Can I ask you a question?” she began, a little hesitant. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer, but…”

He tensed. His gloved hand rested on the counter, fingers curling slightly. “Go ahead.”

“This weekend, I went to the Smithsonian with a friend…”

And there it was. This is it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he interrupted, with a sharper tone than he intended. He wanted to rip the band-aid off, and get it over with. He braced himself for the shift, the awkward laugh, the strained smile, the clipped words. The gradual squirming in his presence like he carried a weight they couldn’t bear to be near.

But instead, she grinned.

“Well, that explains your appearance the day I met you,” she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And your appetite.” She winked.

Bucky blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d prepared for.

Before he could respond, she continued. “It’s not my place to say, but… you’ve had it hard, Bucky. I saw the look on your face when I brought this up, so let me be clear: this changes nothing.” She leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. “I know it could be hard sometimes, with the people… but not in here.”

Bucky stared at her, the usual quick retorts or excuses dying on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in her voice and the calmness in the way she addressed the subject without making him feel exposed, caught him off guard.

“Thanks,” he finally said, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

She nodded, curving her lips into a small smile, but instead of leaving it at that, she hesitated. “That being said…” Her voice softened. “According to the commemorative plate, your birthday was last week.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t even remembered.

“So,” she said, bending down behind the counter, “here.” When she straightened up, she held a small plum tart, dusted with powdered sugar. “I couldn’t put all the candles on it for obvious reasons.” She chuckled softly as she gave him the little tray.

Bucky froze. The gesture hit him square in the chest, a pang so sharp and unexpected it made his breath hitch. He stared at the tart, feeling an ache rise in his throat. His lips trembled traitorously as he fought back the overwhelming surge of emotion.

She noticed his hesitation and tilted her head slightly. “It’s just a tart,” she said gently as if trying to assure him it was no big deal.

But to him, it was.

He reached out, taking the tart from her as if it were made of glass. His gloved fingers brushed the edge of the plate and he swallowed hard. His voice, barely above a whisper, cracked as he said, “Thank you.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to look at her. He stared down at the pastry, his grip tightening around the edges of the plate as he worked to steady his breathing. It had been so long since anyone had done something this thoughtful for him, that he didn’t know how to react.

Watching his reaction, she faltered. Her earlier confidence dimmed as doubt crept into her expression. She fidgeted with her apron, glancing away briefly before blurting out, “I, um… sorry for bothering you. If I overstepped-”

“No.” The word came out sharper than he meant, and she froze. He took a breath, forcing his voice to steady. “You didn’t,” he said again, gentler this time. “You just surprised me here, doll, that’s all.”

Her gaze softened, searching his face, and he didn’t look away this time. His walls weren’t fully down -when were they ever?- but the rawness in his eyes couldn’t be hidden, the unshed tears glimmering with the lights.

Her lips parted, then closed again, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if it was her place. She shifted her weight, her fingers lightly tapping the counter. “It’s not much,” she said after a beat, her tone quiet but sincere. “Just a little thing I thought might make you smile.”

“It’s more than you know,” Bucky murmured then he cleared his throat and adjusted the bags in his hand, needing something to focus on besides the growing ache in his chest. “I, uh… I appreciate it,” he said, a little awkwardly.

Her smile grew, and she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Good,” she said simply. “You deserve something nice.”

That threw him off even more. He stared at her, stunned by the ease with which she said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His throat tightened, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he turned toward the door.

“Bucky?”

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I just remembered that I didn’t tell you, Happy birthday,”

He nodded once, gripping the bags a little tighter as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night air, which did little to clear the fog in his head.

You deserve something nice. He almost scoffed aloud. Nice? Someone like him? Someone who couldn’t go a single day without being haunted by the weight of his past?

The world had a funny way of reminding him where he stood. Steve was gone. The man who believed in him more than anyone else had handed over the shield, and with it, Bucky felt like the last tether to the person he used to be had been severed. Now, it was just him. And no matter how hard he tried to fix things, make amends, or find a shred of normalcy, the past always had its claws in him.

But tonight, she had looked at him and seen something other than the broken pieces. She hadn’t flinched when she figured out who he was. She hadn’t spat accusations or looked at him with the fear or pity he was used to. Instead, she smiled and handed him a damn tart for his birthday, a day he hadn’t even remembered until she brought it up.

Maybe… He shook his head as he walked, his boots crunching hard against the pavement. Don’t get attached.

Still, he glanced down at the tart again, its delicate powdered sugar glinting under the streetlights and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, almost involuntarily.

----

One rainy night, Bucky was already imagining the taste of a prune cupcake when he reached the bakery and found the door closed.

His brows furrowed as he noted the light spilling from the kitchen and the neatly arranged merchandise still on display. That was odd. He stepped closer, intending to knock on the glass, but hesitated. If she had closed up, there must’ve been a reason. Why would she open just for him?

He turned to leave, but the sound of a long, creative string of curses froze him mid-step. His frown deepened. Maybe she was arguing with Liam or a boyfriend, or... why was he still standing there?

Then came a sharp scream of pain.

Before his mind could process, his body moved on its own. He pushed the wooden door open with a single fluid motion of his vibranium hand and rushed toward the kitchen, ready to confront whoever was causing her harm.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

She was alone. Entirely alone.

Barefoot, her jeans rolled at the cuffs, and wearing nothing but a lacy black bra on top. She was gripping one foot and hopping in place, her other hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. Her face was scrunched in pain, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

She froze as he appeared in the doorway, locking her wide eyes onto his.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Bucky?!” she finally exclaimed, her voice was a mix of mortification and disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I heard you scream,” he said, still on high alert. “I thought- I mean, I thought someone was-”

Well, someone isn’t!” she snapped, waving her arms for emphasis before wincing and clutching her foot again. “What are you… how did you even…”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he said simply, lifting his vibranium hand as if that explained everything.

She stared at him. “You broke my door, didn’t you?”

“Technically, I opened it.”

Her shoulders slumped as she let out a groan.

“What happened?” he asked, softening his tone as he noted the red welt forming on her foot.

She gestured toward a hulking machine in the corner, a sour expression on her face. “The kneading machine broke,” she grumbled. “It’s Liam’s day off, so I have to knead all the dough by hand. I got frustrated and kicked the stupid thing.” She pointed to the offending piece of equipment as though it were an enemy in battle.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he quickly schooled his expression. “And it fought back?”

Her glare could’ve melted steel, but then her expression shifted, and she seemed to remember her current state of undress. Quickly, she crossed her arms over her chest, though the movement only served to push her curves together.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to keep his gaze locked firmly on her face. He swallowed hard, feeling the distinct burn of self-restraint in every muscle.

“Can you throw me that shirt?” she asked, jerking her chin toward a crumpled white button-up draped over a stool.

“Sure,” he muttered, grabbing it and tossing it her way.

“Turn around?” she added pointedly, feeling her cheeks going warm.

He obeyed instantly, facing the wall and rubbing the back of his neck. “Why, uh… why were you like that anyway?” he asked, his voice low and awkward.

“It’s hot,” she replied, a little grumpy. “The kitchen’s like an oven with all the equipment running, and kneading all that dough by hand isn’t exactly cooling me off. Plus, I was alone. Or so I thought.”

“Right,” Bucky murmured, feeling a little ridiculous for barging in like that. He’d been ready to throw down with some imaginary attacker, and instead, he’d walked in on… well, on a very memorable scene.

The mental image of her, half naked and glistening, burned behind his eyelids, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He didn’t need his mind going there, not now, not ever.

The sound of her shifting behind him broke his thoughts. “Okay, decent,” she said.

He turned back around, carefully keeping his expression neutral. She was now buttoning up the shirt, but her hair was still mussed. He cleared his throat.

“Want me to help kneading?” he blurted out, the words escaping before he could think them through.

She froze mid-button, blinking at him. “You want to… knead dough?”

“Let’s just say I can put that piece of junk to shame,” he said, nodding toward the broken machine. “Only… you have to teach me how. Then I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she hesitated, seemingly caught off guard. After a moment, she shook her head. “That’s sweet, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’ll take a lot of time.”

“I have time,” Bucky replied evenly. He didn’t add that the alternative was staring at the ceiling of his living room, trying to fend off the ghosts in his head and praying for a few nightmare-free hours.

She looked at him, clearly debating, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that momentarily distracted him.

“Plus,” he added with a faint shrug, “I won’t raise your electric bill, and I won’t get tired.”

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Finally, she exhaled and nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, this is serious manual labor.”

“I’ve handled worse,” he said with a small smirk, rolling up his sleeves.

“Okay, tough guy,” she replied, her tone half-teasing as she gestured toward the counter. “Let’s see if you can handle my kitchen.”

He stepped up beside her, and as she began to explain the technique, Bucky couldn’t help but notice how the frustration in her features softened, replaced by something almost playful. It wasn’t often he felt useful outside of a mission or a fight, but in this warm, flour-dusted bakery, it felt like he could do something… normal.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice her watching him. When he did, he realized she was waiting for a response.

“Uh…” he mumbled. It seemed she had been talking and he didn’t listen to a word.

“It’s okay if you don’t get it at first, here, give me your hand.” Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, shoved a dough ball into his palm, and flipped it downward. Then her smaller hand slid over his, her heel pressing into the back of his hand to guide the motion.

“Like this,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer to ensure he could see. Her hand pressed forward in firm, rhythmic motions and the dough yielded under the combined force of their hands. Then she rotated the dough and repeated the motion, with deliberate pushes.

Bucky froze as the rhythmic pressure of her hand over his sent his mind somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t go. The heat in the kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, and he swallowed hard, trying to focus on the dough and not on the fact that her motions were… suggestive.

She was entirely unaware of his inner turmoil, focused on the task at hand. “See? You push like this and turn it. Then repeat.”

Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but Bucky’s traitorous mind kept replaying the way her body had looked earlier in that lacy bra, barefooted and glistening with sweat, and now her hand was on his, guiding movements that mirrored-

“Got it,” he blurted, pulling his hand away like the dough had burned him.

She blinked at him, surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” he said quickly, flexing his fingers. “Why don’t you, uh… go open the store or something? You can sell the ready stuff, and I’ll finish here.”

Her brow furrowed, then she smirked. “Show me you can handle it first. Then I’ll go.”

Bucky nodded stiffly and got to work, kneading the dough with an intensity that had less to do with the task and more with willing his body and thoughts to calm down. He focused on each push, each turn, determined not to let his mind wander again.

After a moment, she hummed in approval. “Not bad. Alright, you’ve got this.” Tossing him an apron, she added with a grin, “Kitchen’s all yours.”

As she walked out, Bucky let out a long breath and grabbed a ridiculous amount of mid-mixed dough from the machine, barely registering its weight in his hands. He tied the apron around his waist, muttering something about how he’d never live this down if Sam found out, then plunged his hands into the dough with more force than necessary. The soft, yielding texture offered little resistance, and the repetitive motion gave him something to focus on, something to redirect the tension simmering under his skin.

Meanwhile, out front, she was practically buzzing. Well, besides the door incident -she’d have to figure out how to fix that later- and the fact he’d seen her in little more than her bra, the night hadn’t gone completely off the rails. She paused, glancing toward the kitchen and biting her lip.

The idea that Bucky Barnes was in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he worked dough like it was his mortal enemy, was surreal. Even in her wildest fantasies -and she’d had plenty- she’d never imagined this scenario.

She distracted herself by greeting a couple of late-night customers, all while sneaking glances toward the kitchen door. But the thought of having him there with flour dusting his strong hands, focused and serious, made her heart flip every time she let her mind wander free.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky gritted his teeth, determined to keep his focus on the task. He flattened the dough with swift, decisive movements, his vibranium arm doing the flips as his flesh one did the work. But even as he forced himself to concentrate, he couldn’t shake the memory of her soft hand on his, guiding him with firm pressure.

Fuck.

---

When he finally finished kneading the massive ball of dough, he stood there, staring at the smooth mound, realizing he had no idea what to do next. With a resigned sigh, he called out for her. “It’s ready,” he said, motioning to the dough. “Now what?”

“That’s for common bread. We let it rise for about half an hour, then shape it, let it rise again, and bake it.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “So... you just wait?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“Great,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Guess I’ll hang around. Liam’s not here, so you’d be stuck doing all this yourself. That can’t be easy, it’s a lot of dough.”

She tilted her head, clearly debating. “I’m used to it when it’s necessary.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you kicking me out?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “N-no!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Want a coffee while we wait?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

They moved to the front of the shop, mugs in hand, settling into a more relaxed atmosphere. The conversation was light, drifting from coffee preferences to the quirks of late-night customers. The rain drummed against the windows, adding a cozy backdrop to the talk.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and two bikers strolled in.

Bucky’s eyes immediately snapped to them, stiffening his posture as he took them in. They were soaked, leather jackets gleaming under the fluorescent light. What caught him off guard wasn’t their appearance, it was their manners. The pair paused at the entrance, brushing their wet boots on the doormat before entering the shop.

“Evening, Y/n,” one of them said casually, nodding in her direction as they made their way to the counter.

Bucky stared, measuring them with a sharp gaze, his body language was calm but alert. He didn’t miss how their eyes briefly flicked to him, assessing, before focusing on her.

“Hey, Daniel, Jack,” she greeted them with an easy familiarity. “Usual?”

“Yeah, and maybe throw in one of those custard tarts,” one of them added, grinning.

As she moved behind the counter to prepare their order, Bucky leaned back slightly, still watching them. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the so-called “local bikers,” but brushing their boots off before entering wasn’t on the list.

One of them glanced his way again, tipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Friend of yours?”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Helper for the night.”

Bucky just gave a faint nod. He wasn’t entirely sure why their casual familiarity rubbed him the wrong way, but something about how they interacted with her -relaxed, like they belonged- made him tense.

“So, Cookie,” the taller of the two bikers said, his deep voice carrying an easy familiarity. He had a Viking-style haircut, the sides of his head shaved while the top was long and braided, matching the beard he wore. “We swung by earlier, but you were closed. Anything amiss?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly at the nickname. Cookie?

“Oh, just old Edna broke, again,” she replied with a sigh, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I was trying to figure out what to do.”

The biker’s face broke into a knowing grin. “Y’should’ve called me. You know I’d have ‘er running again in a snap.”

She gave him a sheepish look. “It’s awful outside Jack, and Bucky here helped me out a lot. I was going to call you tomorrow, maybe take the day off.”

The biker’s gaze shifted to Bucky with a curious expression, if not slightly probing. “Did he, now?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just stared back at him.

She stepped in quickly, a cheerful note in her voice. “Well, here you go, guys,” she said, setting their bags of pastries and the requested custard tart on the counter.

But before she could finish ringing them up, Daniel added something to the order, sending her back to grab another treat.

With her out of earshot, the viking-wannabe fixed his gaze on Bucky again. “There somethin’ on ma face?” he asked, casual but a little edgy.

Bucky shrugged, relaxed, but his steel-blue eyes locked onto the man without wavering. “Nope.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “You know, Cookie, I was thinking of stopping by tomorrow to fix the kneader myself.” His gaze never left the biker’s. “Don’t think your customers must stray from their duties.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the biker let out a low chuckle, his smile more challenging than amused.

“Well, it won’t be a bother,” he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Since I always take care of Edna.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

Somehow, she felt left out of the conversation. The way they stared each other down, the sharpness in their tones, it didn’t seem like they were talking about Edna anymore. It was like…

“C’mon, Jack,” the second biker interjected, breaking the thick silence, though his tone carried a subtle edge of warning. “The guys are waitin’. Cookie here will tell ya if she needs anythin’, won’t ya?”

She nodded quickly, eager to shift the mood, and handed over their order. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for always helping out.” Her smile was warm but a little strained as she accepted their payment.

Jack lingered for a bit, gaze still locked on Bucky’s. The other biker sighed and patted him on the arm. “At least help with somethin’, huh?” he added, shoving a large paper bag into his chest.

The man finally broke eye contact, muttering something under his breath as he grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. But before he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Don’t forget, Cookie, you know who to call if you need real help.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, the faintest sign of irritation flashing in his eyes. He leaned back against the counter, one hand casually resting on the edge, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. “Sure thing,” he drawled, “If it comes to that, I’ll make sure she doesn’t have to wait.”

The implication in his words wasn’t lost on Jack, whose smirk faltered for just a second before he turned and strode out, the other biker following with an exasperated shake of his head.

As the door swung shut, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well,” she said, attempting to sound lighthearted, “that was… something.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he turned back to her, though the tension in his posture remained. “They always this ‘friendly’?”

She laughed awkwardly, brushing her hands on her apron. “Oh, they are, actually. They just get a little protective sometimes, you know? Like I’m their sister or something. Maybe they were just surprised to see you back here.”

He tilted his head, twitching his lips in what might’ve been a smile, but his eyes didn’t match the expression. “A sister, huh?”

She nodded, oblivious to the undercurrent in his tone, and started busying herself by tidying up the counter. To her, it was just Jack and his usual overbearing charm. But to Bucky, it was something else entirely.

Even as he tried to relax, his mind kept replaying the interaction. The way that guy had stood too close, his words heavy with meaning, the subtle posturing was anything but brotherly. Bucky had seen it all before, in darker and rougher places than this warm, flour-dusted bakery.

Except this time, it wasn’t just about dominance or some unspoken challenge. It was about her. And for reasons he wasn’t ready to name, that thought didn’t sit well with him at all.

“So," she started, cutting through the silence and his spiraling thoughts, "you were serious when you said you could fix the machine?"

"Yeah," he replied, keeping his face carefully neutral. "It’ll be a piece of cake."

Piece of cake, he repeated in his mind, trying to suppress the small pang of regret creeping up his spine. Sure, he had a working knowledge of mechanics, he’d helped Sam fix his boat, after all. But that had been different. Boats were his element, like motorcycles or cars. A fifty-year-old kneading machine? Well, he’ll find out tomorrow.

His impulsive desire to impress her -and maybe stake some kind of invisible claim- had won out. Now, all he could do was hope the thing wasn’t an unreadable mess.

She glanced at the clock and brushed her hands together. “Alright, time to give shape to the bread. It’s risen enough.”

Without missing a beat, she led the way back into the kitchen. The warm, yeasty air mingled with her faint perfume, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket.

She grabbed a portion of the dough and began to demonstrate. “Okay, so these are the basics,” she said, her fingers moving deftly. “For buns, you just roll the dough into smooth balls. Like this.” She cupped her hands around the dough, rolling it against the counter in a quick, practiced motion until it was perfectly round. “Braids and baguettes are a little trickier. The braids are just three strands, like hair. And baguettes, well, you stretch and roll them into shape. But you can stick with the buns for now, they’re easier.”

Bucky nodded, reaching for a piece of dough. He hesitated for a moment, as the memory of her hand guiding his earlier flashed in his mind. His throat tightened, and he focused on the dough, rolling it between his hands.

“Like this?” he asked, holding up a slightly lopsided bun.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Almost. Use the heel of your hand a little more to smooth it out. Here.” She stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly over his. This time, she didn’t guide him directly, but the proximity was enough to make his heart thud against his ribs.

He adjusted his grip and tried again, and she gave an approving nod. “There you go. See? You’re a natural.”

As they worked side by side, she kept talking. “Most of this will have to go on sale tomorrow, probably at half price. But having you here is a real help. If I’d had to do all this alone, I might’ve had to throw some of the dough out.”

Her words struck a chord, and a pang of happiness settled in his chest. It wasn’t much, just a small acknowledgment of his effort, but it filled a hollow part of him he didn’t even realize was there.

He stole a glance at her as she focused on a braid, her hands working the dough with practiced ease. A strand of hair had fallen loose, brushing against her cheek. She pushed it back with her wrist, leaving a faint streak of flour across her temple. It made her look effortlessly endearing, and he quickly averted his eyes, focusing back on the dough in his hands.

Unbeknownst to him, she was doing the same. She caught glimpses of him as he worked, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his calloused flesh hand and the vibranium one surprisingly gentle as he shaped the dough. Something was captivating about how he moved, so deliberate yet careful, like he was afraid of breaking something.

“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” she said, glancing over at his growing pile of buns.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, rolling another piece of dough under his palms. “Not exactly rocket science.”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. You’ve got a good touch. It took me a week to get my buns to look that smooth while doing it swiftly.”

Every time their gazes met -accidentally, fleetingly- it was like a spark flared in the air between them. Then, one of them would quickly look away, snapping their attention back to the dough. It was a quiet rhythm of stolen glances and fleeting touches, building a connection that felt as tangible as the dough in their hands.

-----

The bread was neatly shaped and lined up on trays, ready to rise once more before its final trip to the oven. She covered the trays with damp cloths, brushing her hands on her apron as she glanced at the clock. “Alright, now we wait again. Should be ready for the oven in about half an hour.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back to let her take the lead. “You need me to do anything else?”

“Not right now,” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll take care of the customers while we wait. You can… I don’t know, hang out if you want?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Sure.”

She disappeared into the front of the shop, the bell over the door jingling faintly as a pair of officers entered. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching her from the kitchen as she greeted them warmly.

“Evening, boys. The usual?”

“Yup. Two coffees and a box of donuts,” one of the cops said, glancing over at Bucky briefly. His partner followed the look, squinting slightly before his eyes widened.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the officer said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity.

Bucky stiffened slightly at being at being recognized, but he nodded. “Good evening.”

The officer hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Uh, sorry if this is out of line, but… would it be okay if I got a picture with you?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her for a brief second. She offered him an encouraging smile, and he finally nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The officer grinned and handed his phone to his partner. They stood together for the picture, Bucky keeping his usual neutral expression, though the officer looked thrilled.

As the partner handed the phone back, he chuckled, glancing between Bucky and her. “Didn’t know you were friends with Cookie here. Lucky you, she’s got the best donuts in the neighborhood.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but she laughed and rolled her eyes before he could say anything. “Alright, enough buttering me up. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

The cops thanked her again, waved at Bucky, and headed out, leaving the shop quiet once more.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he looked at her. “So… they call you Cookie too, huh?”

She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a nickname my grandma gave me when I was little. She used to call me her little cookie because I’d sneak cookie dough every time she baked. I guess it stuck, and eventually, the regulars picked it up, too.”

“Little cookie,” he repeated, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” she said, shrugging. “It’s kind of sweet, actually”

Bucky hummed in response, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Fits you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, but before she could respond, he straightened up. “Guess I’ll head out now. I’ll be back tomorrow to take a look at that machine. Ah… actually... I owe you one more thing.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The door,” he admitted, glancing toward it sheepishly. “Remember I kind of... broke it thinking you were in trouble?”

Her mouth opened slightly in realization, and for a fleeting moment, the two of them were transported back to that chaotic instant, him storming into the kitchen, with his eyes wild with concern, only to find her jumping in her bra, startled but unharmed.

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying her hands with the edge of her apron. “Right. The door,” she said, a touch higher than usual.

“I’ll run up to my place and grab a chain and a lock,” he offered, clearly trying to sound casual, though the tips of his ears were suspiciously red. “It’s not much, but it’ll hold until you can get it fixed.”

“That’s... really thoughtful of you,” she said softly, sneaking a glance at him. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, tightening his jaw slightly as if bracing himself, before turning toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be quick.”

-------

When he returned, he carried a chain and lock in hand, the metal clinking softly as he stepped through the door. Without a word, he moved to the broken door and began securing the temporary fix, his movements sure and steady. She stayed nearby, her arms crossed lightly over her apron, watching him work.

“Will you manage to close up on your own?” he asked, testing the chain one last time to ensure it held.

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He lingered momentarily at the doorway, meeting her gaze as though debating whether to press further. Instead, he simply stepped back, giving her a small, almost shy smirk. “Alright, then.”

He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Cookie.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue with ease, leaving her a little stunned as the bell over the door jingled behind him.

-----

That night, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the evening replayed itself in vivid detail. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every word exchanged lingered in her mind, refusing to let her settle into sleep. She rolled over, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly, only to let out a muffled squeal, burying her face in the fabric.

It all felt like something out of a novel, the kind her grandmother used to read, with their slow-burn tension and moments of unexpected closeness. Him standing there in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with those ridiculously strong hands. The warmth of his smirk when he called her "Cookie" before leaving.

She sighed, turning onto her back again, staring at the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through her curtains. Don’t get carried away, she reminded herself. He was… Bucky Barnes, for crying out loud. The man probably had a private life he kept well-guarded. Dating, maybe even a girlfriend waiting for him somewhere. Someone who could offer him more than just late-night baking disasters and a small-town charm bubble in the big city.

“Oh, whatever,” she mumbled, throwing an arm over her face. It was free to fantasize, right? Just a harmless indulgence in the possibilities, no matter how far-fetched.

----

Bucky lay on the couch in his apartment, replaying the events of the night on a loop in his mind. Her hand, firm yet soft, guiding his against the dough in that rhythmic motion. He could still feel her touch and her warmth seeping into his skin. He groaned softly, shifting as he became acutely aware of the pang of need stirring under his sweatpants.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. Was he really that touch-starved? The answer was obvious.

But then another thought struck him, one that pulled his focus away from his frustration. Her touch hadn’t made him uncomfortable. Not in the way he’d grown used to: tensing, the inevitable flinch, or the tightening of his chest. No, being near her, having her hands on his, had done the opposite in a way he hadn’t felt in years -decades-.

His mind shifted to the kneading machine. He had all but volunteered to fix the thing, despite only a vague knowledge of how it worked. He cursed under his breath, drowning in anxiety as he realized he could very well embarrass himself tomorrow. She’d been so grateful, trusted him so easily. The last thing he wanted was to let her down.

Then there was the other thing, the background he could never escape. Even though she’d been cool about it. He was damaged goods, and he knew that, but still... a part of him wanted her to notice him.

To see him, Bucky, the guy who helped her in the kitchen, who wanted to make her smile, who was ready to spend hours fixing her stupid kneading machine just for the excuse to see her again.

Fuck. This was going to be one of those nights.

----

By the time morning gave way to the agreed-upon hour, Bucky found himself standing outside the bakery, a hand tucked into his jacket pocket as he knocked on the glass of the front door. He might -or might not- have put some effort into dressing for the occasion, trading his usual hoodie for a henley that clung just enough to hint at his physique under his jacket. Still, the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless night.

She appeared from the back, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted towel, and her face lit up as she spotted him.

“Cookie,” he greeted with a faint smirk as she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Sergeant,” she replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement.

The exchange felt oddly natural, like a line out of an old movie. She opened the door with a soft laugh, stepping aside to let him in. He strolled toward the back, the scent of freshly baked bread of the previous night lingering in the air as she followed.

“Let’s see the beast,” he said, nodding toward the old kneader, circling once like a predator sizing up its prey.

“All yours” she answered, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Think you can handle it?”

He shot her a mock-serious glance. “We’ll see.”

As he studied the machine, his eyes flicked to the sturdy work table beside it.

“You got a cloth or something to cover this?”

She frowned slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. “A cloth?”

“Something that can get dirty,” he clarified.

“Uh… sure.” She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out an old, slightly worn tablecloth, tossing it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, unfolding it and laying it across the table.

Her confusion deepened as he positioned himself beside the kneader. “What are you-”

She didn’t get to finish the question before Bucky gripped the sides of the heavy machine, lifting it like it weighed no more than a loaf of bread. He turned and placed it carefully on the table, adjusting it until it sat at an angle he deemed perfect for inspection.

She blinked, stunned for a moment before her lips parted in an incredulous laugh.

It wasn’t necessary, he could’ve worked on it just fine where it sat. But something in him wanted to do it anyway, to leave her watching, even if just for a moment.

She raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. There was a teasing glint in her eyes when she said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Bucky froze for a second, then, slowly, he turned his head to look at her with an unreadable expression at first. But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, softening his otherwise stoic features. “Did it work?” he asked, carrying just a hint of challenge.

She felt a flutter in her chest she wasn’t ready to name. Biting her lip to suppress a smile, she fought to keep her voice steady. “Fix Edna,” she quipped, tilting her chin toward the kneader as if to deflect the heat in the air, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, an almost boyish mischief that made her pulse quicken. “Challenge accepted,” he said, turning back to the machine.

As he bent over the kneader, his metal hand steadying it while his flesh one worked the bolts loose, she let herself watch him for a moment. Something was mesmerizing about the way he moved: deliberate, confident, his sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that looked sculpted to dismantle things like this.

Luckily for Bucky, Edna really was a piece of cake. As he worked through the simple mechanics of the old machine, a wave of relief settled over him. He didn’t know why he’d been so preoccupied with the possibility of failure. Maybe it was because the stakes weren’t just about fixing a kneader, it was about proving himself in some quiet, unspoken way.

“Do you have a cable extension to test it?” he asked after reassembling the final part, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah, hang on,” she said, disappearing for a moment before returning with a long orange cord. She plugged it in, watching as he connected it to the machine.

When the kneader whirred to life, steady and smooth, she clapped her hands together once, the sound bright and cheerful in the warm kitchen. Her smile, wide and genuine, was aimed directly at him. “You did it!” she exclaimed, with a contagious enthusiasm.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest, like a sudden surge of energy. That smile, so pure and full of warmth, made him feel capable of almost anything. For a brief moment, it silenced the nagging voices in his head that constantly questioned his worth.

He turned off the machine and lifted it again, carefully placing it back in its original spot. He adjusted it slightly, turning it until it sat exactly as it had before, deliberately and unhurriedly.

“Show-off,” she teased lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Still riding the wave of her praise, he smirked, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “So?” he asked, with a tone just bordering on playful. “You have to tell me now if it worked.”

She blinked, momentarily knitting her brows in confusion. “What…oh,” she murmured. He wasn’t talking about the machine. Her mind flicked back to their earlier exchange, and warmth crept up her neck as she bit her lip, suddenly feeling all too shy under his gaze.

“How could I not be impressed?” she said softly, meeting his eyes with a hint of nervousness.

Bucky’s smirk lingered since her words boosted his confidence. “Good to know,” he replied in a low, almost intimate tone.

Her laughter came nervously, breaking the silence. “Alright, Mr. Fix-It, let’s not-”

She didn’t finish her sentence since Bucky, still high on boldness, took a step closer. “You know,” he started in a steady voice, despite the rapid thrum of his heart, “I’m starting to think impressing you might be my new favorite hobby.”

Her lips parted in surprise, “Bucky…”

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmured, his flesh hand lifting just slightly, hovering near her arm as if waiting for permission.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, her nervous laugh melted into a smile, and her eyes locked onto his. “You’re not.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Closing the gap between them, he leaned in, in a mix of deliberate but hesitant movements, like he feared the moment might shatter.

When their lips met, it was soft at first, a gentle, tentative connection that quickly deepened. Her hands instinctively rested against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

For Bucky, the world seemed to narrow to just this: the warmth of her lips, the faint scent of flour and sugar on her skin, and the way she melted into him as if she belonged there.

When they let go, her eyes fluttered open, wide and searching, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Wow,” she breathed finally, the word barely audible but carrying all the wonder she couldn’t express.

Bucky’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her slightly swollen lips. His own breath was uneven, and his voice rough as he muttered, “Yeah. Wow.”

She let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks warm as she glanced down, only for him to tilt her chin up with a gentle finger. His expression had softened, the earlier mischief replaced by something more vulnerable.

Without waiting for her to pull away -or maybe daring her to- he leaned in again. This time, there was no hesitation, no careful testing. The second kiss was deeper, and more purposeful, stealing her breath away.

She responded instinctively, slipping her arms around his shoulders as she pressed closer. His metal hand found her waist, firm and steady, while his flesh one cradled her jaw, brushing his thumb along her cheek in a tender contrast to the intensity of the kiss.

The world outside the bakery seemed to fade, and when they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, her voice was soft, almost shy, as she finally managed to say, “If that’s how you fix things, maybe Edna should break more often.”

Bucky chuckled lowly, trailing his fingers down her arm as he leaned back just enough to see her face. “Careful, there,” he replied with boyish grin. “I might start breaking things on purpose.”

She laughed, shaking her head as her hands lingered against his chest. “Just… don’t let it be my heart, okay?”

The teasing glint in his eyes softened at her words, replaced by something deeper that made her heart race again.

“Never,” he promised leaning in slightly, nearly touching her forehead with his. Slowly, deliberately, his body shifted closer, bracketing his hands on her sides, palms resting lightly on the edge of the workbench, gently caging her in.

“If you have me, doll…” His voice softened, laced with a husky tremor, as though each word was pulled from the deepest parts of him. He paused, pressing his lips together briefly, while his gaze flickered uncertainly. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of unspoken fears and hopes battling within him. “I’ll treasure you the way you deserve.”

There he was, exposed and raw, offering her the most vulnerable parts of himself. And she saw it all, the battered pieces, the scars both seen and unseen, and the wonder in his expression that someone like her could even consider him worth it.

All the previous cockiness evaporated as he waited for her response, his breath caught in his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t dare.

She blinked up at him, parting her lips slightly as her hands lifted from where they rested against the workbench. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, before reaching out, tracing the curve of his jaw.

“You already do,” she whispered. Her thumb brushed the faint stubble on his cheek, and she smiled softly, a mixture of disbelief and certainty shining in her eyes. She rose onto her toes and brought her lips to his. The kiss was more deliberate this time, an answer in every sense, with a confidence that left no room for doubt. When she pulled back slightly, she looked into his hooded eyes. “I’ll take care of you too, Bucky. I promise, " she said tenderly.

His lips curved into a rare, radiant smile, one that softened every hard edge of his tired face. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her with such unguarded joy it made her heart flutter all over again. Then, without warning, his strong hands found her waist, and he lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

She gasped, a delighted laugh spilling from her lips as he spun her around, the room blurring for a moment as the motion carried them both. His own low chuckle mingled with hers, a sound so rich and full like a victory, a triumph for once,  over the weight he’d been carrying for so long.

When he set her down gently, he kept his hands on her waist, and she leaned into him, their laughter fading into a warm, contented silence as she rested her hands against his chest. His heart raced beneath her palms, matching her erratic pulse.

They didn’t need to say anything more. At this moment, their shared warmth in the dusty floured kitchen was enough. The world and the rhythm of the weekday could wait a little longer.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another part to Rain and Umbrella? Please lovely ☕️🍪

Of course sweetie

Only The Lonely - By Your Side

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: After Bucky saw you crying and listened to your problems, he gave you something as an answer.

Genre: Romance, Action, Comedy, Slice Of Life

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"I'm not okay," you admitted, your voice trembling as you sat on the floor, clutching the mug of hot chocolate. Its warmth seeped into your hands, a small comfort against the coldness inside you. "I’ve been hiding for so long that I’ve forgotten who I used to be."

Bucky leaned against the wall, his arms crossed but his eyes soft. He didn’t push you, just let the silence sit between you until you were ready.

"I want to leave everything behind," you continued, your gaze fixed on the swirling steam rising from your mug. "Before everything fell apart—before my brother drowned in debt and left me to clean up his mess—I was someone else. Someone happier."

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he watched the pain etched into your features.

"I miss my friends," you admitted, your voice breaking. Running away had meant cutting ties with everyone who mattered.

Bucky didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked over and crouched down beside you. His presence was steady, and grounding.

Later, when you excused yourself to rest, Bucky stayed behind. You didn’t know then, but he had already decided to do something about your brother.

****

The next morning, you woke to find Bucky gone. A note rested on the coffee table, the words scrawled in his handwriting:

Be right back.

Your chest tightened as you read it, a mixture of hope and uncertainty swirling in your stomach. You went about your day, returning to work at the café.

"Where have you been?" one of your coworkers asked, concern flickering across their face.

You offered a vague smile, brushing it off with a simple, "I’m fine. Just needed some time."

As the day wound down and you closed up the café, you stepped outside and froze. There he was—Bucky—waiting for you.

"I want to show you something," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Back at his place, the air felt charged. Your heart raced as you stepped inside and saw a third person sitting in the middle of the room.

Your missing brother. Teddy.

He was tied to a chair, his eyes wide with fear. A muffled scream escaped his gagged mouth as he squirmed against the ropes.

"How did you find him?" you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked at Bucky.

He leaned casually against the wall, but there was steel in his voice when he replied, "He used a fake ID, changed his looks, and has been working as a fisherman."

Teddy thrashed again, but Bucky’s presence was unyielding.

Bucky walked over, his movements deliberate, and pulled the gag from Teddy's mouth.

“She paid the price instead of you,” he said coldly, his gaze piercing Teddy’s. “She’s suffered for three years because of your cowardice. Now, you’re going to pay back six times what you owe.”

“That’s more than I owe!” Teddy shouted, his voice shaky but defiant.

Bucky leaned closer, his jaw tightening. “That’s the price for what you’ve put her through. She ran, she hid, and she nearly lost everything because of you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The words you’d longed to hear—someone finally defending you—stunned you. Who would have thought that the stranger from the train could be the one to make you feel seen? In your darkest moment, you found the light in your problem. God knows.

Teddy’s bravado crumbled. His eyes darted nervously between you and Bucky. “I’ll pay,” he stammered. “I’ll pay back everything I owe her.”

Your knees nearly buckled from the shock. After years of struggling, hearing Teddy’s reluctant promise felt surreal. You glanced at Bucky, gratitude welling up in your chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

****

The next few days passed in a blur. You resigned and packed your belongings, ready to return to your hometown. It was time to reclaim the life you had left behind.

On the day of your departure, you stood on the platform at the train station, your heart heavy with bittersweet emotions. When you turned, there he was—Bucky.

As you stepped onto the train, you paused in the doorway and looked back at him. "Let’s meet again," you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. A small smile played on your lips. "Next time, can you ask me for a date?"

Before he could respond, you leaned in and kissed him. His eyes widened, his body rigid in surprise, but his lips softened under yours.

The train door closed before either of you could say another word, but through the window, you could still see him.

His smile was enough to warm your heart, a silent promise in the way his lips curved and his eyes held yours.

He nodded, his answer clear even without words.

He will ask you next time.

And next time, both of you will step onto the train together, sitting side by side, whether to travel to new places or to return home. The journey wouldn’t matter because, for the first time in a long time, you wouldn’t be alone.

As the train began to move, you kept your eyes on him, and he did the same, his figure shrinking in the distance but never leaving your thoughts. You smiled to yourself, the beginning of something beautiful stirring in your chest.

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