#bucky barnes fanfiction

[buckyalpine]

His Winter Flower

Modern Beauty and the Beast AU Winter soldier x f reader

Long awaited, I hope you all enjoy it as well.

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18 + Angst, injuries, Fluff, All the sweet smut, Bucky is a sweetheart

"оставаться внизу" [Stay down] The soldier ordered, holding his gun to the targets forehead, his metal finger twitching against the trigger while the man cowered in front of him.

"Please" The man tried to plead but it was no use. He knew his fate was sealed the second he heard the thud of the boots entering his home. The whirring of metal. The ghost people spoke of but never saw until it was too late.

"тишина" [Silence] The soldiers rough voice growled behind the mask that covered his face. He pressed the barrel further into the man's head, freezing when he heard the soft patter of footsteps nearing the office he had broken into.

"Papa?" A soft voice called, the scent of roses and vanilla accompanying it, "Papa, where are y-

You gasped as you entered your father's study, your heart dropping to your stomach seeing him kneeling on the floor with his hands tied while the soldier towered above him.

So the rumors were true.

The silver of his arm was illuminated in the moonlight, the rest of him covered in Kevlar and black leather. Weapons were strapped to every bit of his body but the only one that worried you now was the one that was about to take your father's life.

"Don't hurt him!" It was a futile attempt to save your father, you knew this enough. The Winter Soldier didn't spare anyone, in fact for the longest time you wondered if he was nothing more than an urban legend. No one had actually seen him. Those that did didn't live to speak the tale. The soldier grunted in response, hardly sparing you a glance as he stared at the man before him.

A professor. A brilliant man. One who was quietly working with a group of researchers aiming to destroy the the longtime work of Arnim Zola from so many years ago. No more serums. No more soldiers.

Hydra wouldn't have that.

Not when those very serums created their best asset, the Winter Soldier himself.

"Он моя миссия" [He is my mission] Was the only response you were given. You didn't understand the words he said but it didn't matter; it was quite clear. He didn't intend on sparing the professor.

"Darling, please go, it's okay" Your father shook his head, ready to accept the consequences of his choices. He hoped to aid in the movement of making the world safer and if this was his end, he was prepared to meet it. Tears welled in his eyes with a sad smile on his face, "It'll be alright, go, hurry-

"No, please!" You pleaded with the soldier once again, all you could see were his blue eyes, void of emotion, cold and icy. "If-if you kill him, someone will take his place and then another. My father will no longer help with the government if you spare him and take me. Please just take me instead, it will put an end to all this. Please"

If you kill him, someone will take his place

The words rang through the soldiers mind.

It shouldn't be a problem. He'd killed plenty of people before but...

Then it would be another mission to carry.

And then another.

Another.

The innocent man trapped in his brain screamed to stop. A voice long forgotten, begging him to reconsider. To fight against the words that were causing him to do this. The solider flinched, fighting within himself, contemplating his next actions. The mission was to ensure Arnim Zola's work wouldn't be eradicated. The girl was offering herself to ensure the same work wouldn't continue. He wouldn't have more blood on his hands if he allowed the professor to live.

He shouldn't have cared but a part of him did.

He didn't want to kill another innocent man.

He never wanted to kill anyone.

Your father let out a sigh of relief feeling the weight of the gun pull away, only to have his greatest fear come alive; losing you.

"NO, darling you don't know what you're doing, I'll be fine-

It was too late. The soldier cut through the ropes that bound your father's wrists, taking you instead. Before your father could reach for you, the soldier grabbed and hauled you over his shoulder and strode away, ignoring the plea of the professor to spare his only daughter.

His mind was made up.

She was not his mission but now he had a new one.

If he killed the man, another would take his place.

He was risking repercussions listening to the trapped soul only his mind could hear.

He shouldn't have listened to her words.

He shouldn't have let the professor go.

Yet he agreed.

The gait of the soldier lulled you into a dreamless sleep; exhaustion consumed you as he wandered through a thicket of trees and into the woods far from home. You hadn't spoken a word nor let out a cry as he carried you off, after all, you agreed to be his prisoner as long as you father lived.

-

He brought you to a place he knew no one would find.

A place no one else knew of.

A place that was now his own.

He was once sent to take the life of a wealthy aristocrat, a man who had no one to leave his estate to. The place was deep in a forest, away from most of humanity; even when Hydra had sent him to finish the man, they were unable to give him a location. The soldier had located the target himself only to find the man had already passed from old age.

No questions were asked.

The mission was considered complete.

The body was disposed of and for quite some time, the soldier thought nothing of the castle like place that no one else knew of. It was a secret only he knew and he soon found himself seeking its solitude. A resting place between missions. A place to patch up. A place to hide when his mind was too loud, trying to escape from clutches he didn't understand.

It was the closest place he had to freedom.

The soldier pushed through the heavy wooden doors, entering the dark oak foyer. He stilled, torn between taking you down to the cellar or taking you to the rooms up in the master wing.

How could he chain something so soft.

How could he imprison something so delicate.

His feet began to move towards the large staircase before his mind could process anything, shifting to carry you in his arms as he made his way up to the west wing. He set you down gently onto the large bed with the soft sheets, careful not to stir you. He stared at your sleeping form, unmoving from his place as you softly snored, the choices of his actions beginning to plague his mind.

What was he to do with you now. Why hadn't he gotten rid of you.

He knew the rules; once his job was done, he was to return to the base but he hadn't completed the mission. He had been away for weeks and the longer he was away, the louder the screaming was. The voice of a young sergeant who fought bravely in the war. The pleading young man, scared like a child, trapped in the body of a killing machine. The cries of a little boy trying so hard to runaway from monsters that haunted him every single night. All trapped and begging to escape.

He'd let the professor live.

It was wrong of him.

He disobeyed his orders.

Or perhaps it was the right thing to do.

Though the soldier had been brainwashed, there were times he found himself caught in-between a state of control and chaos. His duties were to Hydra. He knew this was wrong. You shouldn't be here. His task was to continue their vision. He was their asset. He belonged to them.

His tourmiol continued. Why did he spare the professor. Why did he bring the girl and set her down on the softest bed out of all the rooms when he should have chained her in a cell. Exhaustion began to weigh on him but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't allow sleep to consume him. The soldier remained in place even as the sun rose. He watched as you stirred, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains, falling onto your face.

-

You blinked, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a fearful gasp escaping your lips when you saw him sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. A thousand thoughts began to run through your mind at once as you sat up, a part of you surprised to find your hands and legs free from binds. You were atop a plush mattress on a large bed, the room itself surprisingly warm and quaint. Had you not been in a state of terror, you would have taken some time to appreciate the olive green walls and fine paintings that decorated the space as well as the well kept antique furniture.

"Please don't hurt me" You whispered, still disoriented from the night before.

"я не буду" [I won't] He replied, aware you didn't understand him. His lips twitched, all the words of English he wanted to speak dying in his mouth. His mind wouldn't allow it.

It wasn't required for this mission.

You stayed frozen in place while he said nothing else, walking off and closing the door behind him. Tears welled in your eyes as dread began to set in. This was your life now. He could kill you at any moment without warning. In fact, you didn't understand why he hadn't. From the rumours, you knew the soldier never took prisoners. You didn't know why you were spared; the only sliver of joy you had was that your father was alive. You thought about your him as you gathered yourself out of bed, deciding to make the best of your circumstances with the faintest hope that one day you'd be reunited with him again.

You inspected the room the soldier had put you in. There was a vanity across the bed. A walk in closet that only contained a few old sheets. You gasped as you entered the en suite bathroom, white marble tiles covering the floor, a large clawfoot tub, brass and gold accents decorated the handles of the cupboards.

The room was enchanting.

After splashing some water onto your face, you crept into the hallway, padding down to the staircase, surprised again at the beauty of the place. High ceilings. Dark wood. Crystal albeit dusty chandeliers. French doors. Original paintings. It was the type of place you'd imagine when you read fairytales. It would have been the type of place you'd dream to live in; one you'd only imagine in your wildest fantasies where the princess finds her prince. Such stories were only found in books.

You quietly explored the main floor of the mansion and avoiding the rooms which were locked shut. You didn't dare touch a thing, quickly retreating back to your room once you'd seen everything, familiarizing yourself with it's layout. The kitchen. A study. A living room. The hauntinly beautiful hallways. A door to the grounds in the back. You hadn't seen the soldier which both relieved and scared you.

Where did he disappear to?

That night, there was a knock at your door and when you opened it, a plate of warm food was left on a tray. Boiled carrots. Potatoes. A dinner roll. You hadn't even heard his footsteps down the hall. As you peered out of your room, it was empty without the slightest hint that anyone had been there seconds ago.

Where had he gone?

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite, scarfing down the rest in haste, placing the tray back in the hall. The next day was the same. You woke up to find a simple spread of breakfast outside of your room; toast and jam.

The soldier was a man of his word; if you were to be his captive, he had to keep you alive.

At least until he knew what to do with you...

Days had passed and you'd managed to avoid him, keeping to yourself and staying out of his way but you weren't able to avoid him forever.

-

The soldier had already heard you coming, pausing his cleaning as he waited for you to enter. The sight of your trembling form evoked something inside him.

You were scared. He didn't like it.

His mask remained on his face while his blue eyes peered at you, waiting for you to speak.

"I-I need clothes" Your voice was hardly a whisper, body shaking as you approached him, finding him in the study room, parts of his gun in hand. There was nothing wrong with the simple cotton dress you had on though it certainly wasn't comfortable to sleep in every night and you weren't able to wash and it dry within the same day. You needed at least one other set of something to wear. "Please"

He nodded without a word, resuming his cleaning while you retreated to your room. His brows furrowed as he thought about what you'd need. Perhaps it would be easier to return you and finish off the professor or get rid of you both-

No.

No.

He didn't want more blood on his hands.

The foods he stole were already a risk....where would he go for clothes?

-

The next morning, you found a fresh set of clothes left beside your tray of breakfast. You lifted the pile and brought it to your room, munching on the toast that had come with honey instead of jam for a change.

There was a red Henley and some sweatpants. A black t shirt and joggers. A few other basics for you to wear comfortably around the house. You couldn't help but giggle at the very large leather jacket he'd also left in case you felt cold even though there were already plenty of warm blankets. They were very clearly his own clothes but they were all washed and perfectly clean. You couldn't expect him to go shopping for you.

You threw off your dress, taking a long bath before drying off and slipping on the Henley and sweats. They were warm and soft, fitting loosely on your smaller frame, his soft scent of something distinctly him clinging onto the material. It was strange that it didn't bother you. Quite the opposite. It was pleasant, almost comforting.

You wondered about the man behind the mask and who he was. Such a dangerous man who was giving you the clothes off his back, feeding you and keeping you alive even though he'd killed hundreds of others. He was dangerous and yet he looked at you with such softness, you couldn't understand how he'd be capable of hurting anyone.

What was his story?

He hadn't chained you to the bed.

He hadn't locked you in your room.

You were free to go about where you liked.

Surely he wasn't all evil?

As you grew more accustomed to your living arrangement, you decided to inspect more of the kitchen. You hadn't been told you couldn't cook; even if the soldier didn't kill you, boredom eventually would. You needed something to pass the time and he had disappeared yet again.

You opened the fridge and pantries surprised to find a few fruits and vegetables stocked up. An untouched sack of flour and bag of sugar sat at the bottom of the shelves. Who knew the winter soldier enjoyed plums so much? There were a few pots and pans as well as basic kitchen utensils. You didn't need much to make a simple meal, careful not to make a mess as you began to peel some carrots.

-

The soldier blinked as he entered the house, the smell of food wafting throughout, a smell he hadn't come across in a long time.

Home.

There was a pot of stew left on the stove along with a pie left to cool on the counter. His eyes widened at the way his stomach grumbled; it had been years since he'd truly felt hunger. He ate for sustenance. Raw, uncooked, at most boiled food to keep him going. When he was with Hydra, he was fed with a tube.

Just basic nutrients to keep him alive.

He hadn't had a home cooked meal in years.

-

You woke up the next morning to find a pastry at your door instead of toast. When you wandered into the kitchen, you smiled at the tiny crumbs left pie tin and the now empty pot of stew. There were also newly stocked ingredients waiting for you; berries, potatoes, somehow even a whole chicken. You got to work, deciding to try something new each time; each night a warm meal awaited the soldier along with something sweet at the end.

He continued to bring you breakfast but there were only so many different pastries and cakes he could nick, besides they didn't compare to yours.

It wasn't enough. The soldier frowned at the strange feelings he had within himself.

He wanted to do something for you.

He wasn't sure what. He smuggled a handful of cookies you'd baked that morning into his room before removing his mask and savoring each once. He didn't leave a crumb behind, licking the remnants of chocolate off his lips while his mind wandered. You didn't have to cook for him. In fact you had every right to try and escape from him but you never did. He recalled the number of bookshelves that lined your home, after all he'd taken note of every detail as part of his mission.

You liked to read.

-

You sat up when you heard a knock at your door, the soldier waiting on the other side. He looked at you with a softness you hadn't seen previously, turning around and walking down the hall, hoping you'd follow him.

You stayed a few feet behind, trailing after him as he led you to the living room, leading you to the large bookshelf. He wordlessly stood by it, the strange sensation of nervousness and anxiety bubbling within him when you looked at what he wanted to show you.

Would you like it? You looked so unsure, scared. Perhaps you wanted to be free, you wanted to leave, you-

"M-May I?"

He blinked hearing your voice, nodding, watching your eyes light up as you scanned the various book titles. Gasps of joy and little squeals of delight escaped your lips as you came across stories you adored.

That wasn't the only thing that made his heart beat faster. Seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him. You were dressed in his red Henley, the hem reaching mid thigh. He was pulled away from admiring you as you squeaked, seeing one of your favorite books from when you were a little girl, a first edition no less.

"How did you get all these" You were in absolute awe, lost in your own world while he pondered how he came to own such treasures. Perhaps he was always a soldier gone rogue. His missions came with a side of thievery when he'd see something that would catch his eye. Something that would spark a memory of sorts, such as an old book he'd seen as he passed an vintage bookstore. Soon, the shelves of the mansion were filled with books and trinkets he'd collected. A part of his brain would nearly break itself to try and connect to the things he'd collect, only for the memories to fail to fall into place.

His mind felt like a pile of shreds from different cloths; pieces that would never fit together again. His little treasures were the closest he'd ever get to remembering, a few sparks from the past that would forever be disconnected.

-

Ever since the soldier had shown you the shelves of books, you'd left your room more often, spending more time reading after cooking. In a strange way you also began to trust the very masked man who had taken you away. You didn't worry about him hurting you. You no longer worried about running into him. He hardly spoke, nothing more than a few words of Russian. He hadn't demanded you stay locked in your room, so why did you?

You picked up one of your favorite books, deciding to read outside in the garden, in need of some fresh air. You hadn't taken much time to look at the outside of the house, pausing as you opened the doors that entered the grounds. It was strangely beautiful, especially considering the assassin who resided in it. For such a dark soul, nature still continued to flourish around it. Tall, overgrown hedge fences surrounded the backyard while weeping willows and bushes of flowers shaded the stone paths that led to a fountain in the very center. You found a comfortable spot under the tree, settling onto the cool grass, the scent of spring calming you as you turned to the first page.

-

The soldier trudged through the doorway, surprised at the way his appetite had grown since you'd started cooking. His body which was used to sustaining itself on the bare minimum now rumbled through the day. He'd find his mind wandering to your pies and craving the comfort of the soup you'd make. The food was set in the kitchen but you were nowhere to be found. He walked past your room, knocking on the door, only to be met with silence.

Where did you go? Did you run away?

He knew something was wrong when he felt his heart sink because he couldn't find you. He couldn't remember the last time his heart felt anything other than emptiness. It was more than just you escaping.

He was worried about you.

He took longer strides as he searched for you with purpose, fingers already itching to reach towards his gun, deciding to first check the grounds in the back. His heart settled when he saw the doors to the garden left ajar, finding you nestled in the shade, curled up in the grass with a book.

You were safe. You hadn't run away.

Again he was left stunned and unable to move. You were the final piece in the puzzle of the garden; you fit there like the perfect flower. He'd seen the garden 100 times before and it had never looked so beautiful.

Not until now.

Roses and daisies grew in abundance but you were the prettiest thing there. You were meant to be there; a soft, delicate, flower.

"цветок"

You set down the book you were reading, looking up to see the soldier peering down at you. You hadn't heard him coming as he appeared before you with the silence of a ghost.

"цветок" He repeated, gazing at you before looking towards a daisy. He kneeled, plucking one and handing it to you, "цветок. мягкий, как ты" [Flower. Soft, like you]. You felt your cheeks heat up as he looked at you intently, blinking with an innocence you hadn't seen before. He looked almost...shy?

"Thank you" You whispered, stroking the petal of the flower he gave you. You didn't understand why you longed for him to stay as he went back inside, your curiosity about him growing with each passing day.

It went on like this.

Most days, you would spend your time exploring the trinkets the soldier collected, staying out of his way while he disappeared into the forest to do things you didn't pry into. Each night you knew he would return, hearing the heavy creak of the doors open during the darkest hours. You'd hear the quiet sound of clinking cutlery and then the soft sound of his bedroom door shut.

Except tonight.

You set down your book hearing the sound of heavy boots dragging down the hall, quite different from the silence the soldier usually moved with. A sense of dread washed over you as you debated on staying put, something telling you to lock the door, hide, something-

"What do we have here" The click of your door opening sent shivers down your spine, your blood running cold as a man strode in, a metal mask covering his face showing nothing but his eyes. You wanted to scream but your voice was stuck in your throat, you felt safe with the soldier, this man was not the same, he lunged towards you, knife in hand, the blade swiping towards your neck, "The soldiers little pet"-

"DON'T TOUCH HER" A growl shook the window as you hugged your knees to yourself waiting for the knife to plunge but it never came. You gasped as the man was ripped away, the flash of silver gleaming as the soldier grabbed him and hauled him away, shutting the door behind him.

"You're weak. You were supposed to kill him"

"So this is what's been keeping you"

"Kill her and come back to us. That's an order"

"Rumlow-

"Kill her. They're nothing more than collateral damage, end them, желание-

You didn't dare move, tears spilling down your cheeks as you heard the sounds of a struggle growing further and further away, eventually melting into silence.

He saved you.

You heard him return, still frozen in fear but the sound of a pained whimper pulled you out of bed. You peered into the hall, eyes widening in horror seeing a trail of blood staining the floors leading to his room, streaks of crimson smeared onto the wall. You didn't think twice as you dashed out of your room to his, your body moving faster than your mind could comprehend as you let yourself in.

Your heart continued to race seeing the blood lead to the washroom where he stood with a needle in hand, beginning to sew a gash on his side across his ribs. His bloodied tactical gear was thrown on the floor though his mask still remained hoping to silence himself as he attempted to take care of himself.

He hissed in pain, piercing his skin while his head began to spin, multiple wounds needing attention, the blood loss starting to take its toll.

"Let me" you hesitated to touch him, going against your better judgement when you wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away. The soldier shook his head, fighting the way his body craved for something more gentle, more caring, more loving than the jagged and painful stitches he was giving himself.

"I won't hurt you, soldat" you looked in his eyes with such sincerity, for a moment he thought he'd ask you to be his girl.

Such a doll...

One he'd take dancing...

Call you darlin' with that Brooklyn drawl...

He blinked at the fleeting memory, a whimper escaping his lips when you dabbed his gash with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. You blew across the cut to soothe the pain before taking the needle and carefully stitching him up with a feather light touch.

"There" You whispered after taking care of the awful injuries that littered his body, leading out of the bathroom to lie down so he could rest. You didn't dare ask what had happened as you looked around the room; though there was a large bed with the softest sheets and finest materials but the makeshift pallet on the floor was clearly where he chose to sleep at night. He collapsed from exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep while you remained by his side.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, occasionally glancing over the dressings you'd put to see if blood had seeped through. You couldn't bring yourself to leave him alone, only getting up to see if you could find a sheet to drape cover yourself with in the cold room. As you removed the blanket that covered the bed, something caught your eye in the mostly untouched room.

A wooden box, carefully tucked away in the furthest corner of the room. There wasn't any dust on it, compared to the other pieces of furniture that were never used. It was something he very clearly wanted to keep a secret. His other treasures that were out in the open on the shelf were different from this.

Even the soldier had secrets.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you made your way to the corner, lifting the box as silently as you could so you didn't wake him, inspecting its contents.

Newspaper articles, some decades old.

Old photographs.

One of a young man.

The eyes.

Those blue eyes you'd become so familiar with.

James Buchanan Barnes.

A brave soldier who fought in the war. A young man, no, a boy, drafted to war, his life ripped away from him, leaving him for dead in an icy forest. You blinked back tears at the innocence the young Sergeants eyes held, bright and heroic, hoping to help in a fight that wasn't his. Scribbles on scrap pieces of paper read "I am James Buchanan Barnes" repeatedly.

Your could feel your heart break into tiny little fragments as you pieced together what happened to the boy from Brooklyn, he had his whole life ahead of him but-

A pained scream tore from his lungs, his eyes squeezed shut as you knelt by his side again, brows furrowed together. You looked over his injuries, everything was still in place but he sounded like he was being tortured. He tossed around, his screams melting into sobs, pleading for someone to stop.

"James?" You hesitated to use his real name, your hushed voice made him flinch in his sleep but it wasn't enough to pull him as he begged for the painto end. He didn't want to lose his memories again. He wanted to remember. Please?

"You're alright James" You cooed softly, running your fingers through his locks while tears continued to stream down his face, lost in a nightmare. "You're not alone"

You were careful not to scared him awake, your gentle ministrations soothing him, his cries coming to a stop. You wiped away the remnants of tears that fell against his cheek, some slipping beneath the mask he refused to remove. You didn't have in you to take it off, not without asking him first. His soft snores filled the room once again as the sun began to rise.

-

He stirred feeling a strange warmth surrounding his body blinking in confusion when he found soft sheets draped over him. The usual sting he'd feel after stitching himself up was nearly non existent. He ran his fingers along the gash, the neat little sutures still in place, covered with a bandage to protect the area. Bits and pieces of the night came to him in waves.

Running into his captors. Evading them. Escaping. The bloodshed. The weapons. The injuries. The pain.

However, there was also softness. Such tenderness. The touch of an angel he'd only be able to imagine in his wildest dreams that would never come true. Not for someone like him. Such sweetness. God, he'd missed it. He missed what such love and care felt like. It was so foreign to him. He was so used to the cold. Razor sharp, jagged edges. He'd forgotten so many things but the longer he kept to himself, the more that came back to him.

You called him by his name. He was sure of it. In the muddled fog of nightmares, he was sure he heard an angel call.

He knew he was in no condition to move or get you breakfast but the delicious smell of your cooking wafted through the halls letting him know it was okay for him to rest. He closed his eyes, flinching at the few prickles of pain he felt in his head.

You were there.

You'd take care of him.

He couldn't remember everything just yet but surely the puzzle pieces would fall into place soon.

-

"NO" The sound of the soldiers pained cry made you drop the book you were reading in your room, running off to find him. He'd fallen asleep after eating what you made for him that evening; you were sure he was getting better. He knelt on the floor, sweat covering his body as he gripped his hair, pulling from the roots. He felt another sharp piercing pain in his head, fleeting memories of things he didn't understand all flooding back at once.

You rushed to his side, taking his hands into yours to keep him from hurting himself. His eyes shot up, tears threatening to spill over, all the things he thought were lost forever coming back together.

He was a Sergeant.

A soldier.

A young man.

One who loved to go dancing.

One who wanted to help others.

Hydra turned him into a beast but you brought him back.

There was always something about you.

His sweet flower.

He relaxed feeling your soft fingers trace against his palms in hopes of grounding him, giving both his flesh and metal hands equal affection. He gently pulled his right hand away to remove the mask, letting you see all of him.

"Soldat?" You whispered, hesitantly brining your hand up to his scruffy cheek. He pressed his hand against yours, leaning into the warmth of your touch, he never wanted it to end.

"цветок" [flower] he whispered back, your eyes widening hearing the precious name he had just for you, "It's me, flower"

"James?" You knew it was no longer the soldier speaking, this was the little boy from Brooklyn, his piercing blue eyes now full of warmth and light.

"Your father, I have to take you home, flower I'm so sorry-" dread began to consume him as he realized how long he'd taken you for, trading one life for another, how could he-

"James, breathe" You held his face in your hands, wiping away the tears that began to fall, your hand coming down the rest against his erratic heart, "It wasn't your fault, I-I read what happened to you, you were taken, it was never you, you're a good person" You soothed his aching heart but it didn't ease how heavy it felt. Every part of him wanted to beg for you to run away, so far away from him so you could be home again yet his arms moved on their own, wrapping you up and holding you close, you fit so perfectly with him.

"I'm still a broken man, цветок" Bucky whispered with a sad smile, holding you with such care as you curled up in his lap. "I don't think I deserve to hold something as sweet as you"

"You're not broken, you deserve this and more" You cooed, inhaling his soft scent, your nose brushing against the column of his neck.

"You took care of me, flower" Bucky held you tighter, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, feeling safe for the first time in years, home had never felt closer.

"And you took care of me" Your fingers moved to card through his hair, pulling his face away so he'd look at you.

"I took you with me, doll" He couldn't shake the fact that he'd taken you from your father, first intending to kill him and then taking you in his place. "I didn't give you a choice, you should be home" The guilt ate him from the inside, if he'd been himself, he would have never-

"And you still protected me with your life" You whispered, your forehead resting against his.

"And I always will" Bucky promised, his lips brushing against yours. He meant it from the bottom of his soul, he'd always protect you no matter where you were. It didn't matter that he didn't want you to leave, that he wished you could stay, he knew you belonged elsewhere. He'd still always make sure you were safe. Exhaustion began to pull at him, his eyes growing heavy as his body continued to fight what Hydra wanted him to do and the man he really was.

"Sleep, Jamie" You pulled him down to lay on your chest, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and for the first time in years, he slept soundly without a nightmare.

Over the next few days, you continued to nurse the soldier back to health, hushing him each time he plead for you to go, insisting he'd be okay to manage on his own.

"My body will heal, I promise, you don't have to do all this for me, let me take you home-

"Once you're all better. I'll write to him so he knows I'm safe" You pressed a finger to his pink lips before going back to tucking him in bed. It was true that the cuts had all cleared up exceptionally quicker than normal but you could see the mental exhaustion that plagued him each day.

He found a way to get in touch with your father without alerting anyone in Hydra from finding him and while your father graciously forgave him with understanding, nothing felt easier. He promised to return you home as soon as it was safe but the longer he spent with you, the more he selfishly wished for it to last forever. He promised your father he'd take care of you in every way possible but he knew it was truly you taking care of him.

He'd sleep soundly when you were near, falling asleep quickly when you'd read to him, sometimes softly playing with his hair so he'd relax. The few times he'd been alone, the awful memories would come flooding back leaving him confused and disoriented. It broke your heart hearing him cry, the soldier who was nothing but a killing machine truly an innocent man on the inside, a prisoner of his own mind.

You'd comfort him every single time, every moment more intimate than the next. It started with your soothing voice, sitting by his bed where you'd call his name, your fingers caressing the scruff of his beard, wiping away his tears. Then the nights came where you crawled into bed with him, helping him fall asleep with his head on your lap only to wake up with your limbs tangled together.

Then he started to hold you before he was asleep. He held you tightly while telling you stories about things he could remember. Things that made him smile. That his nickname was Bucky. You would do the same. You told him about all the things your father taught you. He'd start to kiss you goodnight. Innocently with a peck to the top of your head.

Sometimes your cheek.

He so badly wanted to kiss your lips, stopping himself when he felt his stomach stir, especially when your sweet doe eyes looked up at him. When he cuddled you, his arms would wrap around your body, his hands finding their way to the hem of the Henley you wore. His henley. His fingers would slip up to feel your skin, knowing such an angel was real grounded him. You'd do the same, tracing over his scars, neither of you openly talking about the growing tension between you both each day.

-

"Will you read to me?" Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder while you stirred some honey into the tea you were making. You giggled at his needy cuddles, his much larger form practically engulfing you from behind. "Please"

"Who'd have thought such a strong, scary soldier would want bedtime stories" you cooed, letting him carry you away to his room, making a stop at the bookshelf first to pick out a new story.

He settled against the headboard with you tucked in his lap, relaxing at you made yourself comfy between his thighs. Your words had an affect on him he couldn't describe, no longer paying attention to what you were saying and instead watching the movement of your lips. Your eyes darting across the pages. Your body pressed against his.

The butterflies started again.

His stomach stirred.

He tried to adjust himself, pulling you into a hug to calm himself down, ignoring the way he wished he could have more.

"You alright, Jamie?" you asked, feeling his squirming, his eyes growing wide as if he'd been caught red handed. He shook his head, insisting you continue reading, God he didn't know what to do with himself.

He fidgeted again, this time trying to keep you off the tightness growing more and more, you made it so difficult for him-

"Are you sure you're okay bub?"

"I don't remember much but-I-I know I want you closer, flower" His voice was shy, his adams apple nervously bobbing in his neck as he shifted, unable to hide the hardness between his legs. His mind was a mess, fragments of love and intimacy struggling to piece themselves together yet he knew enough to want to hold you close.

He wanted to feel your soft skin on his.

He wanted to kiss you in places that would make your cheeks warm.

Where you'd want to cover yourself but let him have you, just him.

He wanted to feel your hands touch him everywhere. He wouldn't flinch at your delicate ministrations, he'd give all of himself to you. He'd trust you in his most vulnerable state, feeling things he hadn't for years, so heavy between his legs.

"How much closer, Jamie" you couldn't meet his eyes, gripping onto his t-shirt instead, setting the book on the nightstand, now all your attention on him.

"You know, angel" He let his nose bury into your hair, the blush on his cheeks travelling to his neck. He couldn't bring himself to actually say what he wanted, hesitantly moving his hands to your hips instead, slipping up your shirt to hold your waist. "Can-can I kiss you?"

He could hardly recognize himself, nervous beyond comprehension, his heart racing when you nodded, cupping his cheek to look at you. He leaned down to press his lips to yours.

"More" You let your body melt into his, his tongue lacing with yours, deepening the kiss. He didn't pull away until he desperately needed air, no longer able to contain his arousal.

"M'sorry angel, s'been so long, my body's not the same-

"Don't. Don't you dare, I adore you just like this Sergeant" He sucked in a breath as you toyed with the hem of his shirt, nodding after a moment letting you take it off. You kissed every scar on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder where metal met flesh, "You're the most handsome, beautiful man," You kissed his neck making him hiss, your tummy jumping at the feeling of his erection now pressed right against you, "You deserve all of this"

"Can I see you, please?" He undressed you with such care as if he was unwrapping the most precious present, first laying you down before slipping your top off. You wordlessly undressed each other until there was nothing left to take off going right back to wrapping your body with his.

"You're the softest thing I've ever touched" He whispered, loving how you felt, your thigh hitched over his hip, your breasts pressed against his bare chest, your soft tummy against the hard planes of his abs, your hands rubbing up and down his spine, oh God your silky most sacred parts absolutely soaking his length. His body moved on its own, rutting up to chase more, his cock slotting so perfectly with his flushed tip rubbing against your clit.

The desperate moan he let out made you gush, seeing how lost he was in chasing how good you felt with the stutter of his hips.

"M'so hard" He whined, hugging you tightly, "Please angel, do something" It was the most delicious torture. You pulled away from his hold wanting to give him every bit of loving he deserved, giving his body the pleasure it had been deprived of. You shuffled to kneel between his legs, his eyes growing wide, your face so dangerously close to where he was achingly hard. There was no way, you weren't going to- your lips pressed a gently kiss to his frenulum and the tears started, you wouldn't give him more than this-

"Baby, oh God, no, no, I can't angel, oh God-OHH" He cried, his body splayed wide for you, bach arching off the bed as you took his swollen cockhead into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his circles, licking every bit of his essence that dripped out. Your face was between his legs, his cock was in your mouth, you were suckling off his most sensitive parts, how could he not spread his thighs apart further for you. He'd never been so open or vulnerable, letting you play and toy with his cock, his tears soaking the pillow at his balls started to pull towards his body, it couldn't be over so soon-

"Sweet baby, please, please-" He pulled you off his cock, bringing you up to smash his lips against yours, his thick length slapping against his tummy. He could have sworn he was close to cumming just tasting himself on your tongue. "Can-please I want to-" He scrambled to lay you against the pillows as you squeaked at the way he manhandled you in desperation, "please"

He was between your thighs, sighing with heart eyes as he carefully spread your folds with his fingers, taking his time smearing around your slick, your throbbing clit begging for his mouth. He latched on like a baby, nursing with the most needy gurgles, your gasp melting into a moan making his eyes roll back.

He couldn't believe he had his mouth on his pretty angel, his tongue toying with the precious parts between her legs, letting him taste her, drinking up her nectar, feeding him in the best way possible.

"I-oh-slow down baby, please, M'gonna- You gasped, feeling surges of pleasure already pulsing as he flicked his tongue with precision, his arms wrapping around your thighs, tossing them over his wide shoulders.

"Mph, cum" he whined before diving in for more, greedily humping and grinding against the mattress, how was he supposed to last like this.

"Want-want to feel you, please" You begged, needing him inside you, giving you something thick and hard to cum on. He didn't waste a second, shakily clambering back on top of you, nervously positioning himself at your entrance.

"You sure, sweet girl? I-it's been so long"

"I trust you" You pulled him down to kiss his reddened nose making him blush, letting out the breath he was holding as he started to push. You both moaned together as he buried himself all the way, stilling once he was flush against you, his orgasm already so close to shooting at the base of his cock.

"Hng, I needed this angel" He didn't move and you didn't need him to, just the feeling of him stretching and filling you fulfilling something you couldn't describe. You loved the feeling of you both being connected in the most intimate way, joined as one, it felt so right like he was finally where he was meant to be. Like he'd found his everything.

Your thighs moved to hug his waist, your arms around his shoulders. He drew his hips back and thrusted forward gentle, the gasp escaping your lips urging him to keep going. He started to move at a steady pace, bringing his hands to lace with yours, pinning them against the bed.

"I love you-even if I have no right, I love you so much" Bucky lost himself to you, his hips moving at a slow grind, letting every inch of his cock fill and caress your walls, "You showed me love when I least deserved it"

"Fuck, I love you too!" You cried out, the curls at the base of his cock rubbing your clit, sending you higher and higher. "Oh, James!"

"My God, the way you say my name when m'inside you, say it again baby, please" He started to move faster on his own accord, primal urges starting to take over as he began to chase his pleasure and yours.

"Please, James, feels-feels so good"

"Gonna make me cum so hard, the things y'do to me baby, drives me crazy, wanna be like this for the rest of my life, making love to you and nothing else, swear this is all I want"

"James, gonna-gonna cum"

"Cum with me angel, all over my cock baby, cum on it, wanna feel it, please give it to me, I need it. Need your sweet cream all over me, fuck-yeah-jus like that-" You clenched around his cunt, his name dripping from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. That was all it took as he tucked his face right against your neck, holding you tight as he trembled, it was so much,

"M'cumming!!" His sob was muffled as his cock throbbed, warm streams of his cum pumping you full, his ass stuttering with each jerk of his hips. "So-so much for you, s'all for you angel"

Bucky made love to you everywhere, not one place left without him taking you apart to his heart's content, including the garden. The story you were reading was long forgotten as he took you under the shade of the tree, the long wispy branches of the willow tree hiding you from the rest of the world.

The summer sun cocooned you in a blanket of warmth as clothes were all tossed aside leaving you both bare on the sheet you'd spread on the grass, the sounds of the breeze, the rustle of the bushes and your moans blending in so perfectly with his rhythmic thrusts.

"Beautiful" he whispered against your cheek, pulling away so he could look at every bit of you, "So beautiful for me like this"

"Jamie, stop" You grew bashful, you knew no one could see you in your secluded spot so deep in the forest but you still felt so vulnerable, spread out naked with just his body covering you, shamelessly taking his cock while the afternoon sun hung in the sky.

"S'just us baby, just you and me, don't worry" He purred, bringing your arms up, holding your wrists in his metal arm while his flesh hand came down to caress your face. "We're not doing anything wrong darling, m'showing you how much I love you, how good you make me feel, yeah?"

"Yeaah" Your voice melted into a breathy whine as he started to move with more purpose, his warm breath fanning against your face.

"Lookit how pretty you are sweet girl, my pretty flower, you were meant to be here baby, feels so right, just like this"

Out of all the stories and poetry you'd read to him, this was what Bucky saw as true art. He'd seen the finest paintings around the world in the richest houses, guarded by the highest security. He'd seen nature's most incredible wonders with the tallest trees, the sweetest flora and nothing, absolutely nothing, would top how gorgeous you were, bare, on the grass, him filling you up, it was euproic.

The image was etched in his brain, he'd treasure it forever. Your shy moans. The clench of your cunt. The way he filled you up and kept his cock in you even after it was soft. The way you cuddled and kissed in a post sex haze, listening to the sounds of the forest. He could have cried at the way you fell asleep in his arms, so trusting for him to keep you safe.

This was all he needed.

He took care of you, keeping you protected while he did his best to eradicate Hydra with you to patch him up each time he came home. As soon as it was safe, he took you right home and under the care of your father, he healed from the words that held him captive.

It didn't take long for your home to be filled with the sounds of tiny feet mixed with the sounds of science experiments gone wrong; your little babies, their daddy and their papa getting up to mischief at all hours.

"Careful, flower" Bucky shook his head, running towards you as you waddled into the living room with an expression of concern on your face, cocking an eyebrow when you saw your son looking up at you with bug eyed goggles matching his papa.

Bucky came to steady you, his hands coming to wrap around your growing belly while your father and son continued to tinker away at a new creation.

"How are my princesses" He cooed while you huffed, still wondering what they were doing.

"We're both wondering what you're going here James"

"Papa's building me a rocket-

"A bicycle! Just a bicycle darling, go sit, son why don't you take her for a walk" You father ushered you and Bucky out, sending a wink to his grandson.

"A bicycle my foot" You shook your head while Bucky took you to the kitchen, setting a pot of water, ready to dote on you as usual.

"He gets that side of him from you, love" Bucky chuckled, coming down to kiss your belly, resting his head there. "Just wait until she's here too"

"You're a menace, Sergeant"

"You married me, darling" Bucky pouted making you giggle, cupping his face to kiss his jutting lips.

"and I love every bit of you"

"I love you more, pretty girl"

You would always be his flower.

[navybrat817]

why is Thunderbolts Bucky so 🥵🥵🥵 please eat me up

I agree, nonnie!

Eat You Up

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky comes home after a mission and wastes no time making up for the time apart.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Established relationship, oral sex (f. receiving), light dirty talk, mention of cockwarming, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I was inspired. 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!

“Just landed. Safe and sound. Tough mission, but successful. Missed you. Be home soon.”

You reread the message, your heart rate picking up. Bucky had been away on a mission for a few days and couldn't reach out much. God, you missed him so much. Knowing now that your man would be home soon where he belonged, you let out a breath of relief and smiled.

You rushed to your bedroom and wasted no time getting ready for his arrival. The message was to the point: He was safe and sound, no injuries, and a tough mission meant he’d need some stress relief. Why not let him play with the person he missed most?

Your heart raced when you heard the footsteps outside of the bedroom door, waiting in anticipation in the middle of the bed. In a few moments, you two would reconnect. Being without him in your home for a few days left you longing. You missed his smile. His dry humor. The sight of him reading a book in his favorite chair. You missed all of him.

Bucky slowly pushed the door open, and you lost your breath when he met your gaze. The heat in the room spiked, but you shivered, your body suddenly feeling cold after days without his touch. His massive build took up most of the doorframe and he was still in his black tactical gear, a fingerless glove covering his right hand. Your beautiful soldier looked like he was still on a mission, his shoulders tight and jaw clenched.

And you didn't have a stitch of clothing on, your legs open and ready for him to do whatever he wanted.

His eyes darkened as they scanned your body, his breathing ragged. Whether it was from the mission or the relief of being back with you, the tension thickened in the air. His gaze paused at the juncture between your legs, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you, before he growled, “Look at you. Such a sight to come home to.” Stepping forward, his voice thick with desire, he added, “I could just eat you up.”

The room seemed to shrink as he stepped closer. His eyes never left you as he closed the distance, his gaze filled with adoration and hunger, his presence overwhelming. Everything about him was overwhelming in the best possible way. Your heart raced as he crawled on the bed, but you didn’t flinch. You were ready for him.

“If that's what you need, Sergeant,” you breathed, a teasing challenge in your smile. He exhaled sharply as you slid a hand down your torso, his chest rising and falling faster, as if he was holding himself back from taking you right then and there. “Then you'll get it.”

You could handle whatever he craved... and more. Maybe you'd make him beg for it for once the way you begged so many times before. No. You wouldn't be cruel enough to make him beg. At least not tonight. Not when you both needed it.

“Trying to touch what’s mine?” He grabbed your wrist before your fingers could reach home, your skin warm under his gentle grip. He was one of the most powerful men you knew, someone with enough strength to rip you in half if he wished, but he would never use his strength to hurt you. “You miss me?” The ache in his voice was more than desire. It was longing.

“I won't touch. It’s all yours.” Your chest tightened when he released your wrist, your eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears, your hands itching to feel his body and know for certain he was really there with you. “I always miss you when you're gone.”

You didn't like eating meals alone now since you had come to expect easy and tough conversations as the two of you moved around the kitchen and sat at the table. You enjoyed exploring your surroundings together, but craved nights cuddled up together on the couch as the television played in the background. Building a home with the ex-assassin was a dream come true.

He hovered over you and tilted your chin, giving you a second to take a breath, before he leaned down and claimed your mouth in a feverish kiss. The ferocity made you gasp, your arms wrapping around him to hold him close. Your nipples brushed against his shirt as you deepened the kiss, desperate and needy. The kiss was a promise, expressing everything you wanted to say before the night was over.

That you loved him, that he was all you needed, that your house was a home because he was back with you.

His hair fell in his face as he broke the kiss and moved his gloved hand between your legs. You mewled when he teased your slit, his stare as seductive as his touch. You rolled your hips up, seeking out more friction, wanting him to make good on his promise to eat you up.

“I missed you,” he whispered, gliding down your body with the grace of a large cat. The muscles in his back rippled as his shoulders spread you open for him, your hands gripping the sheets to keep you from grinding against his face. “And I missed this. Your taste. Your smell. Your sounds.”

You whimpered when his nose brushed your clit. “Bucky, please,” you begged, his hands taking hold of your hips and digging in. And here you thought neither of you would beg tonight.

But Bucky Barnes wasn't a heartless man. He showed mercy when he had to, which was why he took pity and licked a stripe up your pussy with a groan. Flames spread along your body as you threw your head back and moved your hands to grip his hair. He ate pussy skillfully, effortlessly, and all you could do was hold on and ride out the waves of ecstasy.

“Good girl. So beautiful. And all mine,” he murmured before he shoved his tongue inside your hole, your eyes rolling back and mouth parting. Your super soldier had his head buried between your legs like he never wanted to leave.

“I… Oh, fuck!” you cried, his gloved hand reaching up to toy with your breast. His fingers teased your nipple, his metal thumb rubbing your clit, and you couldn't stop yourself from pushing your hips closer. You had no shame in humping his face as his tongue moved along your sensitive walls, his beard leaving the most delicious burn with each movement.

And if you smothered your lover with your cunt tonight, he’d proudly saunter up to the gates of whatever heaven you sent him to with a smile.

He pulled his tongue out, his mouth sucking on the swollen bundle of nerves as your thighs trembled. You lifted your head high enough to catch the feral look in his eyes. Pleasure climbed within you so quickly it left you dizzy. “Such a pretty pussy. Should write poems about it.”

“Oh, God,” you moaned, your head falling back again, heat filling your body.

“My name,” he growled, pushing two metal fingers into your wetness and pumping fast, knowing you wouldn't last much longer. You were right on the edge, ready to fall. He’d be there to catch you. “Say my name when you come.”

You didn't say his name as his tongue entered you once more. You shouted it, chanted it like a prayer, and soaked his mouth with your juices. He moaned as you fluttered around his tongue, and he continued to lap at you, trying to drink down every drop. He swept you up in waves of bliss and you were lucky you didn't drown.

Sparks still burst behind your eyes as he sat back to admire his work, making you clench around nothing as he licked his lips. You held out your arms with a whine, needing him close once again as you came back to yourself. He stretched out on top of you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, your essence lingering on his. Your hands roamed where they could reach and it sent a thrill through you when he moaned.

“Hi,” he whispered after a moment, smiling and making your heart pound all over again.

“Hi,” you sighed, shutting your eyes and smiling, too, when he kissed each eyelid. You were lucky enough to witness this soft side of him, trusted enough for him to be vulnerable.

“You okay?” He kissed your forehead this time.

“Better than okay. You’re home,” you replied, breathing him in before you opened your eyes. Your heart stopped momentarily under his soft gaze. “Are you okay?”

He was the one out there fighting to keep the world safe. Not only that, he still fought the demons of his past from time to time. It wasn't fair, but you were there to help as you could.

“I’m good, doll. I’m home. Everything I need is right here,” he said, rocking his hips. You moaned when you felt how hard he was through his pants. He deserved to feel good. “And we have some lost time to make up for, so no falling asleep on me.”

“Lost time? It was only a few days,” you teased, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear when he huffed.

“A few days too many,” he said, not teasing at all as he leaned up to unbuckle his belt. “Drives me crazy being apart from you.” He would never leave you if he didn't have to.

“I know. I was just teasing. We can make up for every second you were away,” you assured him, knowing he wasn't done with you tonight by a long shot. You were fine with that since you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. “Bucky?”

He paused before he could push his pants down. “Yeah, doll?”

You traced a heart on his forehead, wanting to erase the pain he endured and replace it with only good things. “I love you.”

He blinked the mist from his eyes and leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you, too.”

When you finally fell asleep the following morning with his cock buried deep inside you, he whispered again that he loved you and that he couldn't wait to eat you up all over again once you woke up.

That's two back-to-back Bucky fics in a little over 29 hours from me with him being in love and not afraid to eat you like his last meal. 😂 Are you lovelies sick of me by now? I hope not. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[http-shield]

smash (in a loving way)-bucky barnes

more avenger!reader x bucky barnes

it's been a while since you've seen Bucky, a few months give or take, but enough time to warrant a massive, massive change in your mission partner. He's always been a big man, towering over you with an intensity you once feared but now only found it mildly perturbing and very attractive, but you digress; your once huge man had only gotten bigger, bulkier, beefier.

"Jesus, Buck." You breathe, hands gripping his biceps, fingers digging in ever so slightly as you marvel at the sheer sight of the god before you.

"What?" His breathy chuckle is adorable as red dusts his cheeks at your blatant worship of his arms.

"I leave you for a few months and come back to..." You give him another squeeze. "this."

Your tone is almost reverent as you continue to ogle your friend, hands still gripping the muscles. You could have stayed there for hours had Steve not interrupted with a cough.

"Are you two ready to go? We've got the car." He nods his head toward the idling car on the curb.

Snapping out of the trance, you wrench your hands from Bucky and begin to fiddle with the handle of your suitcase for a moment before it is pulled from your hands.

"I've got it." Bucky announces, picking up the trunk and your carry-on to load into the car.

You watch speechless as Bucky carries your luggage with ease. His movements are still just as fluid, undisturbed by the extra muscle, but he seemed stronger and sturdier, the tight t-shirt straining as he lifted the thirty-kilo bag from the floor as though it weighed nothing more than a pillow. His hair had gotten longer, too. Long enough to be pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck, and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you jump.

"You're drooling." Steve does nothing to hide the smirk and shake in his shoulders as he chuckles.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb.

You bypass the teasing and lean into your friend. "When did that happen?" that meaning Bucky.

"What?"

Using your hands, you shape the air in front of you into the imaginary silhouette of Bucky's shoulders. "That."

"Ah." Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well, you haven't been here for him to moon over, so he's been training."

You open your mouth to quip back, but Bucky's shouting causes your attention to shift.

"Sam says he's driving, so one of you is gonna have to sit in the back with me."

Before anyone can answer, you raise your hand with an terrifying eagerness. "Me!"

[lillibethwrites]

SHUT UPPPP THIS IS SO SWEET

Cold, Cold Water

summary: While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive. pairing: Bucky x reader word count: 10.5k warnings: SMUT (18+), 🎶stake-me-out tonight🎶, some violence, near drowning, hypothermia, that good ol’ we-gotta-share-body-heat-or-you-might-die trope a/n: this was written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s follower celebration! My prompt was “have you been crying?” This clearly took on a whole life of its own…

Bucky didn’t care much for the cold. It always seemed to be more of a challenge to his mind than his body. It took him back to darker memories of enclosed spaces and lapses of time, to handlers barking orders and the electricity of the chair. Whenever a chill swept up his spine, he had to remind himself of who he was, had convince himself he was safe and not about to lose another decade under ice.

The serum pumping through his veins aided in keeping the shivers to a minimum and allowed him to tolerate more than most when it came to freezing temperatures but it didn’t make it any easier to sit in an unmarked car, deep into central Russia, watching as his breath left his lungs in small, isolated fogs.

He started to wonder why he ever agreed to take on a reconnaissance mission in a place where the icy cold of the air stung in his nose with each inhale. That was, until he heard the soft rustle of your jacket beside him as you yawned, readjusting your position, and he remembered.

He went for you.

Keep reading

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Twelve.

previous (chapter eleven). series masterlist. the playlist.

chapter synopsis - And throughout it all, no matter what - there was Lacie.

pairing - dad’s bestfriend!bucky barnes x female reader - soulmate au

warnings - cursing. alcohol consumption.

word count - 5k

authors note - to all my girls who have their girlfriends backs no matter what, who wipe their tears and fix their hair and tell them everything is going to be okay, who will always pick up the phone regardless of the time or place… this one’s for you.

masterlist. inbox.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Honey, please. You’re making me nervous.”

You foot stills where it was banging against the cabinet, the words halting your movements. You’re perched up on your kitchen counter, watching as Bucky makes you breakfast, both of you illuminated by the morning light. He’s shirtless and wearing short shorts that show off the tanned, corded muscle of his thighs, skin all sun kissed and begging to be bitten.

There’s an energy coursing through your veins, prickly and warm. You woke up feeling like this - uneasy and on edge - like a grey cloud was looming in the distance, getting closer with every passing minute.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he moves to stand between your legs, warm hands splaying across your thighs.

“I’m fine,” you answer a little too quickly, avoiding his gaze. “S’nothing.”

Bucky takes your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmurs. “I can feel your anxiety in my chest. If it’s bad for me, it’s gotta be awful for you.”

“I don’t know what it is,” you whisper, playing with his fingers. “Just woke up with this… feeling.”

He leans forward to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, lips warm on your skin.

“Get dressed.”

“What?”

“Get dressed, baby. We’re going out.”

“But what about breakfast?”

“We’re bringing breakfast with us.”

You stare at him for a moment, before nodding and hopping down from the counter. Padding across the kitchen tiles, you make your way into your room, your nerves too fried to worry about what your soulmate has planned.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The world passes by in a blur as Bucky speeds down the road, the steady roar of his truck soothing the buzzing in your bones. You arrive at your destination before you know it, coming to a stop next to a familiar path.

“Our house,” you breathe, looking out over the coastal plot.

“Our soon to be house,” he smiles, slinging an arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. “Thought we could have a breakfast picnic.”

“That sounds… perfect.”

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the melodic rhythm of his heartbeat to settle your nerves.

“Come on, honey baby. Let’s put down a blanket and eat while the everything is still warm.”

You get settled on the old, worn throw that Bucky keeps in his trunk, looking out at the ocean view that you’ll be blessed with for the rest of your lives.

“I may be the baker here, but you’re a damn good cook, sir.”

You practically moan as you bite into the sandwich, rolling your eyes when your soulmate can’t help but laugh at you.

“You blow up my ego too much.”

“Well, someone has to, I suppose.”

He shoves you in the shoulder lightly, chortling at your dramatics when you throw yourself backwards.

“If you’re done with the theatrics, there’s something I want to show you.”

“Fine, fine,” you relent, sitting up and finishing your breakfast. “Show me, Buck.”

He reaches into the picnic basket, pulling out rolls of paper and unfurling them in front of you.

“Official house blueprints. Got them all printed properly so we can mark them up and make adjustments.”

You run your fingers over the designs, trying to picture it all in your head. You trace journeys through the house - living room to kitchen, bedroom to bathroom, front door to backyard. Bucky watches you, gentle smile etched almost permanently onto his face. He wishes, for a moment, that he could speed up time - that the house was built and finished, so he can swim in the pool with you on Sunday mornings, stay up late watching movies on Friday nights, listen for your car pulling into the driveway after a long day at work in the week.

“I’ve been thinking about the little things, you know. That I’d want in the house.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smile, all hopeful and content, and every worry Bucky has ever had vanishes into thin air.

“Tell me.”

“I think we’re - I’m - gonna need a pantry. If I try new recipes at home, I have to buy copious amounts of flour and sugar and all that jazz. I think a pantry would make everything a little bit easier.”

Bucky pores over the blueprints, pointing at a certain area of the spacious kitchen.

“We could add one here? Build the walls into this cove section, close it off.”

“Perfect,” you grin, leaning over to kiss him sweetly.

He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, allowing the warmth of your skin to seep into his.

“Also,” you murmur against his lips, “I was thinking that we should make sure the shower is plenty big enough for two people. Hmm?”

Your soulmate groans, closing the gap between you to press a kiss to your smirk.

“I agree,” he hums. “I couldn’t agree more, actually. Might put a bench in there for good measure too. You know, just in case.”

You can’t help but chuckle, pecking him again before sitting back to get a better look at the designs.

“As long as I’ve got lots of kitchen storage and countertop space, I’m happy. Everything else is a bonus. I could live anywhere with you and be happy, actually.”

Bucky’s looking at you like you are the sun, bright and blinding and brilliant. A couple of years ago, if anyone looked at you like this, you’d have shied away, shrunk into the shell of yourself to avoid the gaze. Now, you revel in it, soaking up the warmth that being the centre of someone’s universe brings.

“I love you so much, my honey. And I can’t wait to build you a house.”

“I love you so much. And I can’t believe you’re going to build me a house. I mean, how many girls can say that?”

You shift over to slot yourself into Bucky’s side, the heavy weight of his arm around you anchoring you to the present. Resting your head on his shoulder, you try to exhale all of your anxiety, focusing on the coastal view instead.

Your eyes are drifting closed when you’re startled back to reality by your phone ringing. You grab it and show it to Bucky, who smiles at the sweet picture of Lacie that lights up the screen.

“Hey, Lace.”

“Hi babe! Has your Mom texted you?”

“Not this morning, no. Why?”

“I just bumped into her in the grocery store, and she invited me over for dinner tonight. She said we’re well overdue a catch up, just like old times. I figured she’d call or text you when she got home.”

“Ugh, that sounds amazing. I’ll call her in a minute and double check the details, but… I can’t wait.”

“Yes, call her! I’ll bring both red and white wine, just to be sure. I’m so excited you wouldn’t even believe. It’s been too long since I’ve spent the evening with my second family.”

“And I’ll make you that cake you like for dessert, the raspberry and peach one.”

“Eeee! You’re the best. See you tonight, babe!”

“See you tonight, Lace. Love you.”

“Love you too. Later!”

You’re grinning when you press the red button to hang up, content with the sudden addition of evening plans. Bucky presses a kiss into your hair, happy to see you the most relaxed you’ve been all morning.

“You wanna join us, Buck?”

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you in so you’re sat in between his legs, back to his chest.

“No, it’s okay. It’ll do you good to have a night with your family, honey. Besides, I have like two weeks worth of laundry to catch up on.”

“Stop it. I’ll be having fun with my best friend and you’ll be… doing laundry?”

“Might clean my oven, too.”

“Stop,” you laugh, leaning back into him. “You’re making me feel guilty.”

“Well,” he hums against your ear, “seeing as they’re stealing you away from me tonight… how about we go sailing today? Promise I’ll get you back in time to get ready for dinner.”

“I’d love that,” you breathe, twisting around to plant a kiss on his stubbled jaw. “We haven’t been out on the boat in forever.”

“Then let’s go, honey girl. The ocean awaits us.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Being on the sailboat with Bucky takes you right back to the day after your Tethering.

Salty breeze whipping through your clothes, sun beating down on your skin, wooden boards creaking beneath your feet. Your soulmate stands on the deck in his pale blue linen button up, adjusting the sails with experienced precision. He’s the image of grace, like a statue made of marble carved by an ancient sculptor.

“You thinking about that day?”

You didn’t even notice he’d moved, too fixated on his backlit silhouette and how beautifully broad his shoulders look.

“Yeah,” you grin, propping yourself up on your elbows where you lay. “That was a good day.”

“Yeah, it was.”

He sits down on the deck in front of you, rubbing circles into your calf with his thumb.

“A lot has changed since then, huh?”

“Yes and no. We’re still just as clueless about the soulmate stuff as we were back then,” you chuckle. “But we’re happier now. Less afraid.”

“And we still haven’t talked to your parents about it.”

“But we will. Very soon. Oops.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling as he does it. You move to sit in the space between his spread legs, allowing his arms to wrap around you and cage you into him. The two of you stay like that for a while, embracing the calmness that time has brought you.

You close your eyes, slowly letting yourself relax as the gentle waves and the anchoring of your soulmate ease your nerves. Bucky hums lowly into your hair, a tune that you can’t quite place your finger on.

“Have I heard that before?” you ask in a murmur.

“Maybe. It’s an old song, my mom used to sing it to us as a lullaby.”

“That’s sweet.”

The mental image of a tiny little Bucky all wrapped up in his blankets while his mother sings to him is almost too much for your heart to handle. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the melody.

“You never talk about her.”

“Hmm?”

“Your mom. You never mention her.”

“I don’t really have much to say.”

You contemplate it for a moment, before deciding to just bite the bullet.

“You know my mom mentioned something about your sister the other day, and I had to sit there and nod and pretend that I already knew it. When in reality, I didn’t even know you had a sister, Buck.”

You can feel him tense up behind you, muscles going stiff where they’re wrapped around your arms.

“It just never came up.”

“Never? In almost two years of us being soulmates, it never came up?”

Bucky’s silent - perhaps the most silent you’ve ever heard him. The sound of the ocean waves is suddenly amplified, filling the empty space.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, honey.”

“Anything. Literally anything. I just… why do I feel like I don’t know anything, all of a sudden? Your family, your upbringing, nothing.”

“Because it’s not relevant. I’m not just gonna bring it up out of the blue for no reason.”

“I’d say our pasts are pretty relevant, Buck. They make us who we are. I’m not gonna sit here and push you to talk about something you don’t want to talk about, because that’s not fair. But I also don’t think it’s fair that you know everything about me, and I feel like I don’t really know that much about you.”

You’ve turned in his arms, sliding back so you can face him from a distance. You’re expecting him to look angry, or sad, but instead he looks… guilty. Caught out, even.

“You know more about me than anyone else in this world does,” he says eventually.

“Maybe. But I couldn’t tell you your mom or sister’s names, where you grew up, any of it. It makes me feel like there’s a piece of you, however big, that you just don’t want me to know.”

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“Okay. Well, neither do I, anymore.”

The two of you sit for a minute, waiting to see if the other one has anything else to add.

“We’ve done this in the wrong order, I think.” You’re whispering, but he hears you loud and clear. “We think we know each other just because we’re soulmates, but we don’t.”

He goes to interject, so you continue quickly.

“We’ve avoided tough conversations because we thought it’d make things easier, but now they’ve come back to bite us. Buck… do you know how much we haven’t talked about?”

He bites at his bottom lip, gaze never leaving yours.

“We’ve not spoken about marriage, or kids, or any of that stuff. I mean, do you even want kids? Do you know if I do? Would you want to get married? God, did we think that by not having these conversations that they’d just… go away?”

“I- I didn’t want to scare you off with the hard topics too soon. You were overwhelmed at even having a soulmate, never mind marrying or having kids with one.”

“Yeah, but Buck… we’re past that now. We should be able to talk about everything, and we’ve just pulled the wool over our eyes in blissful ignorance.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his windswept hair.

“I don’t have the time that you do.”

“Hmm?”

“Kids. On my next birthday, I’ll be forty. I don’t have the time to wait around, wondering and debating if I want kids or not. You can wait another ten years if you want to - but I can’t.”

The reality of that statement hits you like a freight train, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“I can’t be an old dad. A little older, sure. But no one needs their dad to be fifty when they’re a baby. Seventy when they’re twenty one. Dying when they’re not even forty yet.”

A tear slips down your cheek, landing on your thigh with a tiny splash.

“I’m not ready for kids,” you confess quietly. “And I don’t know when I will be.”

Bucky nods in understanding, careful eyes taking you in.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

In this moment, nothing anyone says will make anything any better. You can feel each others sadness in your chests, blue and heavy and constricting.

Bucky sails you back to shore without another word, both of you quietly contemplating. He drops you off outside your apartment building, the roar of his trucks engine the only sound that can be heard. You gently rub your thumb over his cheekbone where he’s caught the sun, before picking up your bag and unlocking your front door without looking over your shoulder.

You can’t bear to meet his eyes. You don’t dare to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You spend the rest of the afternoon baking.

It takes your mind off of everything, at least temporarily. You throw yourself into the recipe you’ve made at least ten times, all for Lacie. This is her favourite thing you create, and you’re absolutely determined to make it perfect for her.

You place the final raspberry on the top of the cake, and burst into tears.

It feels like everything you’ve built - that you believed was solid - actually has cracks running throughout. You want to convince yourself that you’re not mad at Bucky, but you think that maybe you are. He’s made the conscious choice to never share parts of his life before you with you. Even knowing that he didn’t do it with any malicious intent doesn’t seem to make it any easier.

Taking a deep breath, you pop the cake in the refrigerator to keep it from melting, before making your way to your bathroom. The water you splash on your face makes you feel a little more alive, the coolness of it shocking you back to reality.

You inhale, watching your reflection in the mirror as you exhale shakily. A noise from your phone rings out from where it sits atop the vanity, a text from Lacie lighting up the screen.

-

From: Lace <3

Can’t wait to see you tonight babe!! Are you wearing a skirt, or are jeans the vibe?? Shorts maybe?? Send me a pic of your outfit <33

-

You smile as you type your reply, picturing her face in your head as she reads it.

-

To: Lace <3

No outfit picked yet - will let you know what I decide. Definitely not wearing jeans, skirt is a maybe. Made your cake though <3

-

You press send and hop in the shower, hoping that the hot spray of the water will wash away some of the tension in your muscles. Trying to turn your brain off, you decide to focus all your attention on getting dressed and ready, putting on some music and pouring yourself a glass of something fruity.

Tonight will be a good night. You’ll make sure of it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You wait for Lacie out on the street, just like old times. If she was ever coming over when you were kids, you’d stand at the end of your driveway, too excited to stay on the front porch.

She tries to run towards you, but her wedge heels don’t let her get too far. She hobbles over instead, half hopping, half jumping to get to you faster.

“I am so excited!” she practically yells into your ear as she hugs you tightly. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Lace,” you laugh, “I saw you last week.”

“Too long!” she declares, grabbing your hand and leading you towards your front door. “Let’s have the best night ever, yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s.”

Your parents are overjoyed to see Lacie again.

“You got taller, kid?” your Dad asks as he ruffles her hair, much to her dismay.

Your Mom’s laughing, shaking her head as she pulls her in for a quick cuddle.

“You look beautiful, sweetie. Have you changed your hair? Is it lighter?”

“You like it? Did it a couple of months ago. Wanted a change.”

“I love it. I need to make an appointment with you soon, I’m well overdue a cut.”

“I’ll make space for you anytime, Lori. Just text me and I’ll fit you in.”

“Wine, anyone?” your Dad yells from the kitchen doorway. “Lacie, I know you’ll have some!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she teases, giggling. “But yes, I will. The biggest glass you have, actually.”

You grin as you sit down to your place at the dinner table, Lacie taking the chair next to you. She’s already launched into a story about a nightmare client at work, making all of you double over with laughter.

The stress leaves your body the more you smile, all four of you wrapped up in this perfect bubble of nostalgia and friendship and memories and love.

Just like old times.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We’re going for a walk. You girls want to come?”

Your parents are stood hand in hand in the doorway, looking at you expectantly.

“No thanks, you two go ahead. Think we’re gonna have a drink on the porch.”

“Okay, sweethearts. See you later.”

They’re giggling at something when they leave, the melodic sound of it hanging in the air behind them.

“You wanna raid the bar cart?” Lacie asks, looking at you with mischief in her eyes.

“Yes, I do,” you laugh, standing up and pulling her with you.

The two of you find a bottle of coconut rum, half empty but still in date. Your best friend holds it in her hand as if you’ve discovered buried treasure, face lit up with excitement.

“Let’s sit out the back, maybe see some stars.”

You get cosy on the porch, both of you curled up under a blanket to keep the evening chill at bay. You pass the rum back and forth, content to just be in each others company again.

“Remember when we were like sixteen, and your Dad caught us trying a cigarette out here?”

You smile at the memory, casting your mind back to that day you sat in this very spot.

“And instead of yelling at us, he told us that we were lighting it wrong?”

“And then he called us losers while he walked off laughing.”

You both shake with laughter, recalling the look on his face.

“I thought we were so grounded, but then I just felt kinda lame.”

“That’s my Dad for you. He’s always had his own method of parenting. And honestly? It’s worked pretty good so far.”

Lacie looks at you with a measured gaze before taking your hand in hers.

“Have you guys talked to your parents yet? About everything?”

“No,” you reply a little too quickly, bottom lip wobbling. “Not yet.”

“Hey, hey.”

She scoots over so she’s practically sitting in your lap, legs tangled with yours under the throw as she slings an arm around your shoulders to pull you close.

“Babe, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You didn’t realise you were until she said it, now feeling the warm tears drip down your face. There’s a lump in your throat that you can’t seem to get rid of, and you wonder momentarily if it’s your sadness or Bucky’s.

“Me and Bucky had a bad day.”

“What happened?”

Her fingers are rubbing gentle patterns into the skin of your shoulder, her soft eyes watching you encouragingly. She’s always been the most patient person with you - as if she knows you’ll tell her everything eventually, even if it takes you a while.

“I just had this - this, this sudden realisation? That I don’t feel like I actually know that much about him, or his past, or his family. And when I said this to him, everything got weird and tense and he was all closed off.”

“Did you ask why? Why he hasn’t shared this stuff with you?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “He told me he just didn’t have much to say.”

“Well that’s not really an answer.”

“Exactly. Am I being crazy? You’d tell me if I was being crazy, right?”

“Of course I’d tell you, you know I would. And you’re not being crazy. He’s so involved with your family, so why shouldn’t you at least know a little about his?”

“This is what I mean,” you breathe, relieved that someone finally understands. “He’s purposefully never mentioned his parents, or his upbringing. You know I only found out he has a sister last week?”

“Woah. That’s… that’s kind of a big deal.”

“I just don’t know if he could see it from my point of view when we talked about it today. And I didn’t want to push and push just in case I pushed too far, because that isn’t fair and he wouldn’t do that to me. But at the same time… sometimes he closes himself off, whether he realises it or not.”

She squeezes you tightly, reassuring you with a simple gesture.

“I love you. You know that babe, don’t you? Even if we don’t see each other as much as we used to. I love you more than anything.”

She’s only making you cry harder, a mixture of happy and sad tears.

“I know, Lace. I love you so much.”

She rests her head atop yours, hands and hearts intertwined on the back porch.

“I just…” you take a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “I’m sad. And I’m angry. I’m angry that this is the hand I’ve been dealt. Not Bucky - never Bucky - God he’s the best soulmate I ever could have asked for. But I’m mad that we’ve had it so hard. Soulmates are supposed to be easy and simple and written in the stars and all I’ve felt is stress because our Tethering is so complicated.

I feel so uncertain of the future and who I am and who I want to be. And I never used to feel that way, but Bucky has changed everything. I love him so much, and that has altered my entire life and my entire future and the way I look at and think about the world.

I guess I’m just sad, at the end of it all. Because this should have been a magical honeymoon period for us, and instead it was filled with so much worry and hiding and confusion. And how is that fair? Why do some people have it easy, and others don’t?”

Lacie takes your face in her hands, forcing you to look into her big green eyes.

“Listen to me, babe. Nothing worth having ever comes easy.”

You’re expecting her to continue, but she doesn’t. She just watches you process, thumbs wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

“Nothing. Worth. Having. Ever. Comes. Easy.”

You’re nodding, letting her words sink in.

“You’ve been dealt a tough hand. You’re right. But when has that ever gotten you down before? You’ve always picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, and kept going. It’s one of the things I love the most about you.”

A ghost of a smile threatens to take over your face, and she laughs.

“It’s true. And it’s not going to solve itself overnight. It’s going to require a lot of talking, a lot of listening, and a lot of patience. But the two of you will do it. Because you’re soulmates, and you’re meant to be. Literally.

Have some time apart, put a little space between you. And then come back together and work through this. It’ll do you both some good to take a step back and look at everything from a different perspective in a few days. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, tucking her hair behind her ear so it stops blowing into her face. “Yeah.”

“And you know where I am if you need to talk or rant or scream or cry or all of the above.”

“Always,” you chuckle, resting your head on her shoulder. “Love you.”

“Love you.”

The two of you abandon the rum, instead choosing to make some tea to drink out on the porch. You watch the stars for hours, just like you did when you were kids.

“You wanna have a sleepover tonight?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If Cameron doesn’t mind.”

“He won’t, don’t worry. I’d love to.”

Your Mom and Dad watch through the kitchen window, as the two girls who were once four years old running around the garden are now grown women, sitting out on the bench and holding hands like they used to.

They’d pause time, if they could. Just for a moment.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You feel like giggly teenagers when you both snuggle up under your blankets in bed, the light of the moon casting shadows across your features.

You’re all tucked up, facing each other and whispering in the dark. These would be your favourite nights when you were kids, especially during the summer. The promise of no school tomorrow, staying up and sharing secrets until the early hours of the morning, trying to keep your voices down so your parents didn’t hear. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed it until now.

Lacie moves a piece of hair away from your face, her manicured nails against your skin making you shiver. She reaches for your hand under the duvet, linking your fingers firmly.

“You know, I was never worried about meeting my soulmate,” she murmurs into the dusk. “I was always excited, but never worried.”

“You weren’t? How come?”

“Because I’ve had a soulmate since I was four years old. And she is the most important thing I have. Even if I never met my romantic soulmate, I would have been okay - because I know what true love is.”

A tear slips down your cheek and onto your pillow as you shuffle sideways, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m so lucky,” you sniffle. “And emotional. I think the rum has gone to our heads.”

Your best friend laughs a little too loud, both of you trying to muffle the sound with your hands.

“I’ve always been a teary drunk,” she chuckles, squeezing your fingers. “Before we both fall asleep because the wine has hit us, let me just say that I’m proud of you. Going to California, having the courage to come back, opening yourself up to Bucky… all of it. You guys will be just fine.”

“Yeah, we will. I couldn’t have done any of it without you, though.”

“We make a good team,” she grins.

“We always have. We’ve had twenty years of being a good team.”

“Here’s to twenty more,” she whispers, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“And twenty more after that,” you whisper back, snuggling into her.

You fall asleep like that, still tangled and clutching each other’s hands like you’re children again. You can almost feel the love in the room, all warm and soft and glowing.

No matter what happens… you’ve known what true love was since you were four years old. And that is something that no Tethering can replicate.

tag list

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[witchywithwhiskey]

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend masterlist

a soft!dark Bucky Barnes series

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're in a toxic situationship with bucky barnes, who's more possessive than he has any right to be.

status: upcoming (note: i have no publishing schedule planned for this series, updates will be posted when i finish them)

series warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), established situationship, smut, toxic behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, very anti-john walker behavior (these are not exhaustive, read the warnings on each part!)

one

two

three

four

a/n: there's no real plot to this series, it's pretty much just smut and toxic, possessive behavior.

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 10

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst, stupidity, annoyingness lol

A/N: This is the shortest chapter i have lol i also lowkey might add flashbacks into each chapter to add more depth and show more of the before.

The door slams behind you, leaving the apartment in silence, and for a moment, Bucky just stands there, his fists clenched, heart pounding as he processes what just happened. His chest is tight, and he feels the rage and regret building up until it erupts.

With a frustrated yell, he grabs the nearest lamp and hurls it across the room. The shattering glass echoes, cutting through the silence like a knife. Pieces scatter across the floor, a reflection of the chaos inside him.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, his voice cracking as he rakes his hands through his hair, pacing in circles like a caged animal. His breaths come fast and shallow, his mind racing through the night, every word exchanged like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, staring at the broken lamp, his hands trembling. But the stillness is unbearable. He bolts for the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, shouting your name, his voice raw and desperate. He runs outside looking up and down the sidewalk “ Come on, don’t do this—please!”

But his voice is swallowed by the noise of a New York City Saturday night—distant laughter, honking horns, the steady hum of life moving on without him. He looks up and down the street, hoping, praying for even a glimpse of you, but you’re gone.

His pulse quickens, panic clawing its way into his chest. He rushes back inside, snatching his phone off the coffee table. His fingers fumble over the screen as he types out a frantic message.

Where are you? Please come back.

He hits send, but the empty silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut. He types again, his hands shaking as his heart pounds against his ribs.

I’m sorry. Just tell me you’re okay.

The seconds stretch into eternity as he stares at the screen, waiting for something—anything. When nothing comes, he dials your number, his thumb trembling as he presses the call button. He presses the phone to his ear, the ringing tone like a ticking clock in his mind.

Then he hears it: a faint buzzing, too close. His stomach drops as he turns toward the ceramic bowl by the door—the one he’d made for you last year on your birthday. A bowl meant for keys, little mementos… or your phone. He steps toward it slowly, as if delaying the inevitable, and peers inside. His chest tightens when he sees your phone lying there, abandoned.

“Dammit,” he whispers, his voice cracking. His hand hovers over it for a moment before he picks it up, his knuckles white around the edges. You’d left it behind. The weight of it all—the fight, his words, the reality of you walking out like that—hits him like a freight train.

He sinks down onto the floor, clutching your phone in his lap, his head falling into his hands. His breaths come in uneven gasps, and for the first time in years, tears spill freely down his face. He sees it all replaying in his mind: the way your face crumpled as you turned away, the sound of the door slamming behind you, the silence that followed.

Go. I don’t want you here.

The words ring in his ears, echoing with all the venom and finality he hadn’t meant but couldn’t take back. They were born out of fear and frustration, but now they feel like the truth—like he’s pushed you away for good.

After a moment, he wipes at his face, sniffs, and forces himself to his feet. This isn’t over. It can’t be.

He throws on his coat and rushes out the door, his mind racing as he retraces all the places you might have gone. First, the bar down the street—the one you’ve spent countless nights in, laughing over drinks, sharing secrets you wouldn’t tell anyone else. But it’s packed, unfamiliar faces filling the space where you should be.

Next, the café where you always get your Sunday morning coffee. The lights are dimmed, chairs stacked on tables. Closed. His heart sinks, but he presses on.

The bookstore is next. The one with late hours, where you could spend hours flipping through old paperbacks and laughing at obscure poetry collections. But it’s empty too, the familiar warmth of the shop now a cold reminder of how lost you are.

Finally, he heads to the park. The park where you’d spent so many nights sitting on the old wooden benches, talking under the stars. It’s quiet here, the hum of the city fading into the background. He sits down on one of those benches, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shake.

He’s failed you. He’s failed himself. The weight of everything he’s been holding back—the fear, the love, the guilt—crashes down all at once. Silent tears stream down his face as he tilts his head up toward the sky, the stars blurring through his tears.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He scrambles for it, hope surging in his chest, but when he sees the name, his heart twists painfully.

Steve.

His thumb hovers over the screen before he opens the message.

She’s here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or coat. You let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?

Bucky’s throat tightens, and his fingers curl around the phone. His vision blurs as he reads the words over and over, Steve’s anger matching his own self-loathing. He types out a response, but his fingers falter, and he deletes it. What could he say? There was no excuse for what he’d done.

Instead, he slips the phone back into his pocket and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. The ache in his chest deepens, and for the first time, he lets himself feel the full weight of what he’s lost.

He stares up at the sky again, the stars offering no comfort, only the cold realization that he might have pushed you away for good.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get you back. But he never really had you in the first place.

As you step out of the shower, the quiet hum of voices drifts down the hall. Curiosity—and a bit of anxiety—tugs at you as you wrap yourself in a towel and press your ear to the bathroom door. Relief washes over you when you recognize Natasha and Wanda’s voices mixed with Sam and Steve’s, and you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. They’re here; you’re not alone.

Gathering yourself, you open the door and step into the living room, where Natasha is pacing, visibly agitated, while Wanda sits on the couch, her face full of concern. Sam and Steve stand nearby, leaning against the counter, both looking serious. When they see you, the conversation pauses, and Natasha stops mid-rant.

“Hey, there you are,” Wanda says softly, standing up to meet you. “Are you feeling any better?”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, thanks. Just… processing, I guess.”

Wanda nods, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

Natasha, however, looks ready to explode. She crosses her arms, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is not okay,” she says firmly. “You don’t just let your so-called best friend walk out alone at night, without so much as a phone or coat.”

You shrug, avoiding everyone’s eyes as you tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe… maybe we were never really friends. Maybe it was just the convenience of it all, you know?”

Wanda’s eyes widen slightly as she squeezes your shoulder, her voice soft. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t answer because you know thats just bullshit, but thinking that hurts less, you sigh running a hand through your wet hair, glancing down as the hurt lingers in your chest. The silence stretches for a moment before Natasha breaks it, her tone gentler now.

“So… how was your date with Dean?” she asks, a note of curiosity softening her expression.

A sad smile tugs at your lips. “It was… everything a girl could dream of. He was respectful, charming… and he actually listened to me.” You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking hopeful. “So… are you going to go on another one with him?”

You hesitate, glancing in Steve’s direction for a brief second before looking back at Natasha. “Yeah… I think so.”

Sam shifts, clearing his throat, a hesitant look on his face. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but… you and Bucky still live together. What’s the plan?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, and for a moment, the weight of it all settles heavily. You swallow, looking down, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just… keep going back to the way things were. But I don’t know what comes next either. He’s Bucky yknow?”

Steve watches you, his face soft and understanding, and he offers a reassuring nod. You take a deep breath and settle onto the couch, feeling the weight of everyone’s concerned gazes. After a pause, you look around, your voice soft but firm. “Look, you guys can’t just be here for me. You’ve gotta be there for Bucky, too.”

Natasha scoffs, crossing her arms and shooting you a look. “As if! He’s the one who let you walk out in the middle of the night!....In New York!!! You’re too good of a friend if you’re even thinking about him right now.”

You give her a sad smile, shrugging slightly. “It’s… not about that, even if it was i wouldn’t of let him stop me, i made the decision to leave, i-i could have went to my room and --”

Natasha throws her arms up “Really? Are you kidding me? I love you babe but you’ve been defending him your whole life, he needs to take fault!”

You shake your head, your voice slight rasing “Its not that simple Nat and you know it” You hear her grumble before continuing “He’s going through something too. We’re all friends for a reason, right? We don’t get to just pick sides.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, groaning. “You’re way too good of a friend. Honestly, you’re killing me here.”

You manage a weak chuckle, but before you can respond, you hear Sam moving toward the door. He grabs his keys and his phone, his expression resolute.

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking over at him. “Where are you going?”

Sam glances back, determination in his gaze. “You heard the woman,” he says, nodding toward you. “I’m gonna go be a friend to one of my best friends.”

A surge of gratitude rises in you, and you give him a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you, and his voice holds a quiet warmth. “What are friends for?”

1 month ago

The air was crisp, filled with the mingling scents of freshly baked bread, blooming flowers, and sizzling street food. The bustling energy of the farmer’s market buzzed around you as you strolled through the vibrant stalls. Your arm was linked with Bucky’s, the two of you laughing as you navigated through the crowd, the warm Sunday morning sun casting a golden glow over everything.

Natasha and Wanda were a few stalls back, rifling through retro furniture pieces and vinyl records for their new apartment. Sam was predictably at a food truck, enthusiastically sampling every free bite they offered.

“You know where we’re headed,” you said with a grin, gently tugging Bucky toward the familiar book stall at the far end of the market.

He chuckled, squeezing your arm lightly. “Obviously. Can’t leave without finding something we don’t have space for on our shelves.”

You both were English majors, and literature had always been your shared sanctuary. The book stall was a small haven of dog-eared novels, rare editions, and hidden gems that called to you like an old friend.

But as you approached, Bucky suddenly stopped in his tracks. His grip on your arm loosened, and his head turned sharply, his expression shifting. “Kate?” he said, more to himself than to you.

Before you could even process it, his arm slipped out of yours, and he was weaving through the crowd, heading toward a figure you hadn’t noticed until now. A brunette. He didn’t say another word, leaving you standing there, your heart sinking as his back disappeared into the sea of people.

You blinked, dumbfounded. “Okay… what just happened?”

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned to see Steve approaching, a paper bag of pastries in hand. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced around. “Where’d Bucky go?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice light. “He saw someone he knew. An old friend, I guess.”

Steve nodded slowly, his concern softening into curiosity. “Did you two make it to the books yet?”

You forced a small smile. “No, not yet. We were about to.”

Steve tilted his head, offering his arm with a warm smile. “Well, do you want to look somewhere else while we wait for him to come back?”

Your heart ached a little, but his kindness made it easier. “Sure,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve always had a way of making things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

He led you toward the next section of the market, where stalls displayed vintage jewellery, scarves, and other unique trinkets. As you browsed, your eyes caught on something that made you gasp softly—a locket, its delicate gold surface glinting in the sunlight. It looked almost identical to the one you’d lost at some stupid college party that led to a panic attack, it had been so precious to you because it was a family heirloom passed down multiple generations that you of all people lost. It hit you hard.

You picked it up carefully, running your thumb over its intricate design. It was beautiful, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of nostalgia, of longing. But when you flipped it over, searching for a price tag, you found none. You sighed quietly, already knowing what that meant. You’d only set aside money for books today—not for a locket, no matter how much it tugged at your heart.

Reluctantly, you set it back down, giving it one last wistful glance before turning back to Steve. He’d been watching you, his expression soft, but before he could say anything, Bucky reappeared, his usual grin plastered on his face.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw someone from college.”

You raised an eyebrow, forcing your smile to stay in place. “Oh?”

“Yeah, remember that girl I had the project with in our last year? Kate. That was her,” he said, nodding toward where she’d vanished into the crowd. “Haven’t seen her since graduation. Got her number, though!”

“Cool,” you said, your voice light but not quite steady. Your chest ached, but you buried it quickly. Even the farmer’s market wasn’t safe from heartbreak, it seemed.

Bucky held out his arm again, his smile as warm as ever. “Shall we?”

You nodded, linking your arm with his once more. “Sure,” you said, glancing over at Steve. “You coming with?”

Steve shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’m gonna check out one more stand. Meet you guys at the benches for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said, steering you back into the crowd. “Don’t take too long, Rogers. Sam’s probably already ordered for everyone.”

Steve waved you off, waiting until you and Bucky were out of sight. Then, he turned back to the vendor, his gaze settling on the locket you’d been admiring.

“I’ll take that locket, please,” Steve said quietly, pulling out his wallet.

[wisteriaandwafers]

Ohmygod they were roommates so except not really does one night count?

What is this chocolate tart recipe I’m hearing about? The slow build especially th silence in the car would have been straight up torture I can’t do silences

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙

Part Two Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Heavy Mutual Pinining, Heavy Sexual Tension, Longing, Yearning, Right Person-Wrong Time. Friends to Lovers, a bit Angsty but Happy Ending. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky being obsessed with tiddies, unprotected piv, creampie. Summary: Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. A/N: This is a Two Shot, so another one will be coming soon.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @classicrebound

The first time it really hits is when you see him with her.

It’s a crowded room, warm bodies pressed close together, the low hum of music barely louder than the thudding in your chest as you watch Bucky Barnes wrap his arm around the waist of a woman you don’t know. 

She’s beautiful, of course—someone you'd expect to be by his side. Her laugh is soft, melting into his as he leans in close, whispering something that lights her face up, his lips brushing her ear like he can’t help himself.

You glance down at your drink, the sudden bitterness pooling in your throat harder to swallow than the wine. You tell yourself to look away, that it’s none of your business who he holds, but you can’t. Every time you look up, he’s there, still wrapped around her, laughing at something she’s said, his hand resting on her back in a way that feels too familiar, too tender. You know that look—the way his fingers splay protectively, pulling her close like she belongs to him. Like he’s finally let someone in.

It’s torture, standing there with a smile plastered on your face, pretending not to notice. Pretending that it doesn’t crush you.

Because when you’re alone—when you’re single—he’s taken. And when he’s got nobody, you do. Every single time. You’ve gotten used to seeing him across rooms, with someone else in his arms, with that look in his eyes that you wish, desperately, could be meant for you.

And he’s always looking at you that same way, that glance just a second too long, that warmth held back by a fragile thread of restraint. Just enough to keep the lines from blurring.

Tonight, he finally looks away.

When he glances up, catches sight of you, his smile falters. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, and something soft flickers in his eyes—something like regret, the same regret you carry. But her hand tightens on his arm, and he turns back to her, his smile returning, wider than before. You hate how easily he can pull away from you, how quickly he can make you feel invisible.

“Hey, Bucky,” you manage, your voice steady though it feels like your chest is caving in.

He looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Hey.” His gaze drops, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, that he might admit that this hurts him too. But then she shifts closer, and he wraps his arm around her more firmly, giving you a look that’s both a dare and a dismissal.

“This is Emily,” he says, and she gives you a polite, too-sweet smile.

“Oh.” You swallow, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “I didn’t know… I hadn’t realized you were…” You can’t finish, the words catching in your throat.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s tone is almost too casual, too final. “We’re together.”

The finality of it slices through you, sharp and clean. You nod, trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity you have left, but all you can manage is, “Well… congratulations. I’m… I’m glad you’re happy.”

There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—anger? Hurt? But his jaw tightens, and he nods, looking away as if to spare you. 

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, his voice steady, controlled.

Emily pulls him closer, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she glances at you. 

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” she says, and there’s a challenge in her tone, a silent declaration that she’s won, that whatever you think you had with him is nothing compared to this. She presses a kiss to his cheek, her fingers curling possessively around his shoulder as she tilts her head, catching his gaze.

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “Yeah, he is.”

And for a brief, desperate second, you think he might look at you—really look at you, see how much this is tearing you apart. But he doesn’t. His gaze is on her, soft and full of warmth, a look he’s given you a thousand times. And it feels like he’s choosing her, like he’s making the decision to let go of whatever fragile orbit kept you two circling each other all this time.

You turn away, trying to hold yourself together, but the ache in your chest is all-consuming, a raw, relentless reminder that he’s moved on. That he’s chosen her.

And as you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, the sound twisting like a knife in your chest, leaving you wondering if he was ever yours to lose.

And then one night, fate flips, and you’re the one with someone new by your side.

It’s been months since you last saw Bucky. You assumed he was out of your life for good, until tonight, when you walk into the cozy warmth of a private dining room in a restaurant, your hand firmly held by your boyfriend Andrew. It’s Steve’s dinner party, a small gathering of friends, and the lighthearted chatter fills the air, mixing with the warm glow from the dimmed overhead lights.

You’re laughing at something your boyfriend said as you step into the room, but your laughter dies in your throat when you see him.

Bucky is seated across the table, leaning back casually in his chair, but the moment his eyes meet yours, a spark flickers there—surprise, mingled with something darker, something that quickens your pulse. You hadn’t expected him to be here tonight, and judging by the way his gaze lingers, he hadn’t expected you either.

Steve stands, grinning as he greets you and Andrew, and you introduce him to everyone. You smile, trying to seem natural as you move around the table, your hand still resting in your boyfriend’s. But it feels wrong, the warmth of your boyfriend’s fingers against yours suddenly strange, like it doesn’t quite belong.

When you reach Bucky, he stands, his jaw tense, his eyes unwavering as he offers a hand to shake. You almost expect him to make some dry remark, to cover up whatever unspoken tension lies between you. But he’s silent as he grips Andrew’s hand firmly, while looking at you. His fingers are steady, a touch too tight, like he’s barely holding something back.

“So, you’re the boyfriend,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place.

Your boyfriend laughs, unaware of the tension. “Yeah, I am. And you’re the famous Bucky I keep hearing about.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a half-smile, but his eyes remain cold. 

“I’m sure you have.” He releases your boyfriend’s hand, his gaze shifting back to you, lingering a second too long before he forces himself to look away.

It should feel like a victory—that, for once, you’re the one who’s found happiness while he’s left to watch. But the second you meet his eyes, the air shifts. You feel the weight of everything unspoken, of the years that have passed with both of you just out of reach, orbiting each other but never colliding.

You take your seat next to your boyfriend, aware of every brush of his arm against yours, every gentle squeeze of his hand on your knee under the table. He leans close, murmuring something soft and sweet, and you offer a small smile, but your focus is entirely on Bucky, sitting across the table, his gaze flickering between you and Andrew, his jaw set with that same restrained tension.

As the night wears on, Bucky remains quiet, only contributing here and there to the conversation, but each time he speaks, his words feel weighted, almost directed at you.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the chatter, “I’m guessing you’re happy?”

The question is simple enough, but there’s a challenge hidden beneath it, a question he doesn’t ask outright.

“Yes, I am,” you say, your voice firmer than you feel, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Your boyfriend glances over, squeezing your hand, unaware of the undercurrents in the room. 

“She’s stuck with me now,” he jokes, nudging you. “No escape.”

You laugh softly, but the sound feels hollow, especially when you catch Bucky’s expression—something dark and raw flashing in his eyes before he schools his features again.

“Good for you both,” Bucky replies, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s about time.”

There’s a pause, the kind that seems to echo louder than any conversation, and you can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, filled with a thousand things he can’t say. Your chest tightens as the weight of everything unsaid settles heavily between you, filling the air with a tension you’re certain everyone can feel.

As people start to leave, you find yourself alone with Bucky by the door. Your boyfriend is across the room, saying goodbyes, and it’s just you and Bucky in the dimly lit entryway, a fragile bubble of space and time.

“So…” His voice is low, almost too soft, his eyes searching yours. “This is it, then?”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that pierces through you, a rawness you’ve never heard before. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to deny it.

You glance away, your voice barely a whisper. “Yep. This is it.”

A shadow crosses his face, and he just stands there, watching you, his gaze heavy. He doesn’t say anything for awhile, his hand lingering just inches from yours, as though he’s contemplating reaching out, breaking whatever boundary lies between you. The air feels thick, and you wonder if he can hear the frantic beat of your heart.

But he lets his hand fall back to his side. 

“Guess there’s nothing left to say,” he murmurs, a bitter edge coloring his voice. His eyes linger on you, as if he’s memorizing every detail, every second of this final, silent goodbye.

You open your mouth, but the words die on your lips, caught between everything you want to say and everything you can’t. You reach out, almost instinctively, but Andrew calls your name from across the room, his voice shattering the fragile stillness.

Bucky’s gaze flickers, and he takes a step back, his expression falling into something guarded. 

“Take care, doll,” he says softly, the words laced with both a goodbye and a promise. His eyes linger on you one last time, and then he’s gone, slipping out into the night.

He’d spent years replacing your lips with so many others, all in an attempt to forget the mark you left on him.

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled her in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

× × × × 

Present

It’s one of those nights, another dinner gathering among friends, the kind that’s almost become routine. You’re already seated in the cozy living room, surrounded by the familiar warmth of Steve’s place. The soft glow of lamps and low bable of conversation wrap around you like a comfortable blanket, and for the first time in a long time, you’re truly at ease.

Beside you, Sam nudges your shoulder. 

“Hey Boo,” he says, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “remember when you and Bucky were practically attached at the hip? What happened there?”

The question catches you off guard, and you feel warmth creeping up your neck as a few heads turn, curious eyes glancing your way. You roll your eyes, nudging him back. 

“Leave it to you to bring that up, Sam.”

He chuckles, unrelenting. “C’mon, just saying. You two were tight. I mean, tight.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, feeling the weight of a few more gazes on you, even if they aren’t pushing the question. 

“It’s… complicated,” you finally say, giving him a look that tells him to drop it. But Sam just chuckles, clearly amused, like he knows something no one else does.

“Complicated.” He echoes with a slow nod, a knowing grin spreading. “Right. Complicated.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, barely suppressing a smile, but you can’t deny the fondness in your tone. Sam just winks, nudging you again, and the others quickly move on, the brief moment of attention fading as conversation flows around you.

And that’s when the front door opens, and you hear his voice.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky calls out, his deep voice filling the space effortlessly as he steps in, slightly flushed from the cold outside. His eyes scan the room, and the moment they land on you, you swear the air shifts, that it crackles with something electric, something only the two of you seem to feel.

Your heart stumbles over itself as he walks further into the room, tugging off his jacket and offering smiles and nods to everyone. But it’s like a magnetic pull—his eyes keep flickering back to you, and each time it does, your stomach does a nervous, excited flip.

He looks good. Better than good, really. There’s a slight scruff along his jaw, and his hair falls just so, framing his face in a way that makes you want to reach out and touch it. When he finally reaches the empty chair directly across from you, he stops, fingers lingering on the back of it.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asks, his voice low, and there’s something almost hesitant in his eyes, like he’s waiting for permission to be close to you.

You shake your head, trying to keep your cool, even though every part of you is screaming, yes, sit, sit right here and don’t you dare move.

“No, go ahead,” you reply, hoping your voice sounds steady.

He sits, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted, and the faint scent of his cologne drifts over, warm and familiar, making your head spin.

As he settles in, he leans slightly closer, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Long time no see.”

“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” you murmur, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. Every subtle movement, every small smile he throws your way feels like it’s weaving a thread around you both, pulling you in.

The conversation around you resumes, but it’s like you’re in a bubble, the two of you orbiting each other again. Every so often, his knee brushes yours under the table, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, to make you bite back a smile. His hand rests on the table between you, his fingers drumming absently, and you find yourself staring at them, remembering every time those hands had nearly, almost touched yours.

After a lull in conversation, he clears his throat, glancing at you sideways. 

“So… where’s the boyfriend?” he asks, almost casually, but you catch the underlying question. His tone is light, but his eyes are cautious, searching yours, looking for an answer he can’t ask outright.

You raise a brow, unable to hide the grin pulling at your lips. 

“Well,” you say, tilting your head slightly as you meet his gaze, “the lack of presence should answer your question.”

For a second, Bucky just stares, and then a slow, dawning smile spreads across his face, his whole expression softening, the guardedness falling away. He looks like he’s holding back from saying something, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, his knee pressing just a little more against yours as he leans in.

And before you can think twice, you match his question with your own, barely above a whisper. “And where’s your girlfriend, Bucky?”

“Nonexistent.” he said almost instantly.

His eyes hold yours, and something subtle shifts in them—a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but he doesn’t look away though he plays it off with a small, casual shrug. “Guess I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

You nod, feeling the smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

“Nice,” you say, trying to keep it casual, though your heart’s picking up a pace of its own.

“Yeah… nice.” He lets out a quiet chuckle, raising an eyebrow as if he’s catching onto your attempt at nonchalance. 

Deafening silence settles between you, but it’s charged, a silent exchange that makes you feel more breathless than words ever could. Neither of you seems to move, his knee still brushing yours under the table, and it feels like he’s lingering in your space, right on that line between friend and something more. 

You glance around, feeling the tension rise, and blow your bangs out of your eyes, hoping it might ease the knot in your stomach. But when you sneak a look at him, he’s still staring, his gaze solid, unblinking, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of every tiny shift in the air between you. Your cheeks warm, and you look away quickly, pressing your lips together, but it only makes your heart pound harder.

Your cheeks warm instantly, and you quickly look away, focusing hard on the table.

A small smile tugs at his lips, his voice soft. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Your pulse quickens, and you swallow, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

A spark lights in his eyes, and his smile widens, soft but undeniably mischievous. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his knee pressing just a fraction closer to yours, enough to send a thrill up your spine. “Because, for the record… you make me a little nervous too.”

Your heart does a flip, and you feel a grin tug at your lips despite yourself. 

“I make you nervous?” You try to keep the surprise out of your voice, but he just nods, his gaze intense, that teasing warmth settling over his expression.

“Yeah, you do,” he says, his tone light but honest, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Especially when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you ask, barely breathing.

“Like you’re about to bolt… but part of you doesn’t want to.” His voice is low, and his eyes search yours, as if he’s daring you to deny it.

You feel the smile you’ve been holding back break through, your heart racing as the last of the distance between you seems to dissolve. Just as you’re about to respond, a voice calls from the dining room, breaking the tension as everyone calls you both to join.

“Guess we should go, huh?” Bucky lets out a soft chuckle, pulling back just slightly, though his gaze lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer. 

“Yeah,” you manage, feeling a little breathless.

But as you both stand and head to the dining room, his hand brushes yours, just enough for his pinky to link with yours for a brief, secret moment. The warmth of that tiny touch lingers, and you can’t help but feel like something just shifted between you, something new and thrilling, waiting just under the surface.

× × × ×

As you both step into the dining room, Sam raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “There they are,” he teases, his voice just loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “We were wondering what’s taking so long.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks, and you catch Bucky’s gaze, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t say anything, slipping into the room to find only two empty seats—right beside each other.

Bucky gestures to the chair beside him, waiting until you sit before settling in next to you. He settles in beside you, his broad shoulders and steady presence enveloping the space, making you feel smaller.

Conversations swirl around the table, but you’re painfully aware of every tiny shift Bucky makes. The subtle brush of his arm against yours, the steady warmth radiating from his shoulder—it all has your heart racing. His hand rests on the table beside yours, fingers drumming lightly, and your pulse hammers as his knee presses just slightly against yours under the table, a connection so subtle yet electric that it makes your skin tingle.

Then he adjusts his position, angling himself more toward the group—and you. The small movement brings him even closer, and you’re immediately enveloped in his scent, something warm and cedar-like, filling the air around you until it feels almost overwhelming, in the best possible way. You take a slow breath, fighting the urge to close the distance even more, feeling trapped between wanting to be near him and feeling breathless because of it.

As Bucky joins the conversation, you find yourself watching him, captivated by the way he leans in, his voice low and steady, his easy confidence only pulling you in deeper. His lips curve as he speaks, and you can’t help but linger on every detail, the way his eyes light up, the rough timbre of his laugh, every tiny thing about him that’s impossibly distracting.

And then, in the middle of a sentence, his eyes flick back to you, catching you looking. You quickly look away, feeling your cheeks burn as you fixate on your plate, hoping he didn’t notice the way you’d been studying him.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His pinky grazes yours again, a gentle, teasing touch, sending a thrill up your spine as he continues his conversation, his presence unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

You try to focus on anything else, but his gaze keeps finding you, even when you’re not looking. And with every shared glance, every quiet brush of his fingers, the air grows thicker, charged with something unspoken, as if each tiny touch is daring you to lean in, to close that final distance.

You’re doing everything you can to keep your composure, to focus on the laughter and stories being shared. But Bucky’s presence beside you is inescapable, it’s a thrill that’s leaving you silent, lost in your own thoughts as the night goes on.

Sam’s voice suddenly cuts through, pulling you back to reality. 

“Hey,” he says, smirking as he leans back in his chair, his gaze playful but sharp. “You’re unusually quiet tonight. What’s going on with you?”

Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you force a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension simmering under your skin. 

“Just… food coma, I guess,” you say, waving a hand and attempting a casual smile. 

Sam raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Food coma? Really?” He drags out the words, as if he’s not buying it for a second, and you can see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Pasta’s got you this speechless?”

Beside you, Bucky’s lips twitch, and you can feel his gaze, that familiar, subtle amusement making it impossible not to blush. You risk a quick glance at him, only to find him looking back with that same knowing smirk, like he can see right through every excuse.

“Maybe she’s just tired of all your talking, Sam,” Bucky says smoothly, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he speaks. The movement is so casual, so effortless, that it almost seems like an afterthought. But the warmth of his arm behind you, his fingers just brushing the curve of your shoulder, makes your heart race in ways you can’t ignore. His tone stays casual, but there’s a hint of laughter in his eyes as he looks at Sam, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a subtle, grounding touch.

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d check,” he says, throwing a playful wink in your direction.

You feel yourself sink back just slightly, leaning into the warmth of his arm, and it’s impossible to ignore the way his fingers stay near your shoulder, steady and unassuming but unmistakably there. The conversations resume around you, but the space between you and Bucky feels even smaller, the quiet thrill of his touch pulling you in.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping so only you can hear. 

“That food coma excuse was almost convincing,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with playful challenge as he watches your reaction.

× × × ×

As the night winds down, people start to gather their things, saying their goodbyes. You slip on your coat, waiting for Sam to finish up his goodbyes, but he suddenly turns to Steve with a grin.

“Hey, Rogers,” Sam says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “How about we hit that bar down the street? Just a quick nightcap.”

You raise an eyebrow, deadpanning as you fold your arms. “Seriously, Sam?”

He flashes you an unapologetic grin, shrugging. “What? You’re always saying you’re an independent woman. I figured a little alone time wouldn’t hurt.”

“Unbelievable.” You shake your head, muttering, “You’re an asshole.”

Sam just laughs, looking over his shoulder. 

“Hey, maybe Bucky can give you a lift. It’ll be like old times.” He gives you a wink, completely ignoring the way your cheeks warm.

You glance at Bucky, trying to keep your expression neutral. “It’s fine, really,” you say quickly. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”

“Suit yourself,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket and heading out with Steve. “But you know Bucky’s free.” He gives you one last smirk before slipping out the door, leaving you standing there with Bucky, who’s leaning casually against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Need a ride?” he asks, his voice warm, that familiar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.

You open your mouth to decline, still feeling a bit of resistance. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll just grab an Uber.”

Bucky chuckles softly, tilting his head toward the door. “I’ll drop you off. It’s fine.”

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, trying to gauge his sincerity, but there’s that familiar steadiness in his eyes, a quiet patience that leaves you with no real reason to argue. Finally, you sigh, giving in with a reluctant nod.

The car ride starts in silence, the engine’s low hum filling the tense quiet between you, only occasionally interrupted by the soft rattle of snowflakes pelting against the windows as the blizzard starts to gather strength. 

You shift in your seat, fidgeting, your hands smoothing over your coat, your fingers picking at invisible lint. Nothing feels comfortable. Every second, your eyes flick to the window, tracing the passing streetlights, trying to focus on anything but him.

But you can feel him there. The warmth of him beside you, the steady, calm presence that somehow has you on edge, unable to breathe fully. His familiar scent fills the car—a mix of cedar and something undeniably him—sharp and soothing all at once, making the small space feel even smaller.

You cross your arms, uncross them, uncross your legs, then cross them again, pressing your back firmly into the seat as if that might stop the quick, relentless beat of your heart. But each turn he makes, each slight shift of his shoulders, sends a fresh rush of awareness through you, and your mind is racing, trying to keep pace with the pulsing tension that seems to settle between you like a third presence.

Finally, desperate for a distraction, you reach over and flip on the radio, hoping for anything to ease the silence. But the first song is almost too on the nose, the lyrics hitting like they were made for this moment:

"All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you…”

A breath catches in your throat, and before the verse can continue, you reach over and quickly press the button again, changing the station, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

The next station crackles to life, and it’s somehow worse.

“Cause when I got somebody, you don’t and when you got somebody, I don’t. I wish that the time would line up so we could just give in…”

Your pulse races, and you switch stations again, more urgently this time, and the next song fills the car with a familiar pop beat.

“You ain’t my boyfriend and I ain’t your girlfriend. But you don’t want me to see nobody else and I don’t want you to see nobody…”

You press the power button, cutting off the music entirely, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your coat, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him glancing your way, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Bucky clears his throat, his voice a low murmur. “Trouble finding a station?”

You manage a quick, nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the road ahead. 

“Yeah… something like that.”

He just nods, his gaze returning to the road, but you catch the lingering smile in his expression, like he’s perfectly aware of the tension simmering between you, the unspoken things filling the silence.

And as the quiet stretches, you can hear his breathing, steady and unhurried, and it only makes you more aware of your own. You try to breathe normally, in and out, but each breath feels too loud, too obvious, like you’re trying and failing to hide something you both already know.

× × × × 

Bucky pulls up in your driveway, and for a moment, the relief you thought you’d feel at reaching home is overshadowed by something else—something closer to disappointment. The quiet tension that’s been hanging between you feels almost unfinished, and you find yourself wishing the ride could somehow stretch on just a little longer.

He leaves the engine idling, the faint rumble filling the silence as you both sit there, neither moving to get out. After a few seconds, you clear your throat, glancing over at him with a small, reluctant smile.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, voice softer than you intended.

Bucky nods, returning your smile, but you can see a similar reluctance flicker across his face as he glances toward the house. 

“Anytime,” he murmurs.

Your eyes drift to the porch, and you remember the old habit the two of you shared, back when he’d drop by after a night out with everyone—those late nights with coffee and the dessert your mom always made, the one he loved and never turned down.

The memory brings a small smile to your lips, and before you can second-guess yourself, you look back at him. 

“Actually… my mom made her chocolate tart. The one you like. If you’re up for coffee and dessert, that is,” you say, feeling a twinge of nerves despite the casual invitation.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard, but you catch the hint of warmth in his eyes. 

“Chocolate tart, huh?” he echoes, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know I can’t say no to that.”

You shrug, playing it off, but your heart races as you nod toward the door. 

“Figured it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides,” you add, trying to keep your tone light, “it’s been a while since we did coffee and dessert.”

Bucky’s smile widens, and he cuts the engine, pocketing his keys before glancing at you with that familiar spark in his eyes. 

“Guess it’s tradition,” he says, opening his door. “Wouldn’t want to break it.”

You step out, leading him up the walkway, and as you unlock the door, the feeling of anticipation settles back over you, even stronger now. It’s like the tension from the car ride has followed you inside. 

As you head into the kitchen, Bucky follows, his gaze drifting over the familiar space. He takes in the room, noticing what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. The same cozy lamp in the corner, casting a warm glow over the soft cushions on the couch, the same framed photos on the wall—but a few new things catch his attention.

A navy-blue jacket, draped over the armchair, too large to be yours. A set of keys on the counter with a small metal keychain that he doesn’t recognize. And a book on the coffee table, a spy thriller with a bookmark halfway through. He frowns slightly, his mind racing as he takes in these small, unfamiliar details, each one lighting a spark of jealousy that flares bright, unbidden.

He hadn’t asked about Andrew—hadn’t wanted to. But now, surrounded by small traces of him, the thought of someone else being part of this space, of sharing moments with you that once might have been his, digs into him with an unexpected force. The sight of it sparks something sharp and unbidden within him, jealousy flaring up like a match struck in the dark. He swallows, trying to ignore it, trying to remind himself that he has no right to feel this way, but the thought of Andrew’s things still lingering here sends his mind racing.

In the kitchen, you’re busy slicing the chocolate tart, setting two plates with practiced ease as you fill the silence with the familiar rhythm of preparing coffee. But every now and then, you feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching, like he’s taking in every detail of the room and of you.

Bucky clears his throat softly, his voice low as he leans against the doorway, watching you pour the coffee. “Things… feel different here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, but there’s a roughness in his voice that betrays him.

Your eyes follow his gaze to the jacket, and a flicker of understanding crosses your face. You give a small, almost sheepish laugh. 

“Oh, that. He left it here ages ago. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but it’s… just kind of stayed.” You shrug, looking away as if embarrassed by the attachment. “Guess I’m just lazy.”

He nods, the answer somehow not as satisfying as he’d hoped. His gaze shifts back to the room, trying to reconcile this familiar space with the small hints of someone else. 

“Ah,” he says, his tone lighter. “I get it. Hard to let go of things sometimes.”

You nod, a knowing look in your eyes, as if you both understand the layers beneath his words. You hand him his plate, the rich scent of chocolate and coffee filling the room as he takes it, his fingers brushing yours for a brief, lingering moment.

Settling down at the table, he watches you from across the coffee cup, the quiet tension between you only growing thicker. And as he takes a bite of the chocolate tart, the flavors familiar and nostalgic, he can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at something he’s been missing for too long.

You try to focus on your coffee, but Bucky’s gaze is unwavering, fixed solely on you. He takes another slow bite of the chocolate tart, and the way his eyes soften, paired with the slight curve of his lips. It’s like he’s seeing something he missed, something he can’t look away from.

After a beat, you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, unable to take it anymore. 

“What?” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, but your heart’s racing too fast.

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, eyes dark, thoughtful, and a little teasing, as if he’s enjoying watching you squirm. 

“Just… wondering why it took so long to get back here— it feels good to be here. With you.” His voice is low, quiet, but there’s a warmth behind it that makes your stomach flip.

You glance down, biting back a smile, but you can feel his gaze still on you, unrelenting, like he’s waiting for you to look back. 

“It’s just dessert, Bucky,” you murmur, trying to keep the moment light, but your cheeks betray you, a blush blooming under his attention.

“Maybe,” he replies, his tone teasing, eyes glinting. “But it’s the best damn dessert I’ve had in a long time.” He takes a slow bite of the tart, watching you with that infuriatingly soft gaze that makes it impossible to breathe.

"Christ..." you mutter under your breath, barely aware you’ve said it aloud. His gaze is so intense, it feels like he’s peeling away every defense you’ve carefully built.

“Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice, like he’s testing just how far he can push.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing down at your coffee to avoid those piercing eyes. 

“You’re not… it’s just—” You don’t know how to finish the thought, every word slipping away under his unwavering stare.

He lets the silence hang for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and heart-stopping. Then he leans forward, just a bit closer, his eyes still locked on you, the teasing glint in them intensifying.

“You sure about that?” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. His fingers toy with the edge of his coffee cup, but his attention never wavers, every inch of him focused on you. “Because if I’m honest… I think I like watching you get flustered. Kind of makes me wonder what else I could do to make you look at me like that.”

Your breath catches, and you feel your pulse race, cheeks burning as his words sink in, every nerve suddenly buzzing. You’re caught, and he knows it, the challenge in his gaze daring you to look away—but you don’t, rooted to the spot, every nerve in your body humming.

But in that moment of stunned silence, something in your expression shifts, your eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not discomfort, but a soft vulnerability—an openness he wasn’t expecting.

He misreads it entirely.

Bucky straightens abruptly, his face softening as he lets out a quick, self-conscious laugh, breaking eye contact. “I—sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, his smirk fading. “I’m just messing with you. Didn’t mean to… you know, make things weird.”

Your heart clenches at the quickness with which he pulls back, his retreat sudden, like he’s trying to undo the last few moments. You open your mouth, words rushing to the tip of your tongue to stop him, to explain, to tell him he hadn’t made you uncomfortable at all.

“Bucky…” you say softly, reaching out before you can think twice. The moment your fingers brush his hand, he glances up, eyes wide, almost searching yours for permission.

And before you can lose your nerve, you let the words slip, your voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable… I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

The tension between you flares back to life, sharper, deeper, as he studies you, realization dawning in his gaze, as if he’s daring himself to believe what you’re saying.

× × × × 

The blizzard outside has intensified, blanketing everything in a thick layer of snow that doesn’t look like it’ll be easing up anytime soon. By the time you both finish your coffee and dessert, the wind is howling against the windows, and the soft glow from the streetlights barely penetrates the wall of snow outside.

You walk to the window, peering out into the swirling white, and let out a small sigh. 

“Looks like it’s getting worse,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Bucky, the words carrying a quiet invitation you don’t fully realize.

Behind you, he steps closer, joining you by the window, his hand resting on the edge of the sill as he gazes out into the storm. 

“Guess I might have to wait it out,” he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice, though his eyes flicker with something warmer as they meet yours. His tone is casual, almost nonchalant, but the unspoken question lingers between you.

You turn to face him, folding your arms, trying to play it off casually. 

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to be out there in this.” You pause, giving him a small smile. “I mean, I have a couch. Wouldn’t be the first time you crashed here.”

He chuckles softly, nodding. 

“Right. Wouldn’t want to risk life and limb just to get home.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, like he’s just as reluctant as you are to let the night end.

You manage a laugh, a quiet, slightly nervous sound as you gesture towards the living room. 

“The couch is all yours if you want it. I can grab a spare blanket.” The offer feels both genuine and like an excuse, a small plea for him to stay, if only a bit longer.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft, a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip. “Appreciate it.”

As you disappear down the hall to fetch a blanket and pillow, he lingers in the living room, glancing around the familiar space. He’s barely acknowledged how much he’s missed this—missed you—and now, surrounded by small remnants of your life, it all feels heavier than he expected, like he’s on the brink of something he’s not ready to let go of.

You return with a thick blanket and a pillow, handing them to him as he sets them down on the couch. 

“Here you go. It’s not much, but… I think you’ll survive,” you say, though there’s something tentative in your voice, almost as if you’re testing the waters, hoping he’ll stay a little closer.

Bucky chuckles, sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands settling over his knees as he looks up at you. 

“Yeah, I’ve handled worse, I think,” he replies, his gaze lingering just a bit too long.

A quiet pause stretches between you, neither of you moving. Outside, the snow falls in thick, relentless waves, cocooning you both in this shared moment, and you feel the weight of what’s left unsaid, lingering like an invitation neither of you dares to speak aloud.

Finally, you clear your throat, offering a small smile. 

“Well… goodnight, Bucky,” you say, your voice softer than you intended, and you find yourself hesitating, like you’re reluctant to leave.

He nods, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Goodnight, doll.”

× × × ×

Bucky was asleep on the couch. Your couch. Crashing at your place, as he had so many nights before.

The man you wanted more than you’d ever wanted anyone in your life.

You couldn't sleep, tossing and turning and thinking of him lying not thirty feet away from you on the other side of your bedroom wall. He had stayed over countless times, what was it about tonight that had you squirming beneath the sheets? 

God, the subtle, masculine scent of him, the warmth of his body so close to yours—maybe he'd actually seen the little shiver of sexual awareness that had rippled through you during dinner.

Whatever it was, you were suffering now. His smile, his voice, his deep, infectious laugh...so what if he had been your friend since, so what if he could be a bit of a doofus at times—okay, a lot of the time—so what if you were both single now and feeling that familiar itch, that longing, that uncomfortable awareness of being without someone just a bit too long.

Fuck.

You both had talked about this. Once—a long time ago. You had agreed; getting involved wasn't the right thing to do—look how many friendships were ruined by relationships.

You threw back the duvet and swung your legs over the side of the bed, wiggling your toes nervously as you bit your lip. 

You needed a drink, that's what you needed. Not that kind of drink—although God knew you weren't far from it. You needed a cool glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and maybe some splashed on your face for good measure. 

Then you could come back to bed and read. Or listen to some music. Or... something. You had an early start in the morning, you had to find some way to get some sleep. If you were really quiet, you could slip right past him and he'd never even know you'd been out of your room.

You creaked open your bedroom door and listened for the sound of his quiet snoring. Sure enough, the soft sounds of sleep drifted towards you and you straightened, relaxing a little. 

He was sleeping just fine. He wasn't tossing and turning thinking about you.

You slipped out into the chilly living room, and shivered involuntarily. You'd set the thermostat low in the living room to save energy, completely forgetting to turn it up for his sake, so while your bedroom was toasty warm, the living room was cold and still. 

Guiltily you cast your eyes over his sleeping form, sprawled inelegantly over the couch with one hand thrown over his eyes and one leg up over the back of the sofa. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and lying with the blanket kicked to the floor instead to cover himself with, he looked vulnerable somehow, and uncomfortable.

And incredibly, almost achingly sexy.

Your eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation. He was a powerhouse of strength, with thick, chiseled muscles that seemed almost carved from stone. Broad shoulders tapered down to a torso built from years of dedication, and his arms were thick with veins and ridges that caught the light. 

Your gaze slid down his powerful legs, the defined muscle of his thighs flexing beneath the hem of his shorts. He was the embodiment of rugged masculinity, intense and undeniably commanding. His stubbled jaw caught your eye, and you let your gaze linger on his lips—the lips you’d dreamed of tasting so many times...too many times, in fact. So often that sometimes you imagined the fantasy as if it were a memory. So delicious, so sensual and hot.

Only he wasn't hot—you try to tell yourself. You dragged yourself back to reality, frowning as you looked down at him. He was cold.

You went back to the bedroom and pulled an extra blanket off the closet shelf, and carried it back to lay across his sleeping form. He stirred slightly as you draped it over him, and his eyelids fluttered open.             

“Hmmm…” Bucky mumbled thickly, his voice hoarse and low. “Good morning.”

“It's not morning, it's two a.m,” you whispered. “I was just getting you another blanket. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmmm…” he said, cuddling it around him.

He pulled his leg down off the couch and straightened himself out, stretching languidly, shuddering, like a cat. You loved watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed. You loved watching him do anything, in fact.

“It's so cold,” You said by way of an unasked-for explanation, and looked away from his body. His eyes were still closed so you could have looked a little longer, but didn't want to risk it.

“Cold?” he murmured. “Just a second.” He pushed aside the blanket and reached for you, tugging you down towards him.

You gasped and lost your footing, sitting down hard on the couch beside him. He pulled you down and enveloped you in his arms, pulling you tight against his chest.

He flipped the blanket over top of both of you. “There. I'll keep you warm.”

A sleepy duskiness coloured his voice, and something in the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, made your heart flutter rebelliously in your chest. He smelled so damn good, like a mixture of soap and the sweet warm and musky scent of cedar wood. He drew you in closer, molding his body against yours, and God help you, you allowed him. You settled in more comfortably beside him, your leg thrown over his, your arm stretched across his chest.

“I was saying you must be cold,” you whispered. “Not telling you I was.”

“I know.” Bucky said without missing a beat.

You lay there, entwined, quiet, saying nothing more. You rested your head against his chest and could feel more than hear the lazy beat of his heart, and the quiet, smooth passage of his breath. His hand languidly caressed your arm, the rhythm growing slower as he drifted back to sleep. 

Sleep threatened to claim you, too, so you stirred, trying to disentangle from him. You'd have to be near your alarm clock or you'd never get up in time.

“No, don't go,” Bucky murmured as you tried to move. He held you tighter.

“I have to,” you whispered. “I have to get some sleep, I have to get up in a few hours.”

“Stay.”

“I can't.”

He was gradually coming awake, slowly becoming more oriented. He shifted position slightly so that he was more on his side, looking down at you as he rested his head on his bent elbow. He stretched his other arm across you and pulled you closer, gently caressing you back.

“Stay,” he said again. His voice was clearer now. He was fully awake. Still slightly dazed from sleep, but awake.

You hesitated, letting your gaze roam over his face. Finally you whispered, “We talked about this a long time ago, remember?”

“I know. I'm sorry. I just...I want you to stay.”

In the dim moonlight spilling in through the French doors his features were muted, but his eyes—his eyes were large and dark, taking you in with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Bucky moistened his lips, his pupils growing even larger as they roamed over your face and you could feel the pace of his heart pick up and his breathing increase. 

His gaze moved down to your lips and his brow creased in an expression that could have been longing, or frustration, or both. He raised his eyes slowly to meet yours, the haze of desire stealing slowly into his gaze.

“You're not nothing to me,” he said, almost to himself. “That's precisely the problem.”

How on earth were you supposed to resist such a sensual, beautiful, soulful man? Stay? How could you not?

“Please,” he whispered. “Stay. . . I have something I need to get off my chest.”

Your resolve was crumbling as you felt your chest tighten. You looked into his eyes and barely managed to whisper the words. 

“What’s that?”

“This.” 

He lowered his head slowly and kissed you, brushing your lips softly, sensuously, as if in no particular hurry. As if he had all the time in the world to savor you, to taste you, to send pleasure rippling through you with every touch of his lips. He murmured softly as he gently nipped at your bottom lip, teasing your, biting and then kissing-better the lips he was bruising.

You could feel the pleasure he was taking in kissing you, the slow—tortuously slow—pleasure he was enjoying for himself and teasing out of you as he lingered in your mouth. Bucky’s hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face up to him, his thumb caressing your cheek as he kissed you. He broke the kiss and looked down at you in wonder, his eyes glittering in the dim light, then brought your face up to his and kissed you again.

You opened your mouth to him and his tongue slipped in to tangle sensuously with yours. He angled his head from one side to the other, exploring your mouth and pressing kisses along the edges of your lips. You kissed his cheeks, his chin, his light stubble gently razing your lips and making them all the more sensitive. When you found his lips again, their soft warmth was intoxicating and you deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with your own.

You kissed him back sensually, with equal possessiveness and enjoyment, and knew that your response was emboldening him.

Bucky tensed and pressed against you, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent. His mouth moved over yours expertly, wringing pleasure from you in breaths that came faster and little cries that escaped into the quiet of the room. Your soft moans made him tense even more, and you could feel his arousal along the length of your leg, hard and urgent like the rest of his body. 

You were both warm now, and he threw back the blanket before settling back down on top of you, returning to the slow, rhythmic dance of kissing, teasing, and tasting that was just about driving you mad.

You slipped your hands up over your head, thinking to wrap them around him, but he found them and clasped your wrists together with his left hand and kept them there, holding you down with gentle pressure as he bent to kiss you more deeply. 

The sensation of being held by him, of being pinned down, gently, but with no doubt as to his strength, rushed through you in unfamiliar torrents of excitement. He entwined his fingers in yours, easing up the pressure, dipping his head between your upraised arms to kiss you deeply, slowly, torturously.

As his tongue tangled with yours the fingers of his right hand trailed up the side of your body, stopping at the swell of your breast. He ran his hand over you gently, tentatively, feeling the weight of it beneath him and groaning softly. He slipped his hand inside your robe and cupped you bare flesh, his warm hand gently squeezing, caressing, as he groaned again and grew even harder. His thumb circled over your nipple and you gasped, arching against him at the sudden sting of pleasure. He pushed aside the robe further, revealing your breast with its tight nipple, unbearably aroused by his touch.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, gazing at you breast. He lowered his lips to your nipple and gently kissed it, his tongue tasting and savoring it the way he had just been savoring your mouth.

The wet warmth of his mouth on your sensitive flesh made you ache with a tension and desire you had never felt before. When his tongue swirled around you nipple languidly, when he took the sensitive bud into his mouth and suckled softly, you felt the exquisite torture of it flow down through you body to you very core. How could this feel so damn good? Just the lightest brush of his lips, his tongue, his teeth on your nipple and you felt almost ready to climax.

His free hand slid around to the small of your back and he lifted you gently, sliding you further down the couch and farther under him. You were completely beneath him now, and completely held by him, one strong hand gently pressing your wrists into the sofa cushions and the other splayed across you back while he bent his head and kissed and sucked and teased you breast. You almost couldn't bear the sensation as your nipple grew harder, more tender, and the pleasure started liquifying between your legs.

"Yes..." you breathed. You arched again, wanting him to release you from his mouth and yet hoping that he never would. "Oh my God, Bucky, that feels so good..."

Bucky lets go of your wrists and brings his hand down to your other breast, pushing aside your robe to free you completely. He caressed you, sensuously feeling the roundness of you, and trailed his lips across the rising swell, kissing and tasting and smiling at the way your soft flesh moved under his tongue. He gently grasped your breast and brought your nipple up to his mouth, which grew hard and exquisitely tender under his tongue. His fingers continued to tease your other nipple, the one still stinging from the feel of his mouth on it, still aching to feel it again.

You arched into him, sinking your hand into his hair and pressing him to your breast. The pleasure of his mouth and hands on you was making you weak, making you shiver with pleasure and need, all down the length of you and in between your legs. You could feel  yourself growing wet and ready for him, the pleasure so intense, so unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You heard yourself moaning softly, whimpering, making sounds you had never made before, all but dizzy with desire and sensation. With every little sound you made he groaned, or his erection surged against you, or he fell onto your breasts again with increased hunger. Your response to him was as intoxicating to him as his mouth was to you—you could feel it in his every movement, his every ragged breath.

“I need you, Bucky.” You pleaded softly. “Please.”

He rose over you, bracing his arms on either side of you. His eyes blazed with heat as he looked down at you, at you eyes, your mouth, your breasts. He took your mouth expertly, hungrily, kissing you fiercely with a dominance that thrilled you. He moved to trail hot kisses down your neck, licking the sensitive skin near your collarbone, barely skimming you with his tongue as if wanting the merest taste. You gripped his shoulders, and turned your head to the side, aching at the sensation of his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting. 

You moaned at the feel of his tongue on your neck and the gentle pressure of his lips pressing kisses against your skin. You needed to feel him, to taste his salty sweet skin, his maleness, him.

As if he could read your thoughts he lifted up from you to pull his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. You reached up and ran your hands over his chest, and as he fell on you again his mouth found yours hungrily and his hand slid into your hair, gripping the top of your head possessively as you kissed.

You had never felt so possessed, so taken, so overwhelmed by a man. You broke the kiss and sought his neck, his shoulder, his tense muscles straining as he held himself above you. You branded your own hot trail of kisses into his skin, felt him strain against you at the sensation. You loved the taste of him, so male and wonderful beneath your lips.

"Baby. . ." His voice was hoarse, breathless. 

For one brief moment uncertainty flashed in his eyes and he looked as though he wanted to say something. But when your lips found his again he lost the thought and succumbed to the kiss, slanting over your mouth, teasing your tongue with his.

You ran your hands down his back to the waistband of his boxers, and dipped your hands beneath the elastic to roam over his flesh. He tensed at your touch and you felt him suck in a breath as you moved your hands around to the front. 

He was very hard, and you curled your fingers—which couldn’t wrap around him fully—as you gripped his ass with your other hand. He groaned softly and kissed you even more deeply, surging against you with an almost desperate urgency. You began to stroke him, your fingers gently gliding up and down his smooth shaft until he suddenly let out a groan and broke away, stopping your hand with his own.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, heat blazing in his eyes. “I can't. . .”

Alarm flared in you. “What's wrong?”

“I won't last long. . .”

“Oh, is that all?” You gently pushed his hand away and began to tentatively stroke him again.

He moaned, closing his eyes briefly, enjoying the pleasure. “If you keep doing that. . .”

“What?” You prompted, nibbling on his lower lips as you stroked.

“I'll have to fuck you.”

“Good.” You took his lips again and you fell into a rhythmic kiss, as if you had been kissing each other forever. He moaned softly into your mouth as you stroked him, making soft noises of your own into his mouth.

Bucky broke the kiss, his breathing sharp and shallow, and gazed down at you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was quiet, urgent, almost desperate.

“Yes,” you breathed, pushing his boxers down with your free hand. He lifted up his hips to help you and shrugged out of them, kicking them to the floor.

“I didn't mean for this to happen, at least not tonight,” he said, his breath jagged and quiet as you continued to stroke him. “I've wanted you for so long, but—”

“I know,” You murmured, kissing his neck as your hand slid over his thick length again and again. His body was rigid with tension and you tried to relax him with your mouth, your whispers, the feel of your body. But you knew he wouldn't relax as long as you were stroking him. You paused and he relaxed slightly, but his eyes still burning and his breath still came unevenly.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, his eyes showing fear through the haze of desire. Heat blazed between them, and you felt such a desperate need in him that you wanted to soothe him, comfort him. But doing so with words seemed the wrong thing to do.

"Mhmmm," You murmured instead, kissing his jaw, his neck, the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He groaned softly as you ran your fingers over his shaft, teasing, tempting, letting you fingernails trail along the sensitive skin below. You cupped him and squeezed gently as he groaned louder, pleasure that sounded almost painful. you laughed softly, kissing along his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck.

“You know how I feel about you. . . ” he managed, his voice little more than a breath. “Don't you? That I—”

"Shhhh," You said, coming back to meet his eyes. He looked so afraid, so vulnerable, and yet so filled with desire. You knew, then, everything you needed to know. And every word he needed to hear. "Please. . . Baby. . .it's okay. We can talk later. Right now. . .please. . . just shut up and fuck me."

His fear melted into a smile so warm, so open, so full of relief that he almost looked ready to cry. He took your mouth again, arching over you as he claimed you. Before his kisses had been searching and sensuous, now they seemed driven by pure desire. He ground his lips on yours  masterfully, taking what he wanted, what he needed.

You could feel the raw need in him, the need for acceptance, the need to let pure passion overcome his fear. Every meeting of your lips sent another jolt through you, every taste of his tongue made you desperate for more, and you knew he was reeling from the same powerful sensations that you were. You could feel him starting to let go, to abandon himself to you, to enjoy making you abandon  yourself to him. 

Here was the lust you had always hoped was there, the powerful sexuality always just below the surface, the desire you had hoped and prayed he felt for you. It was here, pressed against you, an urgent cock and a hard, warm body, roaming lips and soft, male moans of pleasure and need. A careful heart revealing itself to yours.

You moved beneath him, pressing your hips against him to ease the heat that radiated from between your legs. The ache was exquisite, your need growing more urgent as you felt his erection surge and strengthen.

You felt his hand on your knee and then slowly, so damn slowly, he began to trail his fingers up along the inside of your thighs, which parted so easily at his gentle persuasion. His touch was electric, yet soft and sensual, and wherever his fingers played you felt a fiery tingle that made you shiver. Finally his fingers trailed delicately over your sensitive cunt, teasing you, tantalizing you, until you cried softly, silently begging him to touch you most sensitive place.

With a smile that you could feel more than see, his fingers slipped into your slick warmth and you cried out, a spasm of pleasure overwhelming you. He silenced your cry with his mouth, his tongue tangling with yours  while his fingers slipped deeply inside you and stroked, as languidly and rhythmically as you were stroking him.

“Oh my g—” You cried, writhing at the pleasure of his fingers sliding slowly in and out of you, then pulling out to trail up higher and caress your folds. When his fingers danced over your clit you arched you back, your breath leaving you in a gasp. The electricity of his touch, so gentle and sensuous, sent spasms of pleasure rippling through you. 

He didn't hurry the pace, just stroked you with an even, sensual rhythm as he kissed  you. He was holding you, his arm surrounding you, pressing his body to yours, his mouth never far from your lips, your neck, your ear, his eyes never far from yours. You had never felt so close to someone, so protected in his arms, so cherished and adored.

His fingers dipped down to enter you again and his thumb continued the slow, exquisite torture above. Just when you thought you'd go over the edge he'd pull away, pause, caress a different part of you and send you on the upward spiral again and again, or slide his fingers into you over and over while his thumb swirled and caressed and rubbed, driving you mad with an aching desire. 

He smiled down at you, nipped at your lips, pressed his forehead to yours and trailed kisses down your eyelids, your cheeks, until claiming your mouth again, his tongue mimicking the sweet, sensuous motion of his fingers and thumb.

He grew rock hard in your hand as you moaned with each breath, as you came closer and closer to the edge. You could feel him restraining himself, wanting only to pleasure you, anticipating your climax. But it wasn't what you wanted. On a ragged breath you stopped his hand.

"I want you," you said urgently. "Please, Bucky. . .fuck me."

He gazed at you, teetering on a moment of indecision. His chest rose and fell sharply with his labored breath, and he brought a trembling hand up to your hip and gripped you, holding you, moving to settle between your legs and pausing at your entrance.

"Please, I want you inside me." your voice dropped to a whisper so urgent you hardly recognized it yourself. "Please don't make me beg."

And whatever strength he had left vanished.

"Oh baby. . ." He moved forward and slid into you, a breathless throaty sound of pure male pleasure escaping his lips. "Oh my God. . ."

He paused for a moment, looking down at you with heavy-lidded desire, visibly enjoying the new sensation of being so deep inside  you. You were slick and hot, more than ready for him, and as you body adjusted to him, to the exquisite, aching stretch he was causing, you squirmed beneath him on a moan of primal pleasure. He pulled out slowly, torturously, and slid himself in again, filling you completely.

You closed your eyes and moaned, gripping his ass as he lifted your hips up to him, angling you so he could fill you more deeply. He began to thrust, slowly, rhythmically, his hips moving sensuously, making you muscles tighten around him as he plunged into you again and again, your movements coming so easily, so naturally, so deliciously slowly.

You lifted your legs to wrap them around him, loving the way it tilted you back so that his every thrust felt deeper, felt like it was reaching new depths of pleasure in you.

“Yes, yes, yes. . .like that. . .oh my god, Bucky. . .you fill me up so good.” 

He ran his hand possessively along your leg, pausing to look down at your joined bodies as he thrust into you. He raised himself up, his arms braced on the other side of you to keep his weight off you, and moved so he could thrust more freely, more quickly, building the tempo. He pressed his lips to your forehead gently as he drove into you, his breath ragged, panting, yours matching his intensity and need.

“Ugh—you drive me insane, I love hearing you moan my name—don’t stop.”

You could feel him getting close, nearing the edge of his own release, and he slowed, lowering his head to nuzzle your neck as the rhythm of his hips paused, and then resumed again, more slowly this time, building again, savoring you body the way his lips had savored you mouth, the way his tongue had devoured you breasts. His arm slid around you back again, holding you, lifting you up to him as he took your breast in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. His mouth was hungrier this time, sucking your nipple, flicking his tongue over it with such abandon that you felt it in your core. His passion was growing, and you could sense that his desire to be slow and tender with you was losing the battle against his raw primitive need.

You gripped him, lost in the dizzying sensations he was causing in you. His mouth on you, his hand roaming over you, gripping your ass as he thrust into you in a relentless rhythm. You were limp in his embrace, held in place for him to possess, to plunder, to pleasure. You had never been held like that before, and the primal intensity of it, the feeling of being so completely owned by his desire, overwhelmed  you. You were his, completely, your body as loose as a rag doll in his arms. You gripped his straining arms as he sent pleasure coursing through you, gripping you as he thrust and withdrew, plunged and pulled out, drove into you over and over again in breathless ecstasy.

“Keep fucking me like that—Yes! Oh my God, harder, please. . . B-Bucky!”

Waves of pleasure grew stronger and stronger in you, pushing you towards the ultimate pleasure, building with increasing urgency as his rhythm grew faster and harder. 

“Oh—like that? You like that?”

He groaned as he kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breast, and drove himself into you with such exquisite need. You gripped his buttocks, feeling the powerful muscles contracting with each thrust, drawing him deeper into you. When he tore away from your lips and looked down into your eyes you felt the waves rise, growing stronger and higher and faster until with a shattered cry you came, trembling as the pleasure spasmed through you.

His eyes never left yours as he thrust into you, groaning from the exquisite pleasure of your spasming pussy. 

“Shit—fuck, you’re gonna make me come. Ohhhh—” Bucky moaned.

You were so incredibly tight, gripping his cock as you came, milking him as he struggled to last just a moment longer, lost in the heaven of you hot, wet heat. Your cries of pleasure echoed throughout the darkened room and when you whispered his name on a soft, sweet whimper he found his own release, jetting into you over and over again as he cried out in an agony of pleasure and a torrent, a chorus, of your name.

Finally, finally, his hips slowed and he lowered his head and kissed you gently, sensuously, as softly as he had when he had first pulled you down to him. Then he lowered his head to your neck and let himself rest there, lying against you, his heart thundering, his breath ragged and heavy. You lowered your legs from around his waist and wrapped your arms around him instead, cradling him to  you. you rested your head against the top of his and felt your own breath slowing, your own heartbeat returning to normal. His cock was still hard inside you and he shuddered as you clenched around him.

"God, you're incredible." He exhaled a long, deep breath.

He rose up and kissed you, shuddering with each aftershock as his cock surged inside  you. You could feel your inner muscles clenching around him, not releasing him yet, teasing the last drops of pleasure from him. 

He lay his head down against you again, breathing out a sigh that was both release and contentment as the last tremors rippled through him. You loved this feeling, this sensation of his body trembling with the afterglow of pleasure, pleasure you had given him, just as your body was tingling from the intense pleasure he had given you.

He held you to him, sliding out of you slowly, and shifted slightly so that you fit against him perfectly, settling into the warmth and comfort of his arms encircling you.

“Holy shit,” he whispered again, pressing his lips to your temple and leaving them there for a long minute before letting go.

“I'm so glad you stayed over,” you said quietly, kissing the soft skin of his neck.

He stilled for a moment, and you looked up at him, trying to read whatever might be revealed in his eyes. In the darkness both of you were inscrutable, until he leaned closer and bumped your cheek with his nose before lightly pressing his lips to yours for a sweet, soulful kiss.

“So does this mean we're not friends anymore?” He asked, in between luscious nips at your lips.

“You tell me,” you said sleepily, unable to resist his slow, savoring kisses.

You felt his smile as he kissed you languidly, with deliberate slowness, each kiss deepening into something more intimate than the last. Finally his lips stilled and you felt him fall asleep beside you, his breathing soft and slow.

You wanted to stay awake, to freeze this moment in time, to make it last. you wished you could lay there forever, tucked in beside him, your bodies curled to get you. But even as you tried to stay awake, gently caressing the arm that draped over you protectively. you gradually succumbed to a peaceful, contented sleep.

[buckyalpine]

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

[aquaticmercy]

Hypothetically (version 1)

Summary : The Thunderbolts* crew gossip about Bucky's love life.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x superhero!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : References to violence and sex

Word count : 1.8k

Note : Reader is a superhero, and part of my version of the Midnight Suns in the MCU, including Moon Knight, Elsa Bloodstone, Jack Russell, and Man Thing. Taskmaster and Sentry isn't in this because I have no clue how they'll play into the canon so I've stuck with characters I think fit to the story. I’ve written two versions of the same story a Thunderbolts/Bucky POV and a Midnight Suns/Reader POV. Enjoy!

You are reading the Thunderbolts/Bucky POV Read the Midnight Suns/Reader POV here (version 2)

In the dimly lit briefing room of the former Avengers tower, a group of former assassins and rogue super soldiers sat around a rectangular steel table that glowed dully under the fluorescent lights overhead. Bucky was leading today’s mission briefing, a subtle tension settling over the team as they discussed the latest intelligence reports and mission parameters.

Yelena, Alexei, John, and Ava—were in various states of attentiveness, occasionally trading jabs and snarky comments. Yelena was throwing paper planes at John, Alexei was munching through a carrot he had smuggled in, and Ava was staring blankly at the ceiling, tapping an irregular rhythm on the table.

“Alright,” Bucky said, clicking through the projection on the screen with his  intensity. “Our target is believed to be hiding out in the warehouses on the east side. No civilian interference expected, please. I’m talking to you, Alexei.”

The Red Guardian leaned back in his chair, a smirk touching his rugged face as he crossed his arms. “No audience?” His thick Russian accent carried disappoint, “what’s the point?”

Bucky gave him a sharp look, one that meant he didn’t have the patience for bullshit today. “The point,” he replied dryly, “is in getting the job done right. No loud distractions, no fireworks. Got it?”

Alexei sighed dramatically, but he didn’t argue further. Yelena snickered from her seat next to him, shooting him a look as if to say, don’t push it.

It was then that Bucky’s phone lit up on the table in front of him. He barely registered the vibration at first—until he caught a glimpse of the screen.

Your name flashed on the screen.

Instantly, he reached to flip the phone over, but he was too late. The team’s collective attention was already on the screen, their eyes widening with recognition and a chorus of surprised gasps escaping.

Of course they knew you— they all did. Not personally of course. But you were a legend, in the same way that Bucky was.

“Oooh?” Alexei’s eyebrows rose as he looked up, “You know her personally? I’ve only seen her on TV. Very feisty lady, I think.”

“Big fan,” Ava chimed in, her usually serious face betraying a slight grin. “She’s a total badass. Heard she led a raid last week. Didn’t know you had her on speed dial, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, forcing himself to maintain his usual composed demeanour. “Stay here, don’t touch the files.” He gave them all a stern glare before excusing himself, taking the call outside the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, his teammates exchanged glances—and the speculation began.

Yelena, leaning forward with a glimmer of mischief in her eye, shrugged casually. “You know, I heard they’re dating.”

She had heard it from Kate Bishop who heard it from Clint Barton who may have heard it from Sam Wilson— which would have been a reliable source if not for everyone in between.

John Walker snorted. “No way,” he said, crossing his arms with an incredulous smirk. “From what I hear she’s too… I dunno, too stubborn. Violent. They both are. They’d probably clash. I bet they can barely stand to be in the same room without breaking into a fight.”

Alexei raised a hand in protest. “What’s wrong with clashing heads in relationship? Makes relationship stronger!” He laughed, his deep voice echoing through the room. “My parents fight every day. Happiest couple ever!” He wore his family complications like a badge of honour, which somehow made it worse. 

“Sure,” Yelena made a face, scrunching her nose. 

Ava leaned back, thoughtful. “I think they’d look good together,” she said, tilting her head. “But I’d hate to see them in a domestic argument. I imagine it’d get… destructive. Like crater-in-the-kitchen destructive.”

John’s lips quirked into a smirk. “They’d probably level an entire building over something dumb, like whose turn it is to load the dishwasher,” he added. John and his wife fight, of course, but she wasn’t super powered, and they didn’t have decades of contract kills and assassination between them— unlike you and Bucky.

“Or laundry!” Yelena laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Can you imagine? ‘No, it’s your turn,’” she mimicked Bucky in an exaggerated deep voice. “Then Boom! Neighborhood gone.” Yelena snapped her fingers.

The room erupted in laughter.

Yelena’s chuckle shifted into a sly grin. “The sex is probably… good, right? All the aggression? All that pent-up tension? I bet it has to go somewhere. Maybe they’re just friends with benefits.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Alexei held up his hand, his face scrunched in horror. “I cannot think about Bucky like that. Bad enough he walked in on my bare ass when I was changing yesterday.”

“Gross,” Yelena cringed, shoving her adoptive father shoulder. 

“I still think they’re dating.” Ava smirked, shaking her head. “He wouldn't have taken the call in the middle of briefing if they weren’t.”

“Please,” John rolled his eyes. “They’re probably just sharing intel. Swapping notes about target zones or something. No way it’s anything mushy or sweet. I cannot imagine either of them saying I love you.”

Yelena gagged jokingly.

While the team continued their speculative debate, Bucky stood outside the room.

He pressed his phone to his ear and felt his face soften instantly at the sound of your voice.

“Hey, my love,” you greeted, a trace of tension in your tone. “Is this a bad time?”

“For you doll? Never,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low rumble that only you seemed to bring out in him. “What’s going on?”

You sighed, sounding weary, and he could practically see you rubbing your temples.

“Elsa- fucking- Bloodstone.” you said flatly. “She keeps ignoring the damn plan and doing things her own way. She’s driving me up the wall. Seriously, it’s like every mission is a free-for-all.”

“I can imagine,” Bucky chuckled softly, twirling the hem of his shirt. “Alexei is the same way. Only does what he thinks is right. It’s like herding cats.”

“Can’t imagine he’s that bad,” You laughed, and oh boy did he miss that sweet sound. “You wanna trade? I’ll give you Ted in exchange for Alexei for a week. Ted keeps distorting my comms every time we’re on a mission—dude's like a walking jamming signal.”

A smirk crept onto Bucky’s face. “Deal—if I can swap Yelena for Jack Russell. I hear he's sensible, or at least doesn’t have a habit of blowing things up on instinct.”

“Oh, no,” you chuckled, firmly. “He’s off limits. He’s like my second-in-command. You can take Moon Knight if you want though. Deal with Jake Lockley showing up unannounced, if you’re up for it. Brings Khonsu into everything. Imagine arguing with a literal moon god while trying to stop a giant swamp monster from being captured… again.”

“Pass,” Bucky groaned, chuckling as he shook his head, thinking of all the things you’ve told him about the Egyptian god’s avatar. “Ava would not get along with Jake or Steven very well. Though Marc—he’d probably handle her alright.”

Bucky found himself melting into the sound of your laughter, the way you teasingly poked fun at each other’s ragtag teams— just a bunch of misfits who happened to be in the right place at the right time. 

His eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall, completely wrapped up in the thought of you. 

“Maybe one day,” you mused, “we’ll get them all in the same room. See if they tear each other apart.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “That’d be a nightmare.”

You corrected, “an interesting nightmare.”

For a moment, the burden of your job faded, leaving only the warmth of each other’s voices and the quiet longing that had lingered ever since you started this… relationship.

It felt weird to say, coming from two people with checkered pasts. That you now have something precious, something so priceless in each other.

Bucky shifted, his hand clenching into a fist. He wished you were there right now instead of halfway across the town. Oh what he would give to hold you, to feel your soft kiss on his lips and your hands in his hair.

“So,” you said, a hint of playfulness in your voice. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight? I’m tired of takeout.”

A fond smile curved his lips as he replied, “Anything you want, sweetheart. As long as it’s with you.” His voice grew soft, almost shy. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s hard being apart.”

In the background, Bucky heard a familiar growl—the unmistakable grumble of the Man-Thing.

You sighed. “What did I tell you about eavesdropping on private phone calls, Ted?”

Bucky chuckled, low and warm. “Good luck with that, doll.”

He could practically hear you rolling your eyes.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” He said, “I love you. More than you know.”

“I love you too, darling.”

He ended the call with a wistful smile, pocketing his phone before heading back inside.

When he reentered the room, he found the team still engrossed in a heated debate.

“What did I miss?” he asked dryly.

“Oh, nothing,” Yelena replied innocently, before nudging Ava, who couldn’t hide her smirk. “We were just talking about you and the… scary lady calling you.”

Alexei raised an eyebrow. “So, how long have you and her been doing… mission reports?” His tone was suggestive, expecting Bucky to give a direct answer.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “Not sure what you’re getting at, Shostakov.”

“He’s not denying it,” Ava pointed out. “Hypothetically, of course—“

“Of course,” Yelena nodded.

“—You two would make a great couple,” Ava pointed out. “Like… two cold, calculated soldiers who can take down anything.”

“You two would be sitting on a table in a nice restaurant, exchanging nods while writing up a mission postmortem,” John speculated, “hypothetically.”

“So what pet names do you use for each other?” Yelena leaned forward with curiosity. “Hypothetically.”

Before Bucky could answer, Alexei made a sour face. "No, can’t see it,” he argued. “Bucky is too grumpy. He does not call her Baby. Or sweetie.” He shuddered. “Hypothetically.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes, putting on his best annoyed expression. “You all done with the gossip?”

“Aw, don’t get all defensive, old man,” Yelena crossed her arms, smirking. “We’re just saying, if you were dating someone like that… you should tell us because we’d love to meet her. Maybe she can help out one of these days. You know, before Walker decides to cause another international incident.”

“Hey!” He exclaimed.

Bucky just grunted in response, biting back the curve of his lips.

He’d couldn’t believe no one would even guess the truth—that behind closed doors, the two of you were anything but the cold, stoic warriors they imagined.

Only you got to see that side of him. Only you got to see the gentle warmth in the quiet moments, dancing and laughing with him in your shared apartment that no one else knew of.

“Let’s focus,” Bucky muttered, heading back to the front of the table and flipping open a couple files. He hid his smile as best as he could, secretly pleased that everyone had it so wrong.

-end.

[elixirfromthestars]

Thank you for reading and reblogging!! 🫶🏼✨

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.

[espinosaurusrexex]

A degree? Who needs that anyway?

Boyfriend!Bucky x Female!Reader

summary: Bucky noticed you were exhausted during this time of the semester. Being the supportive golden retriever boyfriend he was, he just wanted to make you feel better. Unfortunately, his efforts only showed him how stressed you really were. So he vowed to support you through it all.

a/n: I have finally finished all my work and am back in business, baby! I'm so excited to spend the cozy season writing and posting again. Thank you for being so patient and supporting. I am so unbelievably grateful for this community. This is for all the academic girlies struggling through exam season like I do...

word count: 1.9k

warnings: feelings stress and not being enough, perfectionsim (and the pressure that comes with it), projecting self worth onto academic achievements, Bucky being adorable and supportive (perfect boyfriend alert!), just a whole lotta fluff 

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ✧*･ﾟ

You were stressed. Bucky knew it. Everyone was walking on eggshells around you, if - ever - you allowed yourself to step out of the apartment to see your friends or work your part-time job. He'd never seen you like this. You were a social butterfly, the total opposite of him with the ability to recharge when you were around the people you loved most. But for a month or so you'd been living the hermit life. And Bucky did not like it one bit. 

It gave him an uneasy feeling, a squeeze to his heart, a hatred for anything that could potentially set you off. Because it was there - the potential. He was just waiting for it. For the shoe to drop, for you to break. For him to go on a rampage against all things bothering you. 

He knew you were strong and stubborn, and that you hated to ask people for help. But there was only so much a person could endure. Hell, Bucky knew too well himself. Because he was the same. He hated asking for help - he hated accepting that he was bad at something. But this...  just broke his heart. 

He tried to take you out, to get you to eat with him - anything to get you back to your normal routines. But not even when he mentioned your favorite pastime activity did he get an enthusiastic smile out of you. That’s when he knew something was seriously wrong. Well, not something. He knew it was University. You’d complained about your professors at the beginning of the semester to him, how they were too ambitious for their own good and required a mountain of weekly readings not even that guy from Transformers could manage. Now... towards the end of the term, he saw how that ambition bled into your papers and final exams. 

And Bucky? Well, he didn’t know how to act around you. It seemed like a silly selfish problem but normally you would be the one seeking contact and physical touch. He enjoyed it every time but he was just not good at initiating it himself. You’d seemed to shut him out completely. Working yourself away on your desk only to fall asleep on it and have Bucky carry you to bed. He hated seeing you like this. 

He knew it wasn’t a permanent state - it couldn’t be. Because even though he considered you the strongest person he knew, there had to be a point at which even you broke. 

And then, one day, it just happened. Without warning. Bucky hadn’t wanted to be right, so he had just ignored the thought of your breaking beneath all the pressure completely. And that was why he did not have as much as a hunch when you were talking over breakfast and the dam broke.

You had been up since well before Bucky had finally convinced you to eat with him. He’d even gone to your favorite bakery this morning to get the little pudding pastries you loved so much. And when he came back, he silently pulled your chair back and dropped you at the dining table. Everything seemed pretty good for a while. And then, out of nowhere, while Bucky was telling you about his trip to the Bakery, you had just started crying - hard.

Bucky had never seen so many tears. Not even when the wives of his fellow soldiers stood at the peer waving his comrades goodbye with white handkerchiefs. He shook the memory away. He thought the amount of tears quite impossible with the neglect of drinking water he had witnessed over the past week but they just kept coming. And Bucky wanted to hold you but something told him it wouldn't help one bit. 

You were sobbing into your hands drawing in shaky breaths as you hid your face from him and everything inside him began to scream. Scream at him for sitting there frozen like an idiot and screaming at all the professors who deserved nothing more than a good punch in their oh so intelligent faces. 

"It's just all too much. I’m so exhausted, Bucky.” A trembling breath that was muffled by your hands pressing into your mouth. Bucky was raging, but he let you continue. “And I hate that... I hate that I let this consume so much of my time and ...me. I hate that I let it affect me so much when I’m at the point at which I don't even know if it's worth it anymore.”

Bucky drew in a sharp breath at that statement. You had been working so hard, dedicated so much time and effort to work toward a goal he wanted you to achieve as much as you wanted to initially. To hear you doubt yourself broke his heart into a million pieces. He knew you were capable of it, but something told him not to say that just now. It was then you finally lifted your face and let your reddened eyes search for his. His fingers itched to touch your face. Why didn’t he do so?

“And it doesn’t help that everyone believes in me you know?” He nodded, though he didn’t quite understand. “I love each of my friends but every person that tells me they believe in me and how they don’t even doubt I’ll make it adds more pressure on top of the standard I set for myself.”

This was it. This was the moment he needed to touch you. Bucky rose from his chair and knelt down beside yours. His warm hand reached up toward your face and you immediately fell into his embrace. Your forehead pressed into his muscular shoulder, your arms reached around him and his entire body felt tingly as relief flooded through it. 

"I am so scared I'm going to fail.” You exhaled into his shirt as his hand gently stroked your back. He wanted to tell you how failing wasn’t bad. How much he would love you regardless and how stupid a dumb degree was anyway. He wanted to kiss you and whisper against your skin how you could excel at everything you tried by simply being yourself because, for Bucky, you were the epitome of perfection. 

But he didn’t do any of it. Because he also knew how important this was for you. Even if you were questioning if anything was worth it at this point - it definitely wasn’t in his eyes if it meant seeing you so crushed by something as trivial as a file on your computer - Bucky knew he’d help you walk through a hurricane if that was what you needed from him. Hell, he’d gladly do so if it would bring your beautiful smile back to your face. This degree felt really close to what he imagined walking through a hurricane to be like right about now. And he thought that he would never want one himself if this was what you had to go through in order to get it. Besides, who needed a degree anyway? Back in his day, you weren’t more special for it. Being a soldier did the job just fine... then again, that was probably worse than the hurricane thing. Focus Bucky. 

Bucky pulled back and kissed your tears off your face and then he pressed one more kiss to your salty lips for good measure. Yes, he’d do anything for you - degree or not.

“What can I do to help you, love? I hate seeing you like this.” He froze for a second in fear of adding more pressure by expressing his sadness. And surely, you just started crying harder as your face fell forward again. Oh no, Bucky thought. 

“I-“ you hick-uped, “I don’t know.” Seriously where did you get all that water from? “I love you so much. And I appreciate you so much and I know you want to comfort me but if we were to cuddle for an hour I would just stress myself out about the time I could spend studying - even if all I wanna do is cuddle you.” The stream didn’t stop when you cried harder. “And I hate that!”

Bucky nodded frustrated. "I love you too.” And then he cradled your head with his metal hand.

For a good minute, you just stayed like this. Bucky pressed you deeper into his chest until your sobs slowly died down and your stuffy breathing became steadier. He kissed your hair just to stroke over it again and then kiss it once more. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he did something that relaxed you a little. And even though you had just cried a river in your kitchen, you were so much calmer than before. 

You sniffled adorably when you looked up at him after some time. “Just know I know how difficult I am right now. I cannot wait for this to be over. It’s just... I don’t even know how to take care of myself right now, I can’t possibly know how to include you in this as well.” A final tear fell and Bucky was fast to wipe it away. “But I am so glad you’re here.”

“Okay, I understand.” He answered and hugged you again, vowing to initiate daily cuddle/relief breaks from here on out. There wasn’t much he could do, he knew that and hated it too. If he could, he would write your papers for you, but Bucky was convinced he was not nearly smart enough for that, so anything else had to make do. He’d keep the apartment clean so you had a good atmosphere to learn, he’d make sure you slept and ate on time, and he’d supply all the love you deserved regardless of exam season. “And you just know that I will be here for you, patiently waiting until you have the capacity to include me again.” He pushed your hair from your forehead and kissed you sweetly. “I will support you in everything you do...” Another kiss, this one, you reciprocated. “Always.” And another long, warm lasting kiss to seal his promise. “If you promise me one thing... one thing only,” he whispered.

“What is it?” You whispered back. 

“Promise to let me take care of you. I know you would spend 25 hours in a day studying if it were possible, but you can't keep it up like this.” He nodded. “Let me make sure you have the headspace for all your studying. Don’t deny my bringing you food, or dragging you to bed. And collect at least three kisses and one hug every day for emotional support,” he smiled faintly, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes that shone in yours as well. 

“Okay, I promise.”

Bucky kissed you again, pressing your body against his with gentle strength. His heart began to beat faster when he felt your nails rake down his shoulders. 

From then on Bucky would come up to you and hug you for a couple seconds, calling it ‘quick recharge’. He would hold you when you cried - but only when you cried because you needed to spend your dedicated hours of studying- holding you was for later.  And then he would remind you to drink enough water after watching your tears soak into his shirt. But what he looked forward to the most, were the evenings when you would cuddle into his side in bed and let him lull you to sleep. He felt accomplished as he watched you relax outside the study schedule you set up with him, being able to fully be present when you ate together or went to bed. There were still rough times, but Bucky was there to hold you regardless, smiling at the fact that his touch could calm you down and that it would be over soon - and then he’d spend entire days making up for everything that fell short because of that viscous degree.

please take care of yourself, just like Bucky would during an exhausting time like this 💛

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[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[buckyalpine]

Warnings: 18+ dub con, smut, Dark Bucky, breeding kinks. I want some Dark twin Bucky. Jealous twin Bucky. Manipulative, sexy, mob boss twisted Bucky. His brother James is everything good, everything wholesome, everything perfect. James had everything in life, the nicest house, a respectable job, the sweetest wife. Oh, how sweet his wife was.

Bucky couldn’t care less for the perfect reputation his brother had nor did he care for the money, he had so much more. More power. More control. The only thing his brother had that he wanted for himself was you. His brother didn't value or care for you for what you were worth, always working, focused on business, leaving you in the large house all by yourself. Bucky would have never. Not if he had you.

Loving, gentle, soft as silk.

Pure, untainted, everything he wasn't.

He had to have you.

"Babydoll"

You smiled hearing your husband enter your shared bedroom as you got out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around yourself before going to greet him. He sat at the edge of the bed with a knowing smirk, shamelessly eyeing you up and down like he always did, your cheeks heating up under his watchful stare. You loved how much he adored you. He strode over, humming at the scent of your body wash, his nose trailing up the column of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his hands wandering to the edge of your towel.

"Miss me, baby?" He pulled it off, letting it pool to the floor leaving you bare before him, picking you up and laying on on the mattress, you were so perfect, pliant, he could already smell your arousal, your nipples pebbled against the cold air begging for his warm mouth.

"moy kotenok" He purred, nipping at your earlobe, your brows knitting in confusion, he never spoke Russian to you, only his brother-

“James?” You squeak, your heart starting to beat rapidly, blood running cold. This wasn’t your husband. You tried to scramble away, cover yourself but he grabbed your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. You then noticed the dark ink that peekd beneath his shirt, his telltale silver chain slipping out and dangling above your face. Your husband only wore his wedding ring, you tried so hard, unable to move his heavy body off you.

"Bucky-Bucky get off, what are you doing-

"Taking what should be mine, kotenok, showing you what being loved by a real man is like" He crawled off you, thighs spread wide kneeling in front of you. "He doesn't know what you deserve printsessa"

He shoved your legs apart, holding them from squirming, your twitching pearl amusing him. "S'been long, hasn't it, you say you don't want me but that swollen button says otherwise, what if I-"

He spits onto your clit making you cry out, a rough calloused thumb coming down to flick it to his hearts content. Your body jolted at the sensation, it was wrong, so wrong, God it had been so fucking long...

No.

"Bucky st-stop" You hiccupped as he moved faster, he could see your slick dampening the sheets, his idiot brother didn't know what he was missing.

"Why would I do that, hm? Look at how your body responds to me, you want this. Gonna get you so pregnant, bunny” Bucky smirked, giving his thick bulge a squeeze, making a show of shamelessly palming his erection. “Y’wouldnt even know who the daddy is”

He doesn't waste a second pulling his cock out, grinning at the way your cunt welcomes him home despite your futile protests. You scratch at him between moans of pleasure, your legs wrapping around his tapered waist. He pounds into you with purpose, he wants his child in your belly, he couldn't wait to see his brother dote on you not knowing any better.

He got harder thinking about your breasts leaking with milk as you got bigger, milk to feed his baby, milk to feed him. He'd find a way.

"Gonna put my child in you printsessa, give you my baby, show you where a man puts his cum, you'll take it won't you bunny, such a good housewife"

"No-No you-you can't oh God!" Your body shudders as pleasure and guilt washes over you, clinging onto him for dear life as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"That's right, cum for me, he can't make you cum like I can, don't think I haven't heard you with him, look at you, just a slutty little mess, you smell of sex kitten"

He intends on making the biggest mess in your pussy, needing it to drip onto the sheets you sleep in. You'd stay wrapped up in his essence while it leaked out of you, his sperm exactly where it needed to be, right in your belly-

"Get ready kitten, get ready to take it, fuck-squeezing me so good, tell me you want it, I know you do, m'gonna cum so hard for you princess, just for you, all this-fuck-do you feel it, s'all for you, SHIITTT" He roared, pumping you with the stutter of his hips, the headboard slamming against the wall as he emptied himself, shamelessly moaning into your neck.

The next 9 months would be interesting.

[late-to-the-party-81]

🤤🤤🤤

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥

→ premise: if bucky was a pill then you were an addict and you wanna show him just addicted you are.

→ pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, cock piercing [jacobs ladder piercing], cock worship, nicknames [sweets, little one], oral [m receiving], small face fucking

→ a/n: kinktober 07

Now to say you were obsessed would be an understatement, you were addicted, captivated by your boyfriend Bucky Barnes. He didn't really understand why, often telling you he didn't deserve all the affection and attention you gave him. Therefore you were determined to show him your level of devotion as well as show him just how infatuated you were with him.

“Just lay back baby and let me worship you” you started explaining to Bucky in a soft tone as an attempt to calm his nerves. Lightly you push at his chest so that he backs up, his calf’s hitting the edge of the couch causing him to tumble back. He feels his whole body fill with heat at the look on your face as he falls back onto the couch. Your pupils blown, eyes lidded and glazed over in sheer lust, tugging your lip between your teeth, almost stifling a small moan at the sight of him. He leans back putting his hands out on the plush cushions, on instinct his thighs widen in a man spread. The new position giving your eyes perfect access to rake over his body, taking in the hard lines of his muscles that peaked through his tight Henley. As you soak in his state, his body responds, hips bucking up as his cock grows hard, his jeans and boxers becoming uncomfortable.

His nerves set afire once again as you sensually and slowly sink to your knees in front of him, your hands landing on his knees and traveling up his thighs to run over his bulge. “Sweets you know you dont have to do this” his cheeks flush in embarrassment as your tongue darts out to swipe over your top lip, you were practically salivating. Now Bucky wasn't the type of man to say no to a blow job obviously but he didn't feel deserving of being ‘worshiped’ as you called it.

“James Buchanan Barnes, shut up and let me appreciate my sexy ass boyfriend and his pretty cock, please?” Your voice comes out sassy and authoritative until the last word practically morphs into a plea. Your fingers are already working at undoing his belt buckle and the button to his jeans. He was growing more and more desperate for your mouth the longer the teasing went on.

“Mhmm yeah can definitely do that for ya’ little one” he rambled out, frantically nodding as his breathing grew heavier. You smile up at him in gratitude, your hands pulling his leather belt out of the loops and peeling his jeans down his legs. He lifts his hips up to aid you, his bulge finally feeling relief from its confines when you strip him of his boxers right after. His cock bouncing free and lightly hitting his toned stomach, a sigh falls from his lips as you take in the sight of it, making his stomach tighten and flip. He wasn't used to being admired in this way, the feeling unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His tip reddened and begging for attention as it leaks precum, your mouth watering as your eyes catch when the light hits his frenum piercings. 8 of them in total, one for every inch line the underside of his shaft making up his jacobs ladder piercing. To make it easier on you, taking all of him during your first time together he had you count each piercing as you felt them push inside you.

While you're lost in that memory, your eyes are still appreciating and committing the sight of his cock to memory as if you haven't seen it a hundred times by now. Bucky lifts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, hunching his body over to lean down and press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Prolonging the intimate moment with you on your knees, he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb under your eye in a loving manner. You hum into the kiss, your body melting at his touch before you pull away, him returning to his previous position.

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth, dragging down his shaft hitting each piercing as it goes. He sucks in a breath, hands gripping onto the edge of the couch cushions to refrain from just jumping to the end with him fucking up into your hot mouth.

“Fuck sweets” he hissed out when you kiss and kitten lick at his balls before licking back up the side of his cock. You grip the base of him while licking at his tip causing his cock to twitch in your hand before you sink your mouth down on him. “Shit~ just like that little one, oh god” he groans out as his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Bucky knew there was no chance of him making it to heaven when he passed but he knew if he did there was no way it’d feel half as good as this.

He softly moans out when you hollow out your cheeks and suck, your tongue running on the underside of his tip. Bucky lifts up his shirt giving your hands better access to rub along and roam his body. Nails starching at his v-line as you sink your mouth further down on him, taking his cock to the base in your throat, counting each barbell in your head. bucky can feel his balls tighten as they sit full of cum, he was already getting close. “S’good sweets, fuck” he breathed out as he rests his hand on the back of your head. He felt heavy as he sat in your mouth, his piercings cold on your tongue.

“Mhm~ please little one, can i fuck your mouth?” He begs, normally he wouldn't ask but he didnt know how much longer you wanted to extend your worship of his cock but he didn't think he’d last much longer. You hum around him in response as a ‘yes’ bracing yourself by grabbing onto his thick thighs. “Thank you, thank you oh fuck” a long string of curses leave his lips as his hips gradually start bucking up, thrusting his cock into your mouth, your spit spilling out and pooling at the base of his cock as your jaw goes slack to accommodate him fucking your thorat.

“Worship me whenever you want little one, this cocks all yours anyway sweets.” He groaned out, his hips flattering in rhythm as the knot in his stomach was about to snap. It would take a while before Bucky felt deserving of your adoration and worship but if this was one of the ways you planned to show it, he could get used to it.

→ a/n: this wasnt proofread and it was rushed as always, its also being posted later than i wanted lmao kinktober is low-key starting to drain me but fuck it. It’s been giving me issues with this post showing up in tags too so im annoyed with it lol.