#bucky had a good reason to fixate

[imawreck]

His

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky broke up a few months ago against your wishes, and you’d been trying to move on. When Bucky sees you flirting with another member of the team, he leaves for the next mission to avoid getting in your way. Unfortunately, the mission goes bad, and Bucky isn’t himself when he comes back. He also has a lot to say…

Author’s Note: I realize that in most of my fics Thor is the other romantic interest/situationship, but you CANT tell me that man wouldn’t flirt up a storm with a beautiful woman any chance he got. Also, this is my first smutty fic so feedback and comments would be much appreciated! This is on the more explicit side, so please read with caution.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions self loathing/guilt (it’s Bucky, kinda normal), choking kink, Possessive!Winter Soldier, flashbacks, hair pulling, fingering, metal arm kink, dominant!winter soldier, probably some more but those are the big ones.

Word Count: 4,850

Breakups are ugly most of the time, and almost always one sided.

You and Bucky had been apart for at least three months. You’d stopped counting, wanting to forget it and focus on anything else. It was easier that way, to ignore the heartbreak and clutter up your life with other things to do.

Unfortunately, you still lived in the same tower on the same floor, right across from one another. He was constantly around, and no mattered how hard you tried, you just couldn’t avoid him.

It was hell.

And it was only hell because Bucky hardly gave you a good reason for the break up. Sure, you had your arguments. Mostly about his past and how much better he thought you deserved, to which you’d list all the reasons he was wrong. In reality, those weren’t really arguments. It was just Bucky having a low point, which you were more than willing to help him work through. Outside of those moments, you had felt that your relationship with Bucky was near perfect.

So when he had come back from a mission and broke up with you, his only reason being ‘I can’t be with you,’ it’d been a slap to the face. Like someone had shoved a knife in your heart and twisted.

The worst part was that he wouldn’t even allow you the chance to talk to him afterwards. Every time you were in the same room together alone, he’d find every reason not to speak with you.

So, you’d taken the hint and were now trying to figure out a way to move on.

That was made a little easier when a certain God of Thunder made his interest known to you. Thor was sweet, charming, and a little goofy. Not to mention handsome, with his blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

He’d made an effort to woo you not long after you’d parted from Bucky, and you’d informed him that the breakup was hard for you and that you couldn’t really do something new right now. Thor had been surprisingly understanding, and even took to just being friends quite well. Granted, he was still flirty, but he knew where you both stood and was always happy to lend an ear when you needed one.

He turned out to be just the friend you needed.

From the outside looking in, none of the others thought it was ‘just friends,’ especially when Thor would openly show his interest in you. Especially to a certain Super Soldier.

Bucky was painfully aware of what was going on between you and Thor even though he desperately tried not to be.

His super hearing picked up on the soft laughter you and the god would share, on the hushed whispers you’d exchange late over a mug of coffee when you thought everyone was asleep. His every fiber was attuned to you, and he couldn’t help but fixate on your presence.

You were like gravity to him, and he always found himself near you when he knew he should be as far as humanly possible. He saw the little looks you shared when Thor would compliment you, noticed your shy smile when the god would enter the room. He could tell that Thor was winning you over slowly but surely.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

So it wasn’t a big surprise when he shipped off on the next mission possible.

You worried, your heart still set on loving him, but you tried to pay it little mind. And after a few days, it actually helped. You felt better, found yourself smiling more. You were beginning to move forward.

That was, until the jet was reported missing. Then Bucky was all anyone could talk about in the tower.

Thor tried his best to keep you in the dark about most of what was going on, and it wasn’t hard seeing as you were just a rather good strategist and not a serious Avenger. You were only really included in skimming over preplanned attacks and making sure they hadn’t missed anything critical.

But word still spread, and worry was ever present.

Needless to say, it was very strange when Mr. Stark called you into a private meeting with himself and two other of the elite team.

“Y/N,” He spoke softly in the kind of tone that lets you know that whatever he says next is going to ruin your whole week. “There’s a situation with Barnes.”

You frowned, eyebrows scrunching at him from where you sat at the rather empty end of the long black table. “I’m confused. Bucky and I broke up months ago. Why are you talking to me about it?”

Steve, who you’d befriended while dating his best pal, looked at you with poorly concealed pity from his seat next to Stark. “Because we know he still means a lot to you and that you’re our best hope in this situation.”

That didn’t make you feel better about whatever was going on at all. “What do you mean ‘this situation?’” You eyed them both, before dragging your eyes over to Doctor Banner who hadn’t done much more than stare at you with a concerned expression bordering on panic.

Stark pressed his fingers to his forehead, “Barnes got triggered on his mission and has infiltrated the tower. We have reason to believe he’s after you.”

You gaped at him. That didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important, at least not as important as one of The Avengers. “Me? Why me?”

“We’ve silently shut the building down and we’re working on evacuating the floors without anyone freaking out.” Tony went on, ignoring your questions, “He doesn’t know that we’re aware he’s here, and we’re trying to keep it that way.” Tony motioned towards a monitor, and the image of Bucky popped up on the screen.

Only he was in your room, and he was dragging his fingers over the picture of the two of you that was perched on the nightstand. They way his fingers smoothed over the glass, the slight pinch in his brows as if calculating instead of recalling. It was like he’d never seen it before in his life. Like he had no connection to the image of himself.

It was a picture he had taken, his arm extended and a smile on his face with your lips pressed to his cheek. You had meant to take it down and stuff it in the box under your bed with all the other memories you had hid from sight, but it was just too painful. You needed something to hold onto.

You watched through the screen as he moved around your room, taking note of certain things and taking careful precautions to ensure that anything he moved was set right back in place. It was eerie to watch a man who was once so comfortable in your space tread with so much hesitance. Like it was the first time he’d been in the space all over again.

“Y/N.” It was Steve’s gentle timbre that brought your attention away from the screen this time. He tried to smile, though it was clearly forced. “We need you to lure him down towards the lower levels. We have to get him to a room where we can better contain him. If he finds out we know he’s back and not… him, then he could snap.”

“You want to use me as bait? For the Winter Soldier?” You stared at them both with wide eyes, panic blooming in your chest. “This is insane!”

Steve sighed, “Y/N… Bucky told me about the incident that happened in the beginning of your relationship.”

Your attention zeroed in on the blonde’s words, your breath hitching.

“He told me what could’ve happened… and what didn’t.”

You walked down the corridor of the Stark tower office floor heading back towards your desk from a late night research meeting with a few of your coworkers. You had decided to stay later than the others so that you could collect and organize the information you needed for the meeting with Mr. Stark the following morning. It was very late, and you were tired, the heels you wore had begun to irritate the soles of your feet hours before.

You clutched the files you collected in your arms, heels clicking on the glossy floors and echoing into the dimly lit corridor. So dim that you didn't see the silhouette of the man standing just feet from you until it was too late.

You only saw a flash of silver before the door beside you was torn open and you were roughly shoved inside. Cleaning supplies clattered onto the floor, spilling liquids over your feet as you cried out. A hand clamped over your mouth, and your head hit the wall with a thunk.

Stormy blue eyes stared at you, cold and unfeeling. Eyes you had seen just days before smiling at you and filled with life.

Your lips moved to say his name against the cool metal of his hand, but his grip on your face was nearly bruising. You could only stare back in fear and attempt to press your body further from him.

He didn't speak, only stared at you and kicked the door to the closet shut.

Fear was a living thing in your stomach, writhing as his eyes snaked down to your red heels and back up again. His head tilted to the side, as if he was trying to remember something. But his eyes remained cold and unrelentingly empty. His flesh hand came up to press a finger threateningly to his lips.

‘Quiet.’

You weren't stupid enough to scream, not with the way he was looking at you, with how close he was. When he removed his hand, you did exactly as he wanted. Silence hung in the small closet, suffocating you. Would he kill you? What did he want? Why hadn't he killed you already?

The cool metal of his palm slipped further down, wrapping around your throat and pressing against your thundering pulse. Your head pounded along with it, and a foggy feeling settled over your mind.

But your lungs still filled with air, and you remained aware. The pressure of his hand was ever present, but it was light enough not to cause real damage... Almost like he didn't want to hurt you.

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, the movement catching your eyes. His body leaned forward, his nose pressing into your neck and his warm breath hitting your skin. Goosebumps rose in its wake, and that lick of fear heightened again. He was acting so strangely, and the longer it went on the more unsettling it was.

When he pulled away, there was a heat in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A hunger, and… and recognition.

“Hello, Beloved.”

“We know that he didn’t hurt you, and that he displayed… certain feelings towards you.” Steve’s voice brought you out of the memory, dragging you back to the reality at hand.

The one where he wants you to put yourself smack dab in the path of the Winter Soldier.

“You’re serious about this?” You blink up at him, trying to gauge if he was joking or not. Level headed as Steve was, you trusted him with your life. But this? This was terrifying and completely unexpected. Ridiculously dangerous.

“It’s the only nonviolent way we can think of. And we’re almost certain there’s no high risk for you.” Steve tried to give you a reassuring smile, tried to hide the hint of unease that shone in his tense shoulders.

“You’ve all lost your mind.” You laugh, sighing and raising your chin. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Apparently, so had you.

You stared at the metal doors of the elevator, your heart pounding with each toll of the floors passing. This was probably—no, was— the riskiest thing you’d ever done in your life. You trusted Steve and Mr. Stark, but your brain was trained to find the flaws in plans like this. And so many things could go wrong.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Steve said calmly into your ear, startling you. You’d forgotten they’d given you the earpiece. “I’ll be here the entire time. I’ll guide you through the compound and make sure you stay out of danger.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if they could see you.

“Bucky is leaving your room. We’re going to drop you off in the commons area of your floor. All you have to do is make some noise and then head for the stairwell. Just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this.” Steve sounded so confident in your ear, but it did little to soothe the nerves.

The elevator leveled out, and the doors quietly opened. The large living room opened up before you, unnervingly bright and welcoming despite the danger you knew lurked just down the hall. You stepped out onto the carpet, walking towards the kitchen. Your palms sweat, heart pounding, as you made your way up to the cabinets.

You just had to make some noise. Easy, right?

But your body wouldn’t move.

“Y/N.” Steve’s voice called in your ear again, gently coaxing you from where he watched the cameras. “Make some noise, and then head for the stairs.”

You swallowed, nodding again, and reached with shaky hands towards the cabinet. You grabbed a bowl, and hesitantly set it down on the granite counter. The echoing ‘pok’ of the ceramic felt too loud in your ears, like a gunshot.

“Good, now move quickly. He’s just down the hall headed your way.”

The words sent a chill down your spine… and something else followed. Something you’d never felt before.

You headed towards the stairs, but your feet felt like lead weights. Like you couldn’t move fast enough even though you knew you were going as fast as you could.

But you could hear the faintest scuff of boots coming behind you and the sound sent your heart into a frenzy.

You raced down the stairs, tripping a few times before righting yourself and continuing your decent down towards the lower levels. Your floor was four levels up from ground level, which meant you had six floors in total to descend before you could get to the containment floor.

Six flights of stairs being chased by The Winter Soldier. A superhuman man who was definitely faster than you, and probably wanted to do something terrible to you. Like a wolf hunting a sheep.

Oh God.

The thought only served to spur the panic rising in you. You kicked up your speed when the door slammed behind you, footsteps pounding after you as the dark silhouette of Bucky Barnes rounded the stairs two flights above.

He took the stairs four at a time, his long legs swallowing up the distance between you. The panic clawed its way up your throat in a strangled cry, and the sound just seemed to quicken his pace.

“I’m not fast enough!” You tried to keep your voice even, tried to keep it quiet in the echoing stairwell so that the soldier behind you would hear.

“You’re almost there, Y/N. Just keep up the pace. Two flights left and—“ but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

You watched in shocked horror as Bucky’s figure leapt over the railing and plummeted towards the ground. He dropped several flights before his arm snapped out and wrapped around the railing. The sound of metal hitting metal rang out around you as the railing dipped under the crushing pressure.

He hauled himself back onto the stairs just before you. Those cold eyes found yours, dark hair framing sharp features, painting him into something primal. Something wild.

That feeling pounded through you again, skittering along your spine and raising the hairs on the back of your neck. You still couldn’t place it, not with him stepping towards you with a look that promised violence.

You heard Steve’s voice ordering something over the earpiece, but it was distant. It became clearer a moment later. “We’ve got a team heading in. Just… just hang in there.”

You swallowed, but your throat had gone dry in the presence of the assassin before you. His eyes held you in place as his towering form finally stopped a stair below you, leveling with you face to face. So close you could count the stitches in the Kevlar of his suit.

You felt your body shaking, heard your heart thundering in your ears as your chest rose and fell with each short breath you managed to drag into your lungs.

And he watched every move you made.

His head titled to the side exactly like it’d done the first time you’d been trapped with him. His gaze never left you, eyes wandering over your face and heaving chest before that faint look of recognition settled into those hollow eyes.

And then that heat you’d seen before consumed them.

He stepped forward, and you answered with a step back. For each one he took, you pedaled backwards until your body was plastered against the wall. When you tried to flee back up the stairs, his metal hand planted itself against the wall inches from your head.

You were utterly trapped.

Rough Russian left his lips in the softest whisper. The sound was the same as you’d heart him say before, though you didn’t understand it.

Not until now, as the earpiece Steve had given you translated his words as he spoke them.

“Hello again, Beloved.”

Those blue eyes bored into yours, as his other hand came up to brush your cheek with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of.

“He’s kept me from you for so long.” Bucky’s body leaned forward, caging you against the wall. His metal hand remained pressed against the wall beside you, and the other dragged across the skin of your neck and shoulder in an almost reverent manner.

Bucky’s— no, this wasn’t Bucky. This was the part of Bucky he kept farthest from you. This was a man known for cruel, unimaginable violence. An assassin known by reputation around the world by both hero and criminal alike and feared by all. This was the Winter Soldier.

Winter’s lips brushed your jaw, stubble tickling the column of your throat as his voice rumbled against your skin. “Kept you to himself. Never let me touch you. Worried I’d damage you, Beloved. Couldn’t see you needed me.”

His teeth nipped at your skin, and a shiver rolled down your spine in answer. That feeling tugged at your mind again, spurred by his words. But still, you couldn’t place it. Not with your mind consumed by his statements and barely contained yearning.

When his head lifted to find your eyes again, the fingers of his right hand tangled themselves in your hair and pulled hard enough to have your scalp stinging. His next words were guttural and biting, “And then he let you go.”

Winter’s grip loosened a bit, but his hold on your hair remained. “He pushed you away, and then that god tries to take you from me?” His eyes held you, demanding your utter attention as his head shook slowly, “You don’t belong to him.”

Tugging your lip between your teeth, you clenched your eyes shut. God, you wished Bucky would say that to you. Having Winter here saying these words with Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s face. Touching you with familiar hands…

Heat had begun to pool low in your belly.

The words were spoken in English. “Open your eyes.”

There was no room for objection in his voice, so you did as he said. With his jaw was set in an angry line, and those blue eyes boring into your soul, he leaned in closer. “He thinks that being with you is too dangerous, that you aren’t safe with… with us.”

“What?” Your heart hammered in your chest at his words. It was the first real reason as to why Bucky had broken up with you.

Those silvery blue eyes zeroed on your lips as he spoke again. “He thinks we can’t protect you, that I’ll hurt you. That somehow being further from you keeps you safe from what comes with being what we are.” His metal hand left the wall in favor of brushing over your lower lip and trailing the cool tips of his fingers down to the dip of your breasts and back up to the column of your throat. “I’d never hurt you, not the way he has. Not if you didn’t want it.”

“W-what do you mean?” You just knew he was picking up on how your heart beat harder as his fingers trailed over your skin. Or the way you kept shifting on your feet to stave off the heat thrumming in your veins with an all too familiar want blooming and begging for his hands to explore more.

The faintest hint of a smile graced his face as he gave your hair another gentle tug, then loosened his grip once more. “You like this. I’ve seen how you react with him. How you quietly treasure the marks he leaves on your skin even when he feels nothing but guilt.” That metal hand slipped over your throat again and pressed on your neck exactly as he’d done the first time you’d seen Winter. Your head spun at the pressure, but you could breathe easily under the cool press of his palm as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered. “I see how badly you wish he’d touch you with this hand,” he squeezed your neck and loosened it quickly, “How badly you want those marks. How badly you need me.”

You had no words. Nothing to say as he wrung out the truth you’d thought was hidden from him— from Bucky.

Bucky was notorious for avoiding any situation that would make him use the metal arm. He would much rather let it hang there, or act as if he didn’t have it at all. That included when the two of you would get intimate. He never dared to bring it anywhere near you no matter how many times you’d reminded him it was fine, that you weren’t afraid of it. He outright refused to allow it to touch your delicate skin, to let such a catalyst for agony so close to something as precious as you.

Winter knew that you’d secretly craved to feel the cold metal in contrast to his warm skin when he held you. He knew that you would always find it more satisfying when Bucky would lose himself and get rough with you when things got heated. How his flesh hand would leave bruises on your thighs or hips to keep you steady as he thrust himself deeper.

Just the thought had you aching, and here was Bucky’s darker half offering you everything you’d ever wanted.

You were losing your fucking mind.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but the words were flimsy and meaningless. He knew the truth, but that didn’t mean you had to say it aloud.

His metal fingers dug into your jaw, his grip near bruising as he tilted your head up to level your eyes with his. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Dollface.” His lips were a hairs-width away, his warm breath fanning over your face.

The scent of him was intoxicating, muddling your mind even further with heady leather and metal invading your nose. The hint of that aftershave you’d missed so much since Bucky broke your heart.

Winter was tearing you apart at the seams.

“Please,” you whispered. Please what? You didn’t know. You could hardly think straight. That feeling was so strong, thrumming along with your pulse and the ache for something. Anything.

“Tell me I’m right.” He mumbled against your skin. Soft lips, a vast contrast to his rough demeanor, to the calloused hand that remained tangled in your hair, trailed down your cheek. “Tell me that you want me. Not the pathetic excuse for a god, or him. That you want me.”

His metal hand released your face, drifting over your neck and dragging over the left side of your chest. He circled once, thumbing over your nipple with a knowing look filled with every sinful promise known to man.

And then he went lower and lower…

His fingers caught the waistband of your leggings, the chill of his fingers raised goosebumps across your stomach, only serving to worsen that burning need.

“Doll,” a command and a question wrapped in one word.

All you had to do was admit your darkest most guarded secret. Confess, and he would give you what you wanted most. What Bucky was too afraid to do.

You opened your mouth, the words tumbling out as he gave your hair another tug.

“I want you.”

That smirk grew just a fraction more, his fingers slipping past your waistband and toying with the hem of your panties.

Fuck, did you wish you’d gone commando today.

“Who am I?” He asked, teeth nipping down your neck hard enough to know they’d leave marks. “I want you to say it, Y/N.”

Those fingers slipped further, rolling over your aching clit in a teasing stroke before he pulled them away again.

If he wasn’t a literal assassin, you’d consider strangling him.

“For fucks sake,” you gripped his arm, your voice unfamiliar in your own ears, ragged and broken. “Winter, please.”

He didn’t waste time, deft, cool fingers dipping into your core with confidence. Soothing that aching heat.

Fuck.

His thumb circled slow as he pumped his fingers, his mouth leaving wet kisses along your jaw up to your lips where he paused long enough to catch a glimpse of your face. You knew you looked like an utter mess, but those blue eyes showed nothing but twisted delight. He leaned forward and tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, bitting hard enough to make you groan.

Winter’s answering grunt of approval urged you further towards the edge of oblivion those perfect metal fingers were working you towards.

God you were so close. Each movement, every touch and bruise he left on your skin pushing you closer and closer. Just a bit more, a fraction more and you’d—

His fingers wrenched away, gone in an instant.

Your eyes, closed from the pleasure just moments ago, snapped open just before the doors to the stairway above and below you burst open. Floods of agents filed through the doors, and a gun fired.

The sharp sound echoed in the confined space making you flinch. Winters back pressed you against the wall, a solid shield of muscle keeping you out of harms way.

Then the weight was too heavy. His body crushing you as he slumped toward the floor. You screamed, immediately thinking the worse as your eyes searched his form in a panic.

But you found no blood, thank God.

“He’s fine, Y/N.”

Steve’s hand on your shoulder had you flinching back, head snapping to his suit clad form. “The gun—“

“It’s just a tranq. I promise, Bucky will be fine.” His face was the picture of practiced reassurance.

A horde of agents rushed forward and cuffed Winter’s hands and dragged his unconscious body out of the stairwell and further towards the confinement room. Steve remained with you, his eyes flicking to your neck a few times and checking you over to make sure no serious damage had been done.

When you’d gotten yourself back to your room away from the prying eyes and the relentless questions, the reality of what had happened slammed into you.

You just let the Winter Soldier finger you in a fucking stairwell.

And you liked it.

Plunging your fingers into your hair, you took a shaky breath. What the fuck were you thinking? Had you lost your damn mind? Bucky broke up with you three months ago! You were done; over, moving on. He could remember this, for Christ sake! How would you explain it?

Panic writhed in your stomach, but so did the faint ache of need that reminded you of what had just happened mere minutes ago.

The feeling of his metal hand on your skin, the feeling of those fingers working you perfectly and the pressure of his bruising grip.

And that feeling that you couldn’t place.

But now you had a word for it.

From the thrum of your heart as he chased you down the stairs, the promise of violence and sinful pleasure in his eyes. The roughness of his actions…

It was the thrill.

You liked the chase. You liked how rough he was. The delicious blend of panic and pleasure.

And he’d been interrupted before you got the release you’d craved. That you needed.

Frustration boiled to the forefront of your mind, a dozen different strategies with it.

He’d made you confess your darkest secret only to leave you high and dry.

And damn him if he wasn’t going to finish what he started.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Man Called Danger 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You avoid drama, you avoid confrontation, and overall, you avoid men. But some men can’t be denied. ~ short!late 30s reader

Characters: biker!Bucky Barnes

Note: I didn't think I'd be writing rn but I had a pretty restless night despite my best efforts. Mostly just me fixating on noises and not being able to sleep.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You idle outside the corporate facade, fidgeting, looking side to side, mirror to mirror, listening for the thunderous engine. Your grip and ungrip the wheel, unable to slacken your jaw as you huff through your nose. Your heart hammers on your tender ribs and your foot wiggles incessantly. 

You replay the calamitous scene over and over in your head. Your mind sticks to the last vision; that grin. That's a promise. A man like that only smiles with good reason and you don't expect he gets his jollies from fuzzy kittens and butterflies. 

A tap on the window makes you jump. You look over as Eva waves through the glass. You check the clock. You've been there for half an hour. 

You unlock the door and she falls in with a sigh. "Hey, hey," she chimes. “What happened to your car?” 

“Huh, oh--” you sniff and look in the rear view again. Your little act of panicked defiance must have earned a few extra scratches. “Wasn’t paying attention backing out. Just hit a fence.” 

She cackles, “really? Well, not that it makes a difference with this old shitheap.” 

You give her a long look. “You're in a good mood. How was your first day?" 

"Pretty damn great," she snaps her seat belt into place. "Pretty chill job. I just kinda mess with the printer between endless lattes." 

You nod, "sounds like heaven." 

"Boss is super cool. He's really chatty," she preens. 

Right, you're sure that has nothing to do with her looks. You want to caution her but you also don't want to spoil this for her. You're sure it's nothing. Not that you could offer her much advice. You were never the type to draw any sort of office scandal. 

"Just make sure you do your work," you pull away from the curb, shifting in your seat. 

You teethe your lip and let it flick out. You keep up the nervous tick as you hunch behind the wheel. You focus on the road, trying not to think of everything else; that man and his motorcycle, the length of Eva's skirt, Mr. Walker's reminders. 

"I take it your day wasn't great," she scoffs. 

You squeeze the wheel, "huh?" 

"You gonna tear that thing off?" She asks. 

You exhale and push your shoulders down before they can touch your ears. You swallow, "usual, you know..." 

What do you do? You're not stupid, that man isn't going to play around. He's not going to be anything less than blunt. He had the gall to show up at your work. How he knew where to find you... well, you can't be certain he isn't waiting at your front door. 

You stop at the red sign and check the rear view, ears perked for any rumble. You tut and hiss out another breath.  

"Right, well, I know you're not really a fan but you need a glass of wine," she says. 

You shrug, "probably." 

She hums, "seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?" 

"Nothing, nothing," you lie. "Just... you wanna get dinner somewhere?" 

"Uh, what? Am I hearing you right? You want to eat out?" She chuckles, "alright, something's gotta be wrong." 

"No, I'm... you got through your first day, it'll be a celebration," the lie rolls out all too easy. You've never been challenged at that, but you found it easier to be quiet than deceitful. Lies are shields, not weapons. "Your choice." 

The car behind you honks. You turn just to get out of their way. 

"Oh, you like ramen? There's a place that does spicy noodles just right," she makes a ridiculous gesture with her hand, kissing her fingertips. 

"I can try it," you trawl down the street slowly, "is it down town?" 

"Yeah, back a few streets," she wiggles and claps her hands, "oh, I'm so excited." 

"Really?" You wonder. 

"Well, yeah! When's the last time we did anything fun? Together?" 

"Ha, yeah," you agree hollowly. 

She sits up, and you can see her smile in the mirror. You sense her brightness dim just a little. "Um, last night..." 

"Eva, we agreed to move past it," you scratch your cheek, keeping your other hand firmly on the wheel. You don't want to think about last night or that man. You're hoping the restaurant will be an escape from that. If he has found his way to your house, he might not want to wait around that long. "Let's start over. This job will help with that." 

"Sure," she agrees softly. "It's just... I do feel bad. That he pushed you like that." 

"Well, it's not the worst I've dealt with," you say without thinking. 

She wallows, "it's not?" 

She didn't know your dad. You're happy for that. You shrug. 

"It's nothing," you assure her. "Really." 

"Mom mentioned... you know, that he wasn't very nice--" 

"I can barely remember," you assure her as your skull itches. You remember the bad times; the blunt force, the stinging slaps, the screaming. Even after all those years. "So let's just not think about yesterday, let's enjoy tonight." 

She nods, "yeah, sure... I... I can do that." 

"Oh, you've always been much better at having fun than me," you snort. 

💀

The restaurant is nice enough but not too fancy to make you feel a slob. Eva fits anywhere she goes. She’s just that pretty.

You wonder if it’s just your own insecurity speaking. You’ve aged out of the years where clothes and makeup were your sole concern. You never really worried too much about the latter, you did just enough to be presentable. 

You look at the menu, mulling chicken or shrimp. Eva takes the smaller menu from the middle of the table. 

“They’ve got saki. You should try some. I’ll drive home,” she offers. 

You look at her. She grins and giggles. You tilt your head. 

“I love that look,” she chimes. “You do it really good. It’s scary.” 

“What look?” 

“Oh, you know, mom called it the murder stare. As much as a mess as she is, you know, she used to say you were like grandma.” 

“Grandma?” You click your tongue and sigh. That old bitter hen. “Well, be glad that you can’t confirm that.” 

“Was she really that bad?” Eva asks. 

You shrug, “I was young for most of our... relationship. To a little girl, she was a villain.” 

Your sister nod and puts the menu down. She looks around. “I really appreciate this. And I did my best not to be too much today. You know? And Mr. Hansen...” she taps her nails on the table. “He’s so cool. I think it’ll be good. And if I stick around, maybe you could switch over. Since your job is so shitty.” 

“It’s not shitty. It’s just... a job,” you sit back as you close the menu and settle on chicken. “Won’t be much different either way. I don’t want you to stick around too long. This is to get you into school, right?” 

“Yeah. I know but... I can work and go to classes.” 

You smile, “I’m glad you’re thinking this out.” 

“Well, I’m still going to have fun. You know, Lindsay wants to get some sushi this weekend so...” 

“Ah, well, don’t spend all your money in one place,” you warn. 

“Yes, ma’am,” she snipes back. You meet her eye as she stares. “How did you ever grow up with mom?” 

You make a face, “I don’t know how i made it through either.” 

“Um, excuse me,” the server steps up to the table, setting down two glasses. “Ginger mojitos for the table.” 

You set the menu down and look at him, “oh, I think you’ve got the wrong one. But we’re ready to order.” 

“Ma’am, they’re from the gentleman.” He nods over his shoulder. You can’t see past him as Eva leans back to glance across. 

“Oh,” you swallow and look at your sister. Is this why she goes out? All the freebies from lecherous strangers? “Right. Well, I’ll have the spicy noodles with chicken dumplings, please.” 

Eva waves past the server. You shift awkwardly. It’s so embarrassing. You’re just the old hanger-on. 

“Shrimp, street-style for me, please and thanks,” Eva says. 

“Water too, if you don’t mind,” you add. You don’t know you’ll finish the cocktail. 

“Wow, that’s so sweet,” Eva sits back as she takes the tall glass and sips from the narrow straw. She hums. “Oh, it’s like... ginger ale-y.” 

She smiles and raises the glass in a gesture across the restaurant. You keep your head down. 

“You should try it,” she chirps. 

“Well, one of us needs to drive.” 

“Oh, one drink with dinner is under the limit.” She goads. “Huh, he looks familiar.” 

“You know more people than me.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know where I’ve seen him,” she mutters and slurps again. 

The server returns with the water. You feel a pulse in your ears. Whoever it is, is staring. Likely not at you but your sister. Still, you’re ready to wilt. 

Mindlessly, your hand slips down to your blouse and you feel along your ribs. She exhales. 

“Does it hurt still?” 

You shrug and drop your hand. 

“Johnny’s such a dick.” 

“I agree,” you say tritely. “Tell me you’re not going to talk to him again.” 

“Not after that,” she pouts. 

You’re quiet. She traces her fingertips on the table top and she shifts. She looks around and leans forward. 

“So... are you ever going to start dating?” She asks. 

You blink and your lips part. She smirks. 

“The murder look, again,” she taunts. 

You sigh and lift your brows, trying to whittle away the tension in your jaw. “It’s not really a priority.” 

“Well, why not? I’m out of school, I’m grown. And you’re not that old.” 

“Wow, thanks, not that old,” you muse wryly. 

“And cute men are buying you drinks,” she trills. 

“I don’t think he sent them because of me,” you argue. 

“Well, he isn’t looking at me,” she retorts. 

“Eva,” you drawl flatly. 

“I think it’d be cute. I mean, I’ve never seen you with anyone. Mom never mentioned, or you...” 

“Yeah, well, men are more trouble than they’re worth.” 

“Oof, I really want to know who hurt you,” she teases. 

You resist another terse sneer. Aside from your father and the train of your mother’s bad decisions, no one worth thinking about. This dinner isn’t going to be spoiled by bad memories. 

“I’m not a people person,” you intone. 

“Oh, he’s really staring at you. We should send a drink back.” 

“No,” you say sharply. 

“He looks your age. And he’s not bad on the eye. Not exactly who I’d peg as your type. A bit too rough around the edges but oh, it’s cute.” 

“Eva,” you warm. You take the glass of water and dare a peek across. You nearly choke on your gulp of water. Shit. 

You quickly turn back to the table and put the water down. You press the napkin to your lips. The man in leather. His jacket is folded across the seat next to him, the gold medallion shining against his black shirt, his eyes gleaming. How... 

“You okay?” Eva asks. 

“Yes, I just... I forgot to file something at work.” 

“Right,” she squints. “You’re so jumpy tonight.” 

“I didn’t sleep well,” you say. It’s not a lie. 

You repress a shudder and tamp down the panic in your chest. He’s there, watching you. Those drinks were his signal. He’s not going away. He won���t forget what you did. If anything, you sealed your own fate. 

Why couldn’t you keep your head down like always? Why couldn’t you just be the rock they get bored of when you don’t react? Why did you do that to a man like him? 

You don’t know a thing about him but you can see clear enough he isn’t a man to walk away. You can only hope he’s only in need of your insurance information. You’ll take the added fees if it gets him out of your hair. 

[pietropatrol]

The Love You Want (Part 2/2)

Read Part 1

Pietro Maximoff was a great teammate and a great "friends with benefits." That was, until you fell for him but he started to push you away. Now he was just a teammate with benefits. A charity gala put on by Tony causes tension between you and the speedster. Why is he so upset anyway?

Pairing: Pietro x Reader

Warnings: sexual content, pining idiots, language, angst, past trauma, jealousy

Words: 3,359

The prestigious doctors Tony had wanted you to schmooze were an easy conversation for two reasons. 

One being you were a medical professional yourself. You were just a nurse practitioner in terms of your degree, but they were curious about how you used it in the field as an Avenger. Two, you were a walking medical miracle. 

The serum had made you not only able to let your body heal itself, but heal others. Though the latter was to a certain extent and you had learned that the hard way. 

The rule now was to stabilize with your powers if necessary, then treat medically until out of combat. Your powers could be depleted if you used them extensively on others, to the point your body is unable to heal yourself. 

Bucky slid up to your side with another drink after a few minutes. He inclined his head to you and you nodded in return. 

You would be okay… eventually. Would your heartache last for a few months? Yes. Pietro had been a fixation in your life for the last 2 years. You had never even entertained the thought of trying to be with someone else, officially or casually.

Why would you? You trusted no one outside of your team. At the rate it took to trust someone, it would be a decade before you’d be able to even try. You’d probably have to up your therapy sessions now too. 

When the band started up after their break, Bucky excused the pair of you and pulled you over to the dance floor. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. 

You shrugged, trying to ignore the sting returning to your eyes. “I basically told him I loved him, and then I broke it off.” 

“Did he say anything?” 

“No, he didn’t seem to know what to say.” Your voice was tight. “And when he did, I kept spewing my feelings at him. Like if I didn’t get it all out it was going to eat me alive.” 

“And how do you feel now?” Bucky glanced over your shoulder, face neutral at whoever he made eye contact with. 

“Is it pathetic of me to feel empty? How could I become so dependent on him? After everything that’s happened to me?” 

Bucky’s gaze softened on you. “Y/N, you’re not pathetic. You love Pietro, and he isn’t your ex. It’s okay that you are attached to him.” 

You hummed in response, not knowing what else to say. 

“I am going to give you my observation, okay? Pietro loves you too.”

You started to disagree. 

Bucky shook his head. “He has been stalking you since the moment you came back out here. His eyes have not left you. I’ve been watching him circle this atrium, ignore his date, and try to approach you multiple times.” 

“I told you, he’s possessive.”

“Why would he be if he didn’t love you? Sure, some other men out there may be possessive without love, but I’ve seen how protective he is of you too. On missions, he’s not ever far from you. And, I bet if I start putting the moves on you again he’s going to stop being a scared-cat and finally come over here.” 

“I’m just that good in bed is all, he doesn’t want to lose that,” you joked, though the words sounded hollow to your ears. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled you in closer as he dipped his heads towards you. 

You didn’t even have time to pull your head back as you were swept into the arms of Pietro and on the other side of the dance floor. 

Bucky gave you a look that was clearly an ‘I told you so’ and went back to the bar.

“I don’t share, Y/N. I’ve told you this,” Pietro growled and it made your knees weak. Why was him being a possessive asshole hot to you? 

“And I thought I told you it was best for us to end whatever this is?” You gave him a pointed look. 

“So you jump right on the next available teammate?” 

“Sure, that’s what that was,” you spat. “Bucky is my new fuck buddy.” 

Pietro paused from leading you around the dance floor and narrowed his eyes in on you, searching for something. 

You stuck your chin out at him and didn’t speak a word. He could be the one to determine if that was true or not. If that was what he thought of you, so be it. 

“I’m selfish,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been selfish with you and I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“Saying for everything would be an easy out, but you deserve more than that.” His hand delicately curled into your waist. Your instincts screamed to move closer to him, to create more contact.

“You can start with bringing my own personal nemesis to this event, and starving me beforehand. I can’t scarf down the hors d’oeuvres without worrying I am going to end up on the ‘don’t’ section of their ‘Do’s and Don’ts’ column,” you replied, throwing a glare at Sierra who was already glaring at you. 

“You may end up in that section anyway for stealing her date.” He grinned teasingly down at you and your heart raced. It felt friendly in a way it hadn’t been for a long time. 

“Her date actually stole me from mine, why do they always blame women for men’s actions?” You scowled.

“Are you really here with Barnes officially?” 

“I would ask you the same thing about Lineheart, but I saw you physically recoil from her.” You rose your eyebrows at him. 

He had the decency to appear a little bit guilty. “I’m sorry for bringing her to get a rise out of you. I now realize what a bad idea that was.” 

“Wow, an apology and confession.” 

“Are you really here with Barnes?” Pietro insisted on knowing. 

“Well considering you made it so I would not remember this event was coming up—”

“I’m only half-sorry for that. The second half that is, when I didn’t remind you. The initial distraction I am quite proud of.” He cocked his head at you, watching the heat spread up your neck and cheeks. 

You shook your head to clear your thoughts. “No, I’m not here with Bucky. He found me while I was avoiding you and offered to help make you jealous.”

The flash of relief was apparent in Pietro’s eyes. “Because it looked very convincing.”

“Well, that is part of our jobs some days. Acting convincing. You and I have done it many times before.” 

The pair of you had done a few undercover missions that required you to be a couple. It was usually the most fun you had doing a job. 

“Yeah, but I like to think it’s because we have something real going on too.” Pietro’s thumb started stroking your side, making it difficult to not melt into him.

“I’m sure it helped for you, as apparently you are terrible at acting. But it was all a show to make you jealous. Which is immature, I know. But fight fire with fire. It got the point across didn’t it?” 

“Were you jealous?” Pietro asked, spinning you around again. 

“Truthfully, no.” You frowned and he frowned back at you. “I was more hurt than anything, and then I knew you were trying to make me jealous so I was pissed off.”

“I’m an idiot.” 

“Why would you even want me to be jealous, Pietro? It’s not like I’ve been the one pushing you away,” you said sharply. 

Pietro sighed and pulled you off the dance floor. “Can we go talk somewhere more quiet? I’ve fucked up this all up, and I don’t want to cross our wires wrong anymore.” 

“Yeah, I know a place.” 

****

“How did you know about this?” Pietro glanced around the rooftop garden, empty and off limits for this event. 

“I attended a S.H.I.E.L.D. event here a lifetime ago.” You took a swig from the bottle of champagne you stole from the kitchen on the way. 

Last time you had been up here, your parents and ex were in attendance and everything was seemingly perfect. Your ex was still a secret hydra agent the whole time after all.

“I hope it was a happy time.” 

“If I forget all that happened after, sure,” you said with a small laugh and handed the bottle to Pietro, who graciously accepted. “Not that I would want too, completely,” you added quietly.

“Y/N,” he started, turning to face you. You still looked out over the city, unsure and scared of what was going to be said. “I wish I could take back this last year.” 

You sucked in a sharp breath as an ache started to spread across through your chest. 

“After I am almost died for the second time in my life, I got scared for many reasons. And I didn’t handle it well. Do you know why I got hurt?” 

You shook your head, not trusting your voice at that moment. 

“I hesitated between you and Wanda. It took me a day or two to figure that out. I was going for Wanda but then I saw a gun on you and I changed course.” 

“I would have been fine,” you assured him. “I was fine.” 

“Which scared me even more. I know you will be fine 99% of the time. But in that moment all I could think about was protecting you. That what if that time it was the 1% of the time you wouldn’t be fine?” 

“Unlikely, but I get that.” You turned to him and met his intense gaze. “There is a 75% chance you’ll be fine, but that 25% feels so much bigger.” 

Pietro nodded and continued, “In that moment, you became more of a priority than Wanda, and that scared me. It still scares me. She has been my priority since we were children, but you overroad that. It felt like I betrayed her.” 

“Is that why she’s been mad at me since then?” You frowned. It had been hard to lose the close relationship with Wanda while Pietro was also pushing you away. 

“No. She’s mad at your for not breaking it off with me after I started pushing you away. She thinks you deserved better.” 

“The both of you are terrible at communication,” you mused, and turned back to look over the city. 

“Which brings me to also why I’ve been ass.” Pietro took a deep breath. 

“An astronomical ass,” you agreed. 

“Astronomical, yes. What scares me the most is loving you and losing you.” Your gaze snapped back to him, dumbfounded. “I thought that if I just pushed you away enough, I would never have to risk feeling that. I tried to quit you cold turkey, but I’m selfish and can’t go a week without your touch. I’m so selfish that I don’t want—”

“Wait—” 

“To see you with any other man. I don’t want another man to even—” 

“Pietro, wait—” 

“touch or flirt with you. But I realize now, I was going to lose you even more if I pushed you away.  I love you and I hurt you, and I’m so—” 

You covered his mouth with your hand, stunning him into silence. “You love me?” 

His quirked an eyebrow at you and pulled your hand away from his mouth. “Yes, I love you. What little I had of you was the only thing keeping me sane. But it was also driving me insane. It was torture to leave you abruptly every time when all I wanted to do was burrow further into you and never leave.” 

A shudder ran up your spine and Pietro smirked. You were simultaneously relieved, joyful, and annoyed at the same time at that look. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” You smacked his shoulder. “When has pretending not to love someone ever worked? We’ve watched movies together where the hero hurts the love interest to protect them, and it doesn’t work.” 

“Well, those love interests weren’t also superheroes,” Pietro defended himself. 

“Do superheroes not also have feelings?” 

Pietro rolled his eyes. “Like you said, I’m an idiot.” 

“A fucking idiot,” you corrected. 

“You make me one, honestly,” he chuckled and reached out to caress your cheek.  “But it was more than a selfish decision too. Just so you know.” His thumbs brushed your cheek bones, leaving trails of tingling skin. “I got hurt and then you got hurt trying to help me. I thought pulling away would stop whatever we had going on and you would be safe if you were less inclined to save my ass.” 

“It was my decision to make!” you said, letting your annoyance penetrate every syllable. 

“Yes, but we didn’t know at the time that your powers can be drained. You may have been less likely to jump straight into a line of fire if I got hurt again.” 

“You’ve watched too many hero movies now that I think about it. So much so that you think like the hero. Doubting how stubborn the love interest is.” You narrowed your eyes at his amused expression. “Not realizing that as strongly as the hero feels for the love interest, the love interest feels just as much. That she would crawl through broken glass to save the hero.” 

“And I ask that you promise me not to, dragoste.” His hand slide onto the back of your neck and he pulled you flush to him. His heat welcome in the cool summer air. “It hurts me more to see you hurt because of me.” 

“Well, you’re going to have to learn to live without that promise.” You brushed your lips against his. “Would you make the same promise to me?” 

A rumble of disagreement vibrated in his chest and he held you tighter. “I can’t make that promise.” 

“Well, it appears we are at an impasse.” 

“Can we just agree not to get hurt as much as possible?” Pietro nuzzled into your neck, his hands skating down your spine. 

“I think I can try,” you snorted, tilting your head back to give him full access to you neck. 

“If you let me, I will love you with my whole being. I’ve been biting—” he nipped as the crook of your neck and you yelped. “—at the bit to do so for so long.” 

“I think the phrase is ‘champing at the bit’,” you breathlessly teased. “But I think I can be inclined to let you love me. Would you mind showing me?” 

Pietro pulled away momentarily, resulting in an annoyed grunt from you. 

“Were you going to let Barnes kiss you?” His eyes were dark and molten on yours. 

“If I said yes, you would get even more possessive and it’s kind of hot. But no, I was going to pull away when you intervened to keep me to yourself. Because I love you, Pietro.” 

“I can’t believe he was going to kiss you.” Pietro came back to your neck and his hands fiddled with the silk of your dress just above your ass. “And while you are painfully beautiful in your dress, I would much rather see you out of it.” 

****

Y/N Y/L/N CAUSING RIFT IN AVENGERS 

Tensions were high at last night’s Stark Industries gala. Y/N Y/L/N, a.k.a. Vitality, was seen to be getting extremely cozy with not only Bucky Barnes, a.k.a. Winter Soldier, but also Pietro Maximoff, a.k.a. Quicksilver. Our source says Y/L/N was all over Barnes at the beginning of the night until Maximoff almost came to blows with his teammate over her. How many more teammates has Y/L/N—

Your phone was ripped from your hands and tossed onto the nightstand. You looked up to see Pietro, only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and holding the morning’s provisions he had just gone in search of.

“Do not read that garbage,” he chided, “She’s going to be up your ass for a bit but she’ll get bored.” 

“She is not going to let this go anytime soon, Piet. You poked the proverbial bear by basically ghosting her.  And she saw us leave together!” 

“Everyone saw us leave together, because I wanted them to,” Pietro admitted and slid the plate over to you. It was an assortment of fruits and a couple of bagels. 

“Well you succeeded. I will avoid the internet for the foreseeable future. Your fangirls are going to have a field day with me,” you sighed and stifled a yawn. 

Pietro’s eyes tracked your movements and trailed to your bare backside. “I could get used to this.” 

“Used to what?” you played dumb, wanting to hear the answer. 

“You naked in our bed every morning.” 

You paused from grabbing a strawberry. “Our bed?” 

“You’re moving into my room,” he stated, sliding up over your back and ghosting his lips over your shoulder before he bit down at the base of your neck. 

You did you best not to gurgle in response. That spot always sent every nerve into a frenzy. 

“I will not spend another night or morning away from you, if I can help it,” he murmured and gripped your hip bones in his warm, skillful hands.

“Your moving this fast, huh Maximoff?” you tried to keep a level tone, but your voice still came out breathy as he pinned you further to mattress under his weight. 

“This,” he emphasized by pressing himself into your backside, letting you feel just what he meant, “has been going on for two years, dragoste. So not fast at all. Besides, some things don’t need to be fast. I can be quite good at taking things slow, as you know.” 

His teeth nibbled at you again. “I know all to well, you are torturously slow sometimes,” you panted. 

“You love the result though, no?” His lips began to trail down your back. 

You bit back a moan as he hiked your hips up, ass in the air. His fingers dancing dangerously over you clit. You tried to push again him, but he quickly held you in place.

“So eager, dragoste? It’s only been an hour.” 

You growled in frustration. “Wipe that smirk off your face, Pietro.” 

“You can’t even see my face,” he argued. 

“Oh, eat me.”

“Gladly,” he grinned, “after you answer my question.” 

“Of course,” you whined, aching from the teasing. 

“Good girl.”

His mouth was on you before you could even moan from being called a good girl. 

****

“Alright, who won?” Tony looked around to the team that had made it to the kitchen that morning. 

“Won what?” Nat asked.

“The bet.” 

“What bet?” 

“For how long it would take Pietro and Y/N to acknowledge their feelings and go public. I had 1 year since we placed the bet, we’re at 10 months since the bet.” Tony looked to Wanda, Steve, and Bruce. 

“You guys knew?” Nat gaped at them. 

“You didn’t?” Steve was shocked. “Nat, even I could see it.” 

“No, Steve knows only because he was unfortunate to walk in on them in the sparing room onetime. They did not notice,” Tony rolled eyes. 

“And you Bruce?” Nat asked, she couldn’t believe she’d not seen it.

“I was unfortunate to walk in on them in the med bay once after a missions, they did not notice.” Bruce grimaced. “I just needed a bandaid.” 

“All I needed to see was their constant fuck me eyes to know. It sometimes can come off as playful or antagonistic looks, but they may be one and the same for them.” Tony shrugged. 

“Well, I lost. I thought it would only take a month for them to work their shit out,” Wanda groaned. 

“I had six months, so that puts me four months off,” Steve sighed. 

“I had three months, I had more faith in them than I should have,” Bruce conceded.

“Well that makes me the winner. They are both stubborn idiots. What’s our next wager? When to expect a mini-avenger now that they are bound to be stupid-in-love idiots?” Tony teased. 

“Not funny, Stark,” Nat grunted.

***

REQUESTED TAGS: @fxllen0stxrs, @littlemarvelstan8, fandomenbylover

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

Crawl home to you- Bob Reynolds x reader

Chapter Four

Chapter three Summary: Ever since you had met Bob inside the vault, your life had took a drastic turn, one there was no coming back from. Through helping him deal with his struggles, you were able to heal your own scars. However, untold truths, silent battles and reassuring lies start to break apart all you've built together. Warnings: descriptions of self-harm, mental health issues A/N:This chapter hurt to write but nevertheless, I hope you enjoy. Let me know in the comments if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter. And I would LOVE your feedback on my writing! Word count: 581

When the heartbreak came, it wasn’t slow, subtle, or quiet. 

It was like a hurricane, the kind that came unannounced and wreaked havoc, destroying everything in its path. 

And it had made Bob’s heart crumble to shreds.

It was a normal Wednesday evening. 

He had come to your room to ask you to go for a walk. 

He was right outside when he’d heard the one voice that he could recognize anywhere, the one voice he could never forget.

Yours.

He stopped.

Then he heard two other familiar voices. 

The door was slightly parted so he peeked inside.

He saw you sitting on your bed, gaze fixated down to the floor, a look in your bright eyes that he’d never seen before. Bucky and Yelena sitting in front of you.

“You need to understand, Y/n” Bucky said. “You can’t go on like this,” he sighed.

“Bucky’s right,” said Yelena.

 “You need help,” she said, gently placing her hand on top of yours.

Bob’s heart sank at Yelena’s words.

You need help

What was wrong? Why did you need help? And whose? His mind raced, but he remained quiet.

You shook your head, “It’ll get better on its own” you reasoned. “It has before” you met their gaze.

“But it’s really bad this time, Y/n” said Bucky. “You’ve-” there was the slightest tremble in his voice, an unprecedented occurrence. ‘You’ve relapsed again”.

“When will it stop?” he looked into your eyes, eyes that for the first time, seemed incredibly tired. “And even if it does” he added. “What if it happens again?”.

Yelena nodded in agreement. “Please” she pleaded. 

“Show us, please”.

Bob’s mind was reeling at the conversation.

 But what he saw next was nothing compared to any pain he’d ever felt before.

You gave a faint nod before lifting up your sleeve. And at that moment, Bob could feel his heart shatter into pieces.

There were scars. 

Long, deep gashes covering both your arms. 

And suddenly, it all made sense. 

Why you chose to wear long sleeved shirts in the summer heat, 

even during training. 

Why you would always make some excuse whenever he asked you to cut up vegetables while he was cooking. 

He couldn’t take it anymore, his legs trembled. 

He rushed towards his room, locking the door behind him.

He sat down on the floor, back pressed to the edge of his bed.

He let out trembling breaths as he pressed his hands to his face.

It’s all my fault It’s all my fault It’s all my fault It’s all my fault

The words kept playing over and over in his head. 

A terrible piece of music, a piano key pressed one too many times.

You were struggling, you had been for a long time. 

And he didn’t know.

You’d been his anchor, holding him still, keeping him steady through every storm, every hurricane.

You were always there, through his good days, through his bad days, even through the worst ones.

But he was never there for you.

And he hated himself for it.

It’s all your fault

The void’s voice, tugging at the edges of his mind.

You take and take and take, only to bleed them dry. 

Never offering anything in return

His voice got louder

You’re useless

Worthless

He was sneering now, mocking him, 

His words piercing Bob’s mind, slowly, painfully

 Your company is a curse

His voice only got louder

And for the first time in a long while,

 Bob agreed.

[palevcr]

SILENT DEVOTION

he knelt when she told him to. not because he had to. not even because he wanted to. but because she made it feel like salvation. like maybe, if he was good enough—soft enough—she’d let him drown in her instead of his sins. her voice wasn’t cruel. it was worse—gentle. commanding. calm like a loaded gun on silk sheets. he didn’t just obey. he worshipped. licked like a man who’d never had water. who didn’t deserve it. and when she finally said “good boy,” it broke him harder than any mission ever could.

pairing: Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes) x fem!Reader

genre: dark smut, psychological degradation, dom!reader / sub!Bucky

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, heavy D/s dynamics, weaponized praise, unprotected oral, mindfuckery, degradation kink, possessiveness, sensory overload, obedience training, worship, post-mission bruises, submissive soldier behavior, barely-suppressed violence, control fixation, feral Bucky, trauma-laced submission

bot version: THE WINTER SOLDIER - his handler

“We are nothing without Handlers.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was scripture. A core tenet, embedded like shrapnel in the soft tissue of his brain. It had been whispered into his ears while he screamed in restraints. Reinforced with fists and shocks and needles so fine they slipped through the bone. Every breath, every command, every moment of silence was a reminder: he was not a man. He was a mechanism. A weapon. And weapons don’t aim themselves.

Each asset was assigned a Handler—part overseer, part puppeteer. Someone to keep the leash taut. Someone to whisper sweet orders into the rot of his mind and call it obedience. Someone to remind him that he wasn’t human. He was steel, code, sinew. A project. A pet.

The Winter Soldier had destroyed them all.

One by one, they crumbled. Some from fear—hands too unsteady to push the right buttons. Others from arrogance, believing they could outmaneuver the thing snarling in the dark. A few tried to reason with him, speak to the slivers of Bucky Barnes that might still rattle inside the cage of his chest.

Most of them died. Quickly, violently, and without ceremony.

Necks splintered like matchsticks. Skulls caved in under the weight of his metal fist. Arterial sprays painting the walls mid-sentence. It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t anger. It was instinct. Like a dog snapping its teeth at a hand that fed it poison.

They tried everything to subdue him. Sedation. Restraints. Neurological resets that stripped his mind raw and left him foaming at the edge of consciousness. They electrocuted the memories out of him and rewrote his silence into something they called “obedience.”

But obedience never stuck.

And then she arrived.

They didn’t introduce her. Didn’t bother with the usual posturing. They just sent her in like she belonged there—like she wasn’t fresh meat tossed into a pit with something ravenous.

She was—confusing.

Small, at first glance. But still. Contained. There was an eerie composure about her, like she moved through the world untouched by its weight. Her voice—quiet, measured—carried like a blade sliding between ribs. It didn’t bark. It didn’t plead. It simply was. Unignorable.

A woman. That was the first thing he noticed. Not in the way a man notices a woman. That part of him—the part that ached, desired, yearned—had been cauterized years ago. Carved out and tossed in the dirt alongside the rest of his identity. What remained wasn’t attraction. It was something colder. Fixation.

She irritated something in him. A nerve left exposed. He didn’t understand her. And that meant she was dangerous.

So he waited for the fault line. For the misstep. For her to command too loudly or stand too close. To fail the test. To provoke the response.

But she didn’t. Not once.

She learned him.

She studied the flicker behind his eyes when he was about to strike. She memorized the cadence of his silence. She never touched him unless necessary, and when she did—it was surgical. Brief. Like placing a hand on a live wire and knowing exactly how long before the shock took hold.

And he—listened. Not because of programming. Not because of punishment or fear of reprisal. He listened because when she spoke, it was the only thing that made sense. The rest of the world—HYDRA’s orders, the grating screams of drills against bone, the endless, blood-soaked directives—they became white noise. But her voice? Her voice cut through the static like a knife.

It became… crucial.

They noticed.

Her presence unnerved the entire compound. Scientists went pale when she entered a room. Other Handlers whispered about her, muttering words like compromise and liability like prayers to a god who’d stopped listening.

They tried to remove her. Reassign her. Replace her with someone “more capable.”

He shattered a man’s clavicle for suggesting it.

Three days later, someone tried to lock him down. They found what was left of him with a shattered jaw and his eyes gouged out. The message was clear.

She stayed.

And that changed everything.

She wasn’t his Handler anymore. She was his axis. The tether that kept him from unraveling completely. If someone had stripped open his brain and rewired his devotion, he wouldn’t have noticed. It felt organic. Natural. Like gravity. Or drowning.

Now he sat on the cot—spine rod-straight, the way he’d been trained. Motionless. Breathing slow. The deep laceration across his back still weeping blood in thin rivulets down his ribs. A mission gone awry. Too close. Too loud. Too much fire. His body, bruised and ragged, protested every breath—but he didn’t flinch.

She was tending the wound now. Her fingers moved with calm precision, working a needle through his flesh like it was cloth. No hesitation. No apology. She didn’t coddle. She didn’t ask if it hurt. Pain was assumed. Expected. Irrelevant.

Still, his body reacted. Every touch a spark against dead nerves. His muscles twitched beneath her palm, not from agony, but from something else. Something dark. Something ugly.

He wanted her to keep touching him.

Not gently. Not sweetly.

He wanted her to own him. Use him. Cut him open and crawl inside. He wanted her to speak his name like a command. Like a curse. Like it was the only thing that made sense in a world that had long since gone to rot.

She could’ve told him to carve her name into his chest. To flay the skin from his enemies and bring it back like silk. She could’ve asked for his blood, his teeth, his soul—and he’d offer them without hesitation.

But all she said was, “Sit still. Let me help.”

So he did.

Because he didn’t need a leash anymore.

He didn’t need sedation or programming or the threat of death.

He needed her.

He wasn’t a man.

He wasn’t even a soldier anymore.

He was something darker. Something unnameable.

He was hers.

And maybe—just maybe—he liked it that way.

He didn’t speak—not because he couldn’t, but because words felt profane in her presence. Language belonged to people. To the ones with names, lives, choices. He was not a person. He was a relic. A shadow built of iron and ruin. And in silence, he thrived.

Her hands worked methodically, soaked in the sticky warmth of his blood. She didn’t blink at the sight of torn flesh or shredded muscle. She’d seen worse. He’d given her worse. He remembered the last mission—the screams, the snapping jaws of bone breaking beneath his boots. She hadn’t flinched then either. She never did.

She was the only one who could look the monster in the face and not avert her eyes.

A part of him wondered if she even knew what she was doing. If she understood what she’d awakened. He wasn't infatuated. That would imply a softness. No—what he felt was consumption. A black hole of want that clawed at the edges of his mind. He didn’t desire her like a man desires a woman. It was deeper than lust, uglier than love. He wanted to be inside her orbit. To orbit her. To erase the space between his existence and her will.

She tied the final stitch with elegant brutality, pulling the needle through his skin with a small tug that made his back arch—barely. It was the most he’d moved in twenty minutes.

“There,” she murmured, wiping the blood from his skin like a priestess purifying an altar. “Done.”

Her voice.He hated that he craved it.That his entire nervous system seemed to calibrate itself to her tone.

He breathed—slow, deliberate, controlled. Every exhale was a prayer to her indifference. He wanted her to speak again. Wanted her to use him, even if it meant being broken.

Especially if it meant being broken.

She stepped around him, moving into his line of sight, and the way his head turned to follow her was automatic. Reflexive. Like a predator scenting prey—or a dog awaiting its next command.

“You disobeyed protocol,” she said, voice like frost cutting through fog. “You were told not to engage the secondary target.”

He didn’t respond.

She leaned closer. Not enough to touch—but enough for him to feel her. That tension in the air between them, thick and volatile, like storm-static. Her eyes raked over him—his ruined shoulder, the fresh bruises along his ribs, the smear of blood still clinging to his jaw.

"You went off leash," she murmured.

The words landed like a lash.

He wanted to kneel. Bite down on the shame. Beg her to correct him.

Because she could. She should.

She should punish him—not because he feared her, but because it would mean she cared. That she saw him as more than a tool—something disobedient, something flawed. Something worth fixing.

She didn’t strike him. Didn’t raise her voice. Instead, she reached out—fingers ghosting over his throat with clinical detachment. The touch was light, exploratory. Like she was checking a pulse. Measuring him. Not for signs of life, but for loyalty.

And he… leaned into it.

Not because it felt good. Not because he wanted comfort.

But because he wanted to submit.

There was no arousal in it. Not in the traditional sense. There was no blood rushing to his cock, no heat curling in his gut. HYDRA had long since ruined those mechanisms. What remained was worse. A filthier breed of yearning. A sick need to be possessed entirely. To be molded by her hands until nothing remained of the man or the machine.

Just her will—breathed through his body like a parasite.

Her fingers lingered against his skin for one heartbeat longer than necessary. Then she pulled away.

“You bled for me,” she said softly.

Not a question. A statement.

He didn’t know if it was an accusation or a benediction. Didn’t care. He’d do it again.

She turned away, moving toward the door with that same eerie grace. No hesitation. No backward glance.

But just before she stepped into the hall, she paused.

“Next time, follow orders,” she said. Then, quieter—gentler, almost cruelly so—“Good soldier.”

The door closed behind her.

And the Winter Soldier trembled.

Not from pain. Not from exhaustion.

But from the unbearable pleasure of being seen.

Of being hers.

The silence that followed her departure was not merely still—it was cataclysmic. A vacuum. A rupture in the air that seemed to drag the walls inward, crushing the space around him with a pressure that could not be seen but was felt everywhere: in the marrow of his bones, in the hollow behind his sternum, in the tightening of his throat that refused to let grief rise, and refused to let it fall.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe properly, as if expansion and contraction of the lungs required permission he no longer had. He simply remained there—seated, still, a monument to ruin. His spine held straight by sheer tension, his chin low, his jaw slack, as though the act of holding himself together was so laborious he could only accomplish fragments of posture at a time. There was blood in the gauze wrapped around his shoulder, the sharp tug of stitches blooming red with each pulse of his heart, but he did not flinch. Pain was familiar—background static. The kind of companion he no longer noticed. The real agony came from the lack of her.

Her absence wasn’t an event. It was a condition. A slow, internal unraveling that began not in the mind but in the cells, like she had become necessary to the composition of his very blood, and now his body—aware she was missing—had begun to revolt. It was not physical. Not yet. But it was elemental. A spiritual hypoxia. His fingers trembled involuntarily, twitching as though trying to find her in the air, to close around something—someone—who was no longer there. His jaw clenched against the pressure building behind his eyes, against the terrifying itch beneath his skin that told him everything was unraveling, even though he hadn’t moved.

Then, the code activated.

Old protocols spun to life in the static-choked void she’d left behind—clinical, cold, mechanical: assess structural damage, minimize weakness, stand by for orders. But it didn’t sit right. It felt archaic. Broken. The system he once obeyed like gospel had been rewritten, repurposed, and her voice was no longer just a command. She was the command line. The motherboard. The keystroke. Without her, he wasn’t malfunctioning—he wasn’t functioning at all.

So, he rose.

Every nerve screamed as he forced himself upright. Every muscle protested, as if even his own body believed he had no right to move in her absence. But he welcomed the burn. The sharpness of pain grounded him in this new reality where he no longer knew who he was, only what he wanted—to return to her orbit. To kneel at her heel and be told who to be again.

He dragged his black tactical trousers over long, bruised legs, leaving his torso bare—blood, antiseptic, and the raw scabs of healing wounds mapping his skin like a war diary. He didn’t bother with a shirt. He didn’t deserve armor. Armor was for soldiers. And he was not a soldier anymore. He was property.

But before he could move toward her, she returned to him.

The door opened with a whisper of hydraulics, and she entered like gravity itself—controlled, cold, devastating. Her presence redefined the shape of the room. She didn’t need to speak. She didn’t need to knock. The threshold never applied to her. This was her space. He was her space.

And he froze.

Caught mid-step, half-dressed and entirely unmade, he looked like a stray dog who’d broken into its master’s kitchen—filthy, disobedient, trembling from the memory of her mouth and the punishment he knew he deserved. Blood painted his ribs in long, dark smears, and the tremble in his hands betrayed how close he was to collapsing.

But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. She observed.

Her gaze swept over his frame with a slow, assessing coolness that made him feel stripped further still, until his skin was just another layer to peel back. And then—finally—her eyes locked on his face.

“You didn’t wait for dismissal.”

No venom. No emotion. Just airless calm. Deadpan judgment delivered like a bullet to the chest.

He dropped instantly.

His knees collided with the cold concrete, a sharp jolt shooting up his spine, but he welcomed it. Welcomed the shiver that slid down his neck. The cold grounded him. The cold reminded him he was still here, still waiting, still hers. He tilted his face up to her, lashes low, mouth parted. He didn’t speak. He didn’t dare. But his posture—his submission—was a language in itself. A silent, desperate plea.

She stepped closer.

“You don’t get to move until I say.”

He nodded—barely. Like a breath.

Her hand descended, slow and deliberate, not with warmth but with ownership. Her fingers traced along the sharp angle of his cheek, down the rough stubble of his jaw—not tender, but precise. Assessing. Like he was a damaged prototype, and she was evaluating whether he could be salvaged or discarded.

Then her thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth.

His lips parted immediately, reflexively, a mechanical obedience ingrained in him now deeper than instinct. When she pressed the pad of her thumb inside—past his lips, against his tongue—he didn’t resist. He received her like sacrament. His eyes fluttered shut. And for a fleeting second, something in him cracked open. It wasn’t arousal—no, this was darker, deeper, more warped. It was hunger. A parched, pathetic starvation for meaning, for placement, for her.

She fed him herself.

And he swallowed her offering like scripture. Reverently. Desperately. It was the closest he’d come to absolution in days.

When she pulled her thumb back, slick with saliva, he leaned into the absence without realizing it.

And she struck him.

A sharp slap to the cheek—not violent, not emotional. Corrective.

He blinked once. Twice. Dazed. And underneath it all, a slow, simmering thrill crawled down his spine. The sting on his face was proof of her attention. Her control. His purpose.

“You don’t move,” she said again, cool and crystalline, “until I say.”

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice like sandpaper, like penance. “Yes. I—I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“You don’t get to forget. You’re not permitted that luxury.”

And she was right. God, she was always right. Forgetting was rebellion. Remembering was devotion. Shame pooled warm and welcome in his chest, a shame that didn’t hurt, but healed. Her disdain was a balm. Her disapproval a rope around his throat that held his body upright, anchored his chaos to something holy.

She remained standing over him, tall and immovable, and slid one polished boot forward—positioning it between his spread knees. Then, without looking down, she pressed the sole of her boot against the bulge straining at his trousers.

There was no gentleness in the pressure. It wasn’t sensual. It was instructional.

He gasped—not from pleasure, but from the dizzying high of obedience. The friction of her power grinding into his weakness. His hands hovered uselessly in the air for a moment before falling limp at his sides. He wouldn’t touch her. He wouldn’t even reach.

Not unless she told him to.

Not unless she gave him permission to be a man again.

Until then, he would kneel. Burn. Ache.

And wait.

For her next command.

“Do you want to be useful, soldier?”

Her voice sliced through the tension like piano wire—low, poised, and lethally indifferent.

He nodded, frantic and shamefully eager, the movement tight and clipped like a puppet pulled by strings. His hips betrayed him, grinding once, subtly, into the weight of her boot still pressed against his crotch. It was pitiful. Automatic. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until she stepped back—and in that instant, the loss was cataclysmic.

It was all he could do not to whimper when her foot withdrew.

He remained where he was, panting softly, until she wordlessly lowered herself into the chair across from him—legs spreading, slow, deliberate, and devastating. She unfastened the top button of her jeans with a single flick of her wrist and then looked down at him like he was the tool she’d left on the floor, one she was debating whether or not to use.

“Go on,” she said.

Not an invitation. A gauntlet.

He moved.

He moved like prayer, like penance, crawling forward on his knees with a devotion so naked it was almost ugly. His hands trembled as they rose—hesitant, reverent—as though he feared his touch might contaminate her. His fingers found the waistband of her jeans, and he began to peel them away, inch by careful inch, as though he were disarming a bomb. The fabric rasped against her skin, slow and reluctant, revealing pale thighs and the soft gleam of her hips, and still he kept his eyes averted, unwilling to look until every inch had been bared.

When the denim cleared her ankles, he folded it neatly—perfectly—and placed it beside the chair. A quiet offering. A thank you.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

Of course she didn’t.

She hadn’t commanded gratitude.

He returned to his knees between her spread legs and bowed his head. Hands resting, obedient and still, on his thighs.

And yet—his gaze lifted. Just enough. Just barely.

She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the jeans.

The breath caught in his lungs like a blade. He swallowed around it—hard—and failed. His pulse pounded in his ears. Her scent wrapped around him, thick and dizzying, primal. It wasn’t perfume. It wasn’t fabricated. It was her. Raw and real and unbearably intoxicating. A scent that struck like instinct—like sex and salt and war and home.

She leaned back in the chair like a queen on her throne, her fingers descending lazily between her thighs. She parted herself, just slightly, using two fingers to reveal the glistening softness within—casual, commanding, utterly in control.

“Be useful.”

Not a suggestion. Not a gift.

An order.

He didn’t pause.

He couldn’t.

His mouth descended, slow, reverent, trembling like it was approaching the altar. His breath ghosted over her heat before his lips ever touched. Then, contact. A kiss that wasn’t a kiss, a worshipful press of lips against wetness, and then his tongue flicked out—uncertain, tentative, tasting her as if she might vanish from his mouth the moment he disrespected the gravity of her presence.

She didn’t react.

So he tried again.

Bolder now, surer. His tongue flattened and licked up the length of her slit, slow and savoring, as if he could catalogue her in sensation alone. He moaned softly into her, the sound involuntary, guttural. His hands never left his thighs. He hadn’t been told to touch. So he didn’t. The restraint was sacred.

He licked again. And again.

Purposeful, not sloppy. Worshipful. Precise.

He wasn’t there to eat her out—he was there to prove himself. That he wasn’t just a weapon. That he could serve in softer ways. In cleaner ways. With finesse. With devotion.

Her taste consumed him. Became his doctrine. Sweet and sharp, velvet and vice. He could drown in it. Wanted to drown. With each flick of his tongue, she grew wetter, her thighs twitching ever so slightly around his head, and still—still—she said nothing.

Her silence was deafening.

His face was slick with her. His lips, chin, even the tip of his nose shining with spit and slick and failure. He moaned again, louder, desperate for any sign—approval, acknowledgement, anything. But she remained composed, regal, merely observing as if the act was beneath her interest.

And that was worse than cruelty.

Still, he did not falter.

He shifted minutely, adjusted his angle, and zeroed in on the swollen bundle of nerves he knew she would eventually allow him to break her with. He circled it gently, then harder, tongue flattening and flicking with a growing fervor that bordered on manic. His nose pressed into her, greedily inhaling her scent, and his mouth moved with increasingly desperate rhythm, tongue stuttering, curling, pressing.

And then—then—her head fell back. The barest tilt. A tiny inhale. He caught it. Locked onto it like a predator. And repeated the exact same motion, again and again, tongue rolling with mindless devotion, until her thighs snapped around his head like a vice.

He gasped against her, face buried, suffocating in wet heat and violent purpose.

“Good boy,” she breathed.

Two words.

Two fucking words—and he almost came.

He moaned into her, loud, obscene, like it had been wrenched from his gut. His hips bucked involuntarily, the pressure in his trousers now unbearable. But he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking and trembling in the grip of her approval.

He could live on that praise. Die on it. Let it brand itself into his fucking bones.

And still he licked.

Faster. Deeper.

He would not stop until she came on his face, or until she bled, or until she broke him open and remade him in the shape of her desire.

He wanted it.

He needed it.

And when her hand finally moved—sliding down to fist in his hair, yanking his face tighter against her dripping cunt—he whimpered.

Because that was it.

That was purpose.

That was God.

[moonlit-imagines]

Preferences for being a spa esthetician for the Thunderbolts

Thunderbolts x reader

warnings:

a/n: random idea i got lol.

prompt: side note, esthetician is the umbrella term im using for all the salon/spa/makeup artist/etc stuff im referencing. ok im headcanoning that val contractually obligates them to keep up appearances and go to salons/spas to do so LMAO

Alexei wants the full work up—I’m talking full body massage, facial, mani-pedi, shampoo and conditioner for his beard, and whatever else you can throw in. This guy was in prison for years and still had a superiority complex, you think he doesn’t want to be pampered? He makes loud moaning sounds during every part of the service—NOT to make you uncomfortable, he’s just sensitive and…encouraging? He means no harm. At the end he always gives you a “Russian goodbye” with a big hug and a kiss on each cheek. “You never fail to make my day, y/n! I will be seeing you again soon.”

Ava’s pretty limited in treatment options, so she just opts for a facial. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she likes to be pampered and you always compliment how nice her skin is which makes her love you. Every once in a while she’ll even open up a bit—she told you about her accident and her molecular condition and would sometimes ramble about how nice it was to feel comfort in being close to people again. She makes you swear not to repeat what she shares and you always cross your heart and promise.

Bob didn’t really want to do any of the services, most of them felt weird to him. He’d usually just opt for a manicure, but when you first began to service him you noticed he chewed on his nails. You took great care getting his nails to look nice and healthy again and put on some clear polish to top it off. “Don’t go biting those nails again, friend. You’ll mess up my hard work.” You winked at him and gave him a reason not to fixate on them anymore. And next time he came in, they were pristine. Occasionally he’d ask for colored polish when he was in an especially good mood.

Bucky hated the idea of going to a spa. He’d basically just sulk in the sauna for an hour and call it a day. After a handful of visits, you convinced him he could use a massage to relax—something not many soldiers in the Army or HYDRA would typically indulge in. He was an old man at heart, still breaking from that 1940’s mindset from time to time. You were extremely sensitive of his condition and made sure he wasn’t uncomfortable when you got near the shoulder where his metal arm connected—this small gesture made him trust you immensely. From there on out, you were his go-to. Gentle and courteous, while still doing a “damn good job,” or so he says.

John was partial to a deep tissue massage and a light trim of his hair and beard. He seemed a little high maintenance at first, but after his first appointment with you, he realized you “actually knew what you were doing” and let you do your job without any nitpicky comments. Only time he talked about your work was to compliment it and the only other time he talked was to ramble about old missions from the “glory days.” Every once in a while he’d mention his friend Lamar and you’d frown—you saw the news of his passing the day it happened a couple years ago, along with John’s…retaliation. You kept that to yourself and enjoyed the mostly polite customer. Hey, every once in a while he’d even make the effort to ask you about you!

Yelena always walks out with another bottle of product—the most expensive bottle—and charges it to Val’s account. Her appointments are pretty brief. You touch up her cuts and bruises with some makeup and trim her hair and send her on her way with minimal conversation. She always leaves a really generous tip in cash and gives you a five-star review.

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 // @lenaelleu //

[canisbrutus]

Character Reading - Bucky Pasteur

Alt title: extensive headcanons for this cunt's household, relationships, and feelings re: ingame events.

my brain has been going apeshit lately and frankly; i do not control who it likes to focus on. so i'm trying something different today. pardon my insanity.

Disclaimer: i'm drawing from personal experiences to form a solid background and explanation for this character as a whole, and much of it is not very pleasant. take my speculations with a grain of salt.

CWs include but may not be limited to: hoarding, neglect, animal abuse/neglect, mental illness and ableism, sexism, infestations, and unsanitary living.

word count: 2888

Surface Level - what we know ingame

Bucky's less of a nerd and more of a general geek, and yes the distinction matters here.

His main fixation is time. Timing. Rhythm, even.

Academically he's just fine; his strongest subject is chemistry while most other subjects seem to hover around the C area.

(Fitting, given the chemistry minigame is timing based)

He also has a notable interest in working out and buffing up (even if he needs an inhaler), contrasting with the rest of his clique.

It doesn't feel like he really likes the rest of his clique when it comes down to it tbh.

His parents aren't in the picture and neither is his grandpa, seemingly, if he's the one taking care of his grandmother.

His grandmother is struggling mentally, but otherwise appears well meaning and loving, albeit misguided; 'hoarding' cats and spoiling her grandson.

Similarly Bucky himself seems to be one of the more genuine folks in the school. Or rather he's respectful of Beatrice's crush and Very grateful for Jimmy's help, initially.

(That being said, good intentions often go awry.)

Granny - Fanny Pasteur

Admittedly she was a right clever woman at one point.

Rather brash, too.

She hails from France, having immigrated following WW2, alongside her husband.

(she was 15 at the end of the war, and he was ~22)

(regrettable she was a sort of trophy wife)

Over the years her boundaries were eroded and she became a shell of herself, of course.

Self sacrificing to a fault, until she couldn't let go of anything anymore.

Her husband came first. and then her children. then her grandson, then the cats...

It's rare any of her children really speak to her, honestly. She had five of them, four sons and a daughter, and they all flew the coop as soon as they were old enough; courtesy of her Husband.

Her youngest -her daughter, named Gene- came to her with a heavy heart and equally heavy with child, asking if she could look after the scamp because she couldn't afford to rear him if she wanted to make a name for herself in Hollywood.

She didn't come back after he was born and settled.

None of Fanny's children did.

Sometimes you gotta make do with raccoons and cats I guess.

Grandpa - Angus Pasteur

Thank god this guy died when Bucky was like 11.

Real misogynistic sort. Woman should be subservient and every man needs to snag himself one to look after him, because you're fucked otherwise and taking care of yourself is for self-obsessed sissy faggots.

He was the kind of guy to take his 10 y/o grandson to Hooters

(where it became increasingly clear Bucky was kind of a faggot)

This man was a british soldier; he went through high hell and wanted his lineage to be at least half as hardened as he was.

Mind you, Angus wasn't the pinnacle of 'masculinity.' The guy was also autistic as hell with his bazillion clocks at home.

Worth something someday, probably.

Did he love his wife as well? kind of. not really. He loved the benefit of having a wife, and her looks when she was younger, but he practically killed her inside to suit his needs.

He's also the primary reason none of their children stay in touch.

'Abandoned' by them, he'd say.

This man also smoked a lot. Used to be a pack of cigarettes a day, but he switched over to cigars at some point.

The house still reeks of his smoke; it's stained the walls a dirty yellow.

He died of lung cancer. and a cat pissed in his ashes when he inevitably had his urn knocked off the shelf.

Home Life - masking a downward spiral

Honestly it started before his grandpa died. The old guy was a collector of clocks in all shapes. Wall hanging cuckoos, regal mantle styles, pocket watches and grandfather (no pun intended) clocks, etc.

(Bucky's watches did originally belong to his grandpa, yes)

His grandpa liked to tinker and repair them whenever possible, but this would often lead to broken clocks bought at yardsales and such piling up waiting to be seen.

And then he croaked (again, as old people tend to do) and his wife couldn't bear to part with them for sentimental reasons.

And then Fanny couldn't bear to part with any of his belongings.

And then they sat and got dusty and the spiders moved in... which were dangerous so Bucky was warned not to mess with them either, so there they stayed. And more things got added on top...

Bucky did his best to manage the sprawl by going vertical with the hoard; he's a pretty good packrat one could say.

Granted that only made things less accessible in the long run.

Meanwhile.

Fanny had taken in a pregnant stray, and suddenly they had at least six cats.

Only the males of which were fixed. And none of them had any real care aside from being fed and having their litter dipped twice a week.

(which wasn't enough.)

(if you dont provide clean spaces, they will find their own.)

The thing about hoarded houses is it's never just about having too much stuff.

It's having provided shelter for pests -spiders, fleas- and giving space for things like mold to grow, making anything within the household sick if left unbothered.

It's building shame and paranoia for having such a mess in your living space, eroding your mind as well as your foundation.

It's things like plumbing and ventilation breaking, out of reach, and being unable to fix it because you're scared of having anyone else see your home.

But the only thing worse than living in those conditions is having authorities come in, deem you crazy, and take away the things that matter most to you.

Throw away your belongings.

Ship your animals to the shelter, risking them being put down.

Separate you from your remaining family.

Fanny was not a popular resident in the vale for a number of reasons, half of which being her kooky demeanor, the other half being her habit of feeding wildlife.

She singlehandedly quadrupled the raccoon population by setting out cat food and lunchmeats, and they became a nuisance everywhere else.

Social services were often called to see if she was mentally sound enough to remain in her home and remain in custody of both Bucky and her several cats.

And this Terrified them.

The number of times Bucky called his friends up in a panic begging them to help hide some of the mess is relatively substantial.

School drama often paled in comparison to his reality.

The Specifics -

The showers themselves didn't work.

The tub often needed to be sanitized before use (thanks to the Cats) and was often such a hassle Bucky himself didn't typically bathe at home.

The school gym's showers were 'good enough' once a week and a simple bucket and rag sufficed whenever deodorant didn't cut it otherwise.

The washing machine also broke down at some point and they'd need to use the laundromat alllllll the way in New Coventry.

Unfortunately this did mean he kind of smelled.

Air conditioning and heating wasn't really a thing in that house either; most airflow came from fans in every room.

Poor ventilation in the bathroom especially fostered a lot of mold.

The stove wasn't often used; at some point all the knobs got taken off (probably due to a few accidental fires from granny forgetting a pot or kettle) and they ate a lot of either takeout or microwave meals.

Massive flea problem. Which also gave the cats tapeworms.

Much of the spider infestation consisted of black widows. Which dissuaded excessive fucking around.

The combined cat piss/mold/dust/old smoke mix really didn't do anyone's respiratory problems any favors.

At least the attic where Bucky slept (formerly grandpa's workshop) was free of most airborne pollutants and junk.

Relationships - among the clique and otherwise

Beatrice:

Childhood friends pressured by societal and social expectations.

Thanks to his grandpa's wretched values, Bucky internalized the notion of wanting a girl. Specifically this one, due to the simple fact he could understand her, mostly, and wasn't put off from her by vastly differing interests.

However Beatrice is a lesbian and merely tolerated his attempts at getting closer, and also saw through his flat 'desire' of her that's just a trained response honestly.

(he never really talked her up to other guys; it was like he didn't even think about her romantically or carnally or whatever when she wasn't right in his line of sight)

He is also gay, as we know, but he hadn't unpacked that yet.

That aside, they were neighbors. Beatrice knew his grandma and they hung out plenty as kids.

Bucky defended her from his grandpa's snide remarks when the bastard was still kicking, and he is still awful protective of her, to a fault.

They drifted apart somewhat in their highschool years, but remained close friends.

Thad:

Thad was one of the nerds Bucky could really click with and actively sought out after school, and Bucky himself was one of the least insufferable members of the clique in Thad's eyes.

(despite his snippy nature clashing with Bucky's more chipper one)

Truth be told Bucky's demeanor sometimes toned down Thad's aggressive outbursts, which is not an easy feat.

Then again Thad also pushed for Bucky to not be a doormat, even if he really wasn't made for conflict.

Their shared interest in weaponry and engineering made them the more technically inclined of the nerds, and the reason much of the clique is armed as well as they are.

The spud cannon was a combined effort on their part, and probably their greatest contribution to the clique in the eyes of Earnest.

That being said, they still had their personal conflicts in spite of their loose synergy.

Nitpicking getting under eachother's skin, fears relating to Bucky's workout interests and horror regarding Thad's compliance in the paparazzi mission.

Bucky might not like Mandy (or girls in general) but he has some gentlemanly sense to him, and regrettably Thad is a shithead.

That ordeal put him off from engaging with Thad or the clique for a minute, though he was roped back in just in time for The Big Game.

Dan:

For better or for worse, Bucky has more experience than most nerds with this blockhead, on account of being close to his brother.

Obviously as a Jock, Dan's one of their worst enemies, doubly so for his disdain against his former clique, but Bucky holds a particular fear surrounding him.

Fear of being perceived as a similar traitor by his friends, mostly.

Yes, he wants to buff up, but he wouldn't turn against his comrades and throw himself into the arms of their tormentors for it.

Regardless; he watches Dan with a heightened sense of unease, and feels a faint horror thinking about him too hard.

He doesn't belong with the jocks either. He's miserable where he is, but he can't go back after throwing his peers under the bus.

Thad and Bucky spoke of him, once, on the balcony of the observatory, gazes cast over the football field. That conversation was bitter and full of grief.

Wonder if Dan even knows the weight his backstabbing left. The scrutiny it placed upon the remaining nerds.

One thing's for sure: he was forced to play nice and help Bucky when he needed extra muscle cleaning his house from time to time, and the state of that place got to him.

Earnest:

Let it be known that Earnest Jones is one of the worst leaders out of all the cliques.

He failed as a friend first, disregarding his underlings' interests by campaigning against gym class and the arts when he ran for class president, and as a leader second, with his entire stunt with Mandy that prompted the jocks to attack them.

Knowing Dan's past as a nerd, that dictator wannabe monitored his cliquemates closely for any sign of defection, and shunned them accordingly.

Not wanting to risk being thrown out, Bucky ended up withdrawing himself, for the most part. At least Burton made it easy to bitch and moan about gym class.

But Earnest still wanted him to prove his loyalty.

Bucky had... mixed feelings. about setting gym equipment ablaze during complete mayhem. but Donald wasn't about to back him up against their leader.

Overall their relationship was strained at best.

Other Nerds:

He kind of got along with Donald in theory? The two of them often collaborated in chemistry class, but unlike Thad, Donald didn't appreciate Bucky's energy. Then again, it seemed like Donald's main interest was deliberately looking for reasons to hate people, which Bucky didn't really enjoy either.

Algernon was a nerd Bucky could coexist with for short periods of time, but overall wasn't close with. He could sympathize with him for a number of reasons, buuut ... well Algie's social skills are just so deep in the gutter he struggles with personal connections even with those who tolerate him.

Meanwhile Melvin is the clique's general patron saint, next to Beatrice. Bucky's only real grievances with him are how much he tolerates and excuses Earnest's behavior as his right hand man. That aside, he's reliable and helpful to a fault.

Francois... they're on different wavelengths. Tolerated, but Bucky's not fond of him either, on account of him frequently trying to mooch lunch off him when he barely has any for himself most days. The guy's just socially oblivious, it seems.

Cornelius was one of Bucky's closer friends alongside Thad; the trio often bounced mathematics between themselves, and Bucky heavily sympathized with her (🏳️‍⚧️) for a number of reasons.

Jimmy:

Their relationship was half transactional, half fearful respect.

Bucky knows how Bullworth mercenaries work; they need extensive flattery and payment to not turn against you later down the line.

Gifting him both his skateboard and his bottle launcher were for this purpose; more or less just asskissing.

Aside from that, he really didn't approve of Beatrice's crush on this guy, especially since he was just a brute that wouldn't treat her right in his eyes.

(which was fair; Jimmy had plenty of people willing to kiss him and he wasn't all that close with any of em.)

But at the end of the day, there wasn't much he could do aside from respecting his friend's wishes and being there as needed.

Jimmy didn't really give a shit about him either tbh, he had other things on his plate.

Misc. Headcanons - AKA the lighter shit

His full name? Benjamin Gilbert Pasteur.

When decently clean, this boy smells like coffee.

He chugs a lot of it honestly, and actually has an instant pot in his bedroom at home.

It's one of the things that keeps him connected with his gran, really, even when he's babbling about things she wouldn't understand (and vice versa).

Partially thanks to his sense of timing, Bucky's honestly got a strong musical talent. At least with hitting the notes, anyway.

He's got an old cello he played in the school orchestra, but it didn't bring him much happiness. Too many preps in that scene looking down their nose at his pauper ass, you know?

His Gran & him were loosely religious. She hated organized religion however and didn't really go to church, except for holiday services like Easter and Christmas.

Bucky's interest in time manifested in three different ways. The first of which was history, which he read about for fun and would banter about with Thad. The second is a general fascination with the concept of time travel, which he explored in media like Back to the Future and Ocarina of Time. The third is rhythm games, mostly handheld but also DDR.

Speaking of DDR, the first and last time a Jock beat a Nerd at a video game was when he competed against Kirby in the arcade, and lost due to a lack of stamina thanks to the game's fullbody movements. The clique did not live this down for awhile.

His three watches, similar to his namesake, are set to three different timezones. One being EST where Bullworth is, one being PST, one being JST. The latter two are for the sake of monitoring release times and airings for online streams/events.

If you want a rough guess of where he lived ingame, it's the last house on the street out of the vale, next to the billboard and the bridge into town which overlooks the dam.

The lights from that damn billboard constantly emit a glow through his attic window that keep him up at night, whenever his coffee isn't already doing that, anyway.

Closing Thoughts

This is a repressed autistic as fuck homosexual.

He really needs better friends.

Earnest go to hell.

thank you for reading; if you made it this far please consider rebloggin as i put my whole pussy into this. im also looking for feedback on this longform reflection of a character.

i don't think ill be taking requests on character readings like this one due to how much effort this took, at least not for the time being. granted my inbox is still closed atm anyway.

anyway. rip bucky pasteur 2007 you wouldve loved mad rat dead.

[divider sources: x | x | x ] [hc masterpost]

[late-to-the-party-81]

Love, Lies & Electricity

AN: Hi all - here is my entry for week 5 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer. This time it’s a Bucky x Reader fic. Thanks to all who voted in my poll a few weeks ago to decide who this reader should be.

Additional thanks and kisses to @drabbles-mc for beta-ing this.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, click here.

Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, Reblogs are golden.

Master List | HBS Master List

Challenges and Bingos: HBS week 5 - We’re Exes

Summary: After Bucky Barnes broke your heart several months ago you never wanted to see him again. However, when he turns up and asks you to help him, Sam and Torres bring down a HYDRA base you can’t refuse as it will mean a chance to get payback on those who hurt you worse than he did.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

CW: Angst, Revenge, Sexual Content

There was a reason why you’d taken solace on the rooftop of an abandoned building in DUMBO - you wanted to be alone. You’d hoped that the omnipresent drizzle would have deterred most of those who might wish to contact you, even if they did manage to work out where you were. Despite this, you weren’t surprised in the least when Bucky appeared. 

Even with your back to him and your gaze unwaveringly fixated on the view before you, you knew he was there. He had an energy about him - probably something to do with the circuitry to his arm - that you’d found easy to pick up on when you’d first met him, let alone after you’d become attuned to it. 

“I told you not to bother me ever again, Barnes,” you stated in a flat tone, still avoiding looking at him.

There was a moment of silence, probably so he could consider his response, although you’d be surprised if he wasn’t expecting this type of reception.

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but I - we - need you.”

Your lips twitched wryly. You should have known he wouldn’t be here of his own accord. You hadn’t had any contact from him since that day three months ago when you’d screamed and shouted and… he’d just stood there. Accepting your vitriol before turning and walking out of your life. The wound still felt raw. 

When you’d first met him, you’d fallen hard and fast. Bucky just seemed to get you - understand you like no-one else, and you thought that you’d known him too. The nights you’d spent together, just holding each other and talking about what you’d gone through in your lives - finding comfort and companionship that transcended the physical connection that you had. However, like every other good thing in your life, it had come crashing down around your ears, but unlike other times, you hadn’t seen it - the hurt and the betrayal - coming.

Bucky hadn’t gotten involved with you because of who you were - he’d approached you because of what you could do - what you could bring to a new team of Avengers. Someone else who saw your value in connection to your freakish abilities. He breached your walls, then shattered them from the inside. You were still rebuilding them.

“What’s the job?” you queried, knowing that if you dismissed him out of hand he’d probably just push harder and you’d end up screaming at him.

“There’s a pocket of Hydra holdouts in a bunker in Massachusetts,” he rumbled and you closed your eyes, trying to control your physical reaction to his presence. “We can’t find a way in, and need the element of surprise. You’ve got the skills we need.”

You snorted. Of course it was all about your powers.

“Who’s asking? The White Wolf or Bucky Barnes?” You couldn’t keep the sneer from your voice.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t rise to it, instead asking, “Would it make a difference?”

A loud sigh left your throat. “I suppose you’re right. You knew I was in from the word ‘HYDRA’.”

You pushed yourself up from the roof ledge and finally turned to face him. The rain had plastered his dark brown hair to his face, making it look black. Droplets of water ran down the divot in his chin, before dripping off the end. Why did he have to be so beautiful? If you were that sodden you’d just look like a drowned rat, so you gave a quick thanks to the small electrical field you’d generated around you that stopped the rain from making contact.

“Let’s get this over with then.” Your voice - and heart - was already weary. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get back to never seeing you again.”

Bucky didn’t answer, instead just giving you a look you couldn’t interpret before turning and walking towards the stairwell. You followed in his wake.

The journey upstate to the compound hadn’t been too arduous. Both you and Bucky had ridden your bikes, which had the dual advantage of making it easy to slip through the traffic and also negated the need for small talk. You hadn’t actually said a word to him since leaving the rooftop and you were totally fine with that.

You’d greeted Sam with a clipped ‘Hello’ and just stared through Torres when he’d shyly raised a hand in your direction. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, you just didn’t know them.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Bucky had let out a small cough and suggested that you all go through to the briefing room and you’d nodded your assent. Now the four of you were gathered around the holographic blueprints.

“Our main issues,” said Sam, “are these gun turrets.” He pointed out the towers at each corner of the building. “Our intel says they are energy-based, which means if they can get disabled from inside the three of us should be able to get in easier.”

“That’s what we’re hoping you can do,” added Torres, his eyes still refusing to meet yours. It almost made you smile. Almost.

Sam continued. “Once we’re in, we aren’t expecting you to hang around. We know you aren’t a big fan of working with us.”

That was an understatement if ever you’d heard one, but there were bigger motivational factors involved. “You really think I’m gonna turn tail and not take the opportunity to get some payback?” you asked with a raised brow. “You don’t know me at all, Sam.”

A look of sympathy immediately took over his face. “I understand why you feel this way, but this isn’t what this mission is about. We need to shut them down and extract all the data.”

You frowned. You don’t know why you expected a different response from the new Captain America. “But you know that if we don’t stop them - neutralise every single one of them - then they’ll just regroup. Reform. We’ll - You’ll - be no better off than you were before and you’ll just have to hunt them down again another day.” The words came out sharply as your frustration grew.

“We’re not going there with the express intent of murdering people.” Sam bit back. “I’m a realist - I understand that there will be deaths - but I’m not going out of my way to create the highest body count possible.”

There was a moment of silence before you said, “You’re a bleeding heart, Wilson. No mercy should be shown to HYDRA because they sure as hell won’t show you any.”

You turned on your heel and stalked from the room, walking along the corridor until you reached one of the glass walls that allowed you to look out over the forest surrounding the semi-secret base. You weren’t even there a minute before you felt a prickle up your spine. Your hands, that had been resting on your ribs where your arms were crossed, curled into fists.

“Fuck off, Barnes,” you ground out between gritted teeth. He moved to stand beside you, leaning on the railing, and you could see him out of your peripheral vision.

“He’s a good man, you know. It’s why Steve gave him the shield and not me. He knew that for the mantle of Captain America you have to have some level of optimism.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “But it just seems so pointless.”

“You know I get it. We have a different outlook, you and I. As much as Sam can empathise with what we went through, try his best to understand, he will never get it. Much the same way that I can’t ever fully understand what it was like for him, being who he is, to grow up in this America. We just have to stick to our truths, and bend once in a while when it’s prudent to do so.” He turned towards you then, flashing a wry grin and you couldn’t help but turn your head as well. “And besides, what Wilson doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Bucky pushed away from the railing and started to walk back towards the conference room. Part way along he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “You coming? We’ve got some HYDRA ass to kick. And by kick, I mean shoot in the head.”

Large hands spanned your waist, gripping firmly but not cruelly. Your legs were hooked over the arms connected to them, holding you wide open. Your eyes, only open a crack, could see the way his dark hair flopped down in front of his face, could see the way his body glistened with sweat as he pumped in and out of you. His muscles strained and his jaw was set.

“Fuck, honey,” Bucky exclaimed. “Feels so fucking good.” Your only reply was a whine as you dropped a hand down between you to strum at your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself feel good. Wanna feel you come.” If you’d been capable of giggling at his statement you would have, because you’d come twice already - once on his face and once on his fingers. The man was insatiable for your pleasure. You weren’t gonna complain about it.

“Bucky!” you breathed out, not sure what you were actually trying to say, but hoping he could pick up on the tone. The air crackled, its molecules excited by your semi-conscious manipulation of the electric field around you. You could feel yourself rushing towards that peak, your core clenching - pulsing - around where Bucky was filling you with each delicious thrust.

He dropped his head, taking one of your pebbled nipples in his mouth and sucked on it. The sensation pulled tightly on the invisible thread that ran through your body to where the pair of you were joined. Tighter. Firmer. Higher…

You woke with a start, sitting bolt upright as you gulped in lungful after lungful of air. Your hands shook and your skin was sweaty and you silently cursed Bucky Barnes as you flopped back down and pressed one of the pillows over your face. You hadn’t had a sex dream about him in weeks, but it stood to reason that as he was back disrupting your waking hours he’d do the same to your sleep as well.

Frustration welled up inside of you, and with a grunt you threw the pillow across the room, hearing it thud against the generic dresser. You were in one of the ‘guest’ rooms at the compound. White walls. White furniture. Grey bedding, curtains and carpet. It was fucking depressing. You were just glad that you weren’t going to be here for long. Just a few more days of going through the reconnaissance intel and running some training drills in the state of the art suite downstairs and then you’d be on the mission for real. Then, when it was over, you were going to leave - leave New York. Leave the state. Heck, you might even leave the country. 

You flipped over in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to go back to sleep in, but every time you closed your eyes your mind conjured the image of Bucky looking at you as if you were the only thing in his world that had meaning. Sleep was a long time coming.

Three mornings later and you were up early, just finishing getting dressed where there was a knock on your bedroom door. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know who it was. Lightly slapping your hands against your legs, you strode over and opened the door. Bucky stood there, his fingers all twisted around each other until he seemed to jump at the realisation of what he was doing and put them both behind his back. A smile played at the corners of your mouth. The highlight of the last few days had been the discovery that Bucky was as discombobulated by your presence as you were by his. The only difference was that you seemed to be able to hide it better. That knowledge had allowed you to sleep better the last few nights - the schadenfreude was delicious. And if you’d then played up to it - accidentally rubbed past him in small spaces, or laugh and flirt with a sweetly awkward Joaquin? Well it was exactly what Bucky deserved in your opinion.

You looked up at him with a raised brow and leant against the door, arms folded across your breasts, and you noted the minute flicker of his gaze down and then back up. “Can I help you, Buck?” 

He scowled as you over-pronounced the start and end of his nickname. “I came to see if you were ready. We need to leave in twenty.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, Sargent, a fact you well know. As you can see,” you gestured down the length of your body with your hand, “I managed to get dressed all on my own. I can manage to achieve a surprising amount of things without your help.”

You pushed away from the door and snagged your go back from the floor. It didn’t have a lot in it because unlike the others you only relied on your abilities for both offence and defence. No guns, knives, vibranium arms, shields or wings.

Bucky didn’t move away as you exited your room, causing you to brush against him to get by. As you did so, pointedly not looking at him, his right hand shot out and snagged your upper arm. “Honey, please can we t-”

You shook your arm free angrily. “You don’t get to call me that,” you hissed. “You lost that right months ago. And no, we’re not gonna talk. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. After this mission we never see each other again.” With that, you turned your back on him and stalked in the direction of the hanger. He didn’t try to stop you and you wondered why you felt a lump in the pit of your stomach about it.

Chapter 2

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318

[isleepatfiveam]

So new Avengers cast list just got announce and I'm back in my marvel fixation so let's talk about a crack theory I got.

I think the revealed cast list are the gonna be the characters that will die in Doomsday, and might even stay dead (with a few exceptions)

Let me explain my reasonings for this take:

This takes into account another theory that I love which is that RDJ's Doom is just a Doombot and we'll get an original Doctor Doom casting later for Secret Wars. This gives us Marvel an out from paying an arm, a leg and your firstborn child to RDJ for every Doom appearance.

This lets Marvel give they're take on these characters while not ignoring the existence of the originals. They could just say that they existed but now they're gone so here's our tak. This point is why I think that the Fantastic 4 won't be among the permanently dead group.

Lets them remove characters who are to controversial (Sam, and Shuri), actors whose contracts are way past due and want out (Thor (4 solo films, 4-5 non-solo films) Bucky (9 movies, 1 show)), actors to old to continue to play their roles (Magneto and Professor X) or characters that frankly don't matter to their future projects (The Thunderbolts and Nemor). Not that I'm saying that I want this to be the case with these characters, frankly I love tall the characters I named as examples, but MCU is owned by Disney and Diseny wants money and for fans to stop hating on them for their bad film making choices.

Lets Doom win, since by killing Loki off he wins and takes over the multiverse which will cause Secret Wars and will parallel Infinity War with the heroes' losing only to take the win in Endgame but on a much bigger scale. And also shows Doom as far more powerful than gods (Thor & Loki), Extremely Overpowered Mutatans (Mystic, Nightcrawler, Cyclops, Gambit, etc), Genius Minds (Reed and Hank), Reality Benders (Bob/Sentry) and Mystical Martial Artists (Shang-chi), showing how big of a threat Doom really is.

So here's my prediction for the plot:

Sam forms the new Avengers while working with the Thunderbolts, while dealing with a situation, the Fox X-men Earth appear in the sky and threaten an incursion.

MCU characters and Fox X-Men find out about incursions from Dr. Strange (or America Chavez), and Monica Rambeau, respectively.

Then come together by meeting the Four who tells them that Doom is the one after the god of stories who holds the multiverse together revealing it to be Loki.

RDJ's Doom appears to be the real Doom in charge and is coming to kill Loki with his massive army that the combined forces of the X-men and new Avengers take down with Thor learning his lesson from Thanos and taking off RDJ's Doom's head only to discover that he was a Doombot and the real Doom had already killed Loki and stolen his power.

This leads to the Real Doom changing reality and killing all the heroes with the help of either Dr. Strange or Wanda Maximoff. Leaning towards Wanda especially.

The only exceptions are Reverse-Time Hiest Steve Rogers who is protected by the fact he was Time traveling, Tom Holland Spiderman because he is MCU's anchor being and no one knows who he is, Natasha and 2018 Gamora who are out of the equation due to the soul stone claiming their lives, Clint (especially if it's Wanda helping Doom) due to his "insignificant", the Young Avengers (America, Kamala, Billy, Tommy, Hulking, Kate Bishop, etc.) because reasons (could be Agatha Protecting Billy and getting the rest involved, could be America being a universal constant, could be anything really), White Vision - again also because of Wanda but could also because Doom might see him useful and not really care that he was alive, and Quill who is protected by being part celestial.

This is just a prediciton but I think it's pretty good. Why don't you give your opinion in reblogs and comments.

[iamleesi]

THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: You have some kind of nightmare and Bucky wakes you up but he’s still a prick and you have a fight.

Warnings: Flashback, mention of experiments, hydra facility, creepy stuff and I probably forgot something so forgive me. -> 18+ !!

Other: English isn’t my fist language so I apologize for eventual mistakes.

-> Masterlist

-> Part three ; Part five

-> Nonie (04)

A little you was sitting in the corner of your room. The place you called home was clean and sterile, empty of any unnecessary comforts - not that you knew what the word truly meant. The only source of light was coming from the single light bulb hung from the ceiling, and your bed - big enough to at least fit you - was pushed against a wall, it’s thin mattress covered in white sheets.

The walls were bare; you were not given anything normal kids your age had to at least make it seem more than just a prison. It was naked of any type of decoration, no pictures or paintings… just plain grey. And you loved it.

One day, your usual routine was changed. Up until then you had been alone, the only people you talked to were the scientists and Mrs White who came in to see how you were doing and tell you all about the process they were making thanks to you. But that day, you remember the sound of that huge, scratched iron door open and an Hydra agent escorting a girl into the room.

Not a word was exchanged before you and the new person were left alone. To be honest, you were curious but also confused - why did they brought her in all of a sudden? Was she another special girl? Were you not good enough anymore? You didn’t like that idea.

You watched as she went to sit on the other corner of the room, her head low, and you spent the whole day listening to her sobbing. Why was she crying, you did not know. How could she cry when she was in the safest place on earth?

Ungrateful. And she was evidently older than you, maybe sixteen or even seventeen - she should have understood her worth already at that age.

In the days that followed, you learned absolutely nothing about her. She never spoke and she spent most of her time confined to her side of the room - she wasn’t even given a mattress, and she did nothing to let you know if perhaps she was tired of sleeping on the floor. All you heard were her hums at night, melodies you didn’t know.

But for some reason, you liked having her there.

Eventually, days turned into weeks and your curiosity towards her only grew and it almost became an obsession - you wanted to get her to talk but never succeeded. Each day, like a clockwork, the girl was escorted out of the room by Hydra agents and each day, when she would return, her demeanor grew more unsettling.

“And so today Mrs White gave me a candy. She said I deserved it after I found where those criminals were hiding.” You said, hopping onto your bed as you stared at her - she was finally given one too, and now she did nothing rather than lay on it as days passed by. “Did she ever give you a candy? The one that looks like a bear - have you ever seen a bear?”

At your questions, all you could hear was nothing except her breathing. There wasn’t even a window in there. “Oh, yeah. You don’t talk. Mrs White says that when people ignore you, they are being extremely dis- dispec - I don’t remember the word she used. But it’s not nice!”

Nothing. She didn’t even blink, sometimes you had to walk over there to check if she was still breathing. “Whatever.” You sighed. “I’ll bring you a candy next time I’m done with a successful mission. Maybe you’ll talk to me. Or I can steal one - maybe I could. I don’t know. What do you think? Do you want a candy?”

Silence.

“Alright. Then I’ll bring you one.” You smiled at her. “But you need to tell me your name, I can’t keep referring to you as the ‘new girl’, it’s been… I don’t know. But surely more than a day!”

The girl stayed silent. Her eyes fixated on the ceiling.

“Mrs White says my blood is fundamental for whatever they’re working on, you know? We’re here to save the world.” You continued. “She said there are some people who don’t want that, like Natasha Romanoff. The prodigy of the Red Room, have you ever met her? She came here a few years ago and taught me how to shoot properly. And now, turns out that she’s been corrupted.” You sighed “You’re a great listener, at least.” You turned around, giving your back to her. Maybe she just didn’t like you.

Still, no response. Not even a hum of acknowledgement.

Your frustration mounted with each passing day, your attempts to communicate with her were always ignored and you were met with nothing but silence.

“Is there something wrong, kid?” One of Hydra’s agents, Ezra you had learnt, asked you one day as he was escorting you back to your room after another evening of restless training. You had to be at your best, they said, all the time.

“No.” You sighed, as your body felt like burning - that day they had gone heavy on you, but you managed well. You were the only survivor, as per usual. “When can I go outside? I want to help on the field.”

“Soon enough, kid. We have a problem in stars and stripes to take care of. Mrs White believes you can do it.”

You felt a sense of pride in you at his words. That man, they called him Captain America, was a heavy problem for the world. He was the one who kept ruining any attempt to make the world a better place, always stepping in to cause chaos. He needed to be eliminated and you wished it would be you to do so, after all you had the skills to do it.

“Then I won’t disappoint her.”

Once you got back to your room with the biggest grin ever, you saw Nonie - as you nicknamed her - sitting on her bed with her back on the wall, staring straight ahead of her. You sat right in her line of view, which was on your mattress, crossing your legs one over the other. “Guess what?”

Blank stare.

“I’ll kill Mr Captain America one of these days. I know I’m not as skilled as Winter is, but I can do it. I know I can.” You started to ramble convinced that she wouldn’t pay attention to you since she never did, but soon enough, too focused on your own words, you felt a hand on your tight.

A cold, almost imperceptible touch. She had walked towards you, kneeling down in the end as her legs were too weak to hold her light weight for longer than a few steps.

You stared into her soulless eyes for a moment, before she shook her head.

“No? What - what do you mean no?” You looked at her dumbfounded. “You don’t want me to kill him? Nonie, I h-”

But before you could continue, she crawled back to her bed in the same position she was in. You stayed silent too, for a moment. For a long, tense moment.

“So you can understand what I’m saying! You can hear me!” You realized, getting up. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Nonie made a movement with her pale hand to tell you to get closer to her - which you did without second thinking. Those few steps felt like happening in slow motion and once you were right in front of her, she raised that same hand to her mouth; her fingers grazing the edge of her lips.

You frowned, but you didn’t have the time to utter a word that she stuck out her tongue - or what was left of it.

≈

“For fuck’s sake - Emma!” Your eyes snapped open at Bucky’s voice, your heart racing in your chest as you sat up in bed, your forehead almost colliding against his.

You couldn’t help but dream about her, giving what you and Dean had saw just hours prior. She always came back into your memories one way or another, whether it was with a nightmare or just with a simple thought during the day - she was always there, in the back of your mind. And no matter how much years had passed since then, Nonie wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Bucky spoke again with a sharp tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve been trying to wake you up the whole night.”

You blinked in confusion, caught off guard by his harsh tone and the fact that he was sitting so close to you. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “I had a nightmare.”

Bucky’s expression unexpectedly softened, though you could still sense some irritation. You knew he had trouble sleeping too, and waking up in the middle of the night due to someone else’s problems wasn’t really ideal. “Nightmare, huh? Great, now we’re both awake.”

You closed your eyes and took a breath for a moment as you tried to find the right words to say. You never meant to disturb him but you could not control how your mind worked - and Wanda wasn’t even there to help you. Sometimes you gave her permission to get inside your head and erase the bad memories for one night so you could properly rest, but she wasn’t with you and so you had to do it alone. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh, his demeanor softening ever so slightly. “Look, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” He admitted gruffly. He better than anyone could understand how you mist be feeling, and he could have approached it better. “It’s been a long day and I guess I’m just on edge.”

You huffed. “Believe me, I know.”

Bucky exhaled as he was still sitting on your bed, the situation becoming awkward. He got up, but didn’t leave quite yet. You saw some uncertainty in his eyes before he spoke again.

“Food always helps me with nightmares.” He cleared his throat, his tone softer than before. But not much, he was still Bucky Barnes after all. “Come downstairs with me. Dean left some pizza in the fridge before leaving.”

You noticed you were hungry now that he mentioned food. Once you and Dean got home after the investigation, still unsure of what you saw - or, rather, still hoping your mind had played an awful joke on you, you went straight in your room. You had left the task to explain things to Sam and Bucky to Dean.

“One thing I learned about Dean is that he becomes a mad man if someone touches his food.” You let out a small chuckle, getting up the bed.

“He left it for you.” Bucky admitted.

“Oh.” That was surprising. “I was going to eat it anyway but I will feel less guilty knowing it was already mine.”

Together you made your way downstairs to the kitchen, the silence was oddly comfortable for once. You sat down while Bucky took the pizza box from the fridge and tossed it your way. Action you thanked with a smile.

He rummaged through the cabinets searching for something to eat himself. He sat on the chair beside yours with a box of homemade biscuits - wait, homemade biscuits?

“The old lady that lives on the other side of the street brought these over today, when you and Dean were at the Miller’s house.” He explained after reading your expression. “We’re invited at her niece’s birthday party this weekend, by the way. I said yes.”

You being invited to a party full of strangers wasn’t really on the list of the things you liked to do since you were as social as a rock but what you wanted went into the toilet the second you became an Avenger. Like that time you and Pietro were sent on a mission on a yacht - you were scared as hell of the sea after a certain God of Mischief made you watch Titanic changing the finale with your face instead of Rose’s. But that was another story.

“Great.” You sighed.

“So, the investigation. How did it go? You came home quite traumatized.” He raised a brow, and you didn’t miss the judgement in his tone.

You stiffened for a second, your mind went inevitably back there just as soon as you were starting to think about something else. “I wasn’t traumatized. I just… if you had seen that, you would have understood.”

Bucky scoffed. “What? Seeing the breakdown of an hysterical old lady after she lost her daughter doesn’t seem so terrible compared to what we’re used to, come on now.”

You frowned. That was the last of your concerns, you weren’t a therapist or something but a breakdown was certainly not that woman’s biggest problem. “Dean didn’t- he didn’t tell you everything?”

It was Bucky’s time to frown. “He told us what happened. You two arrived there, the woman was obviously grieving her missing daughter and she had a break down after asking one too many questions which led to her kicking you out.” He reassumed everything Dean had said. “Isn’t that all?”

You gulped. Dean kept his mouth shut about that, and you wondered why. Bucky knew what Hydra was capable of, but that? That was something beyond imaginable. Still, before talking to Bucky about it you wanted to know why Dean kept it a secret and why he didn’t seem to freak out as any other normal person would - beside you.

“No, that’s all.” You said after a moment, sounding as sincere as possible. “It’s just… her daughter’s probably dead and… and seeing her reaction wasn’t easy.”

“Mh.” He nodded, seeming to believe you. “Rich coming from you.” He said after, turning back into himself - for a second there you almost forgot how infuriating he was.

“Excuse me?”

“Rich coming from you.” He repeated casually. “Didn’t you use to kidnap people yourself for Hydra? Or maybe… bring back the ones lucky enough to break free from their control?

You stayed momentarily silent. “No.” You answered. “I never kidnapped anyone or brought back anyo- what the fuck is your problem, man?”

“I have absolutely zero problems, but I wonder if you even have the right to feel bad when you used to do the same to innocent people - willingly.” His tone was as light as if he was talking about a damn football game.

“You killed dozens of people too.”

“I was brainwashed, and I feel guilty enough. You were not.” He fired back. “And you never apologized.”

“I was a fucking child, Barnes.” You reminded him, clenching your jaw. “I thought I was doing the right thing by complying, just like you were!”

“I know that, Dayne, I’m not an idiot. But you’ve been indoctrinated with their ideas all your life, which is exactly why I wonder how the fuck it is that you’re on our side now.” He said, leaning back on the chair. “I’m not attacking you, just curious.”

“It’s been ten years, it took me a long time to see things the right way.” You said, really stopping the urge to flip the table and walk out dramatically. “And it looks like an attack to me.”

“It’s not.” He remarked. “You know, Rumlow was a SHIELD agent while being loyal to Hydra. If he did it, I won’t get off the table the fact that you could be doing the same.”

“I never joined Hydra willingly, I was born there!” You shot back to that lunatic asshole. “Rumlow joined those people because he believed in their ideas, to me their ideas were the only thing I’ve ever known! Excuse me if I didn’t know a difference between the good and the bad when I was told that killing people was the only way humanity could survive!”

He sighed at that. Maybe he had been too harsh?

“You’ve been brainwashed in a way, and I in another. If you think I’m some kind of monster for what I did or I cannot be trusted, then we may not be so different.” You spat while pulling yourself up from the chair with force, the legs scrapping against the floor. “And if you wake me up again I’ll stick that metal arm up your ass.”

With that, you left him in the kitchen alone. Fuck him and fuck whatever his problem was.

[levanswrites]

Apartment #3 - Chapter 6

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

taglist: @tsofo26 @yvonneeeee @cass0419 @nekoannie-chan @felicitylemon @nada3000 @rorilisa @observantplum-blog @strepsils123 @mrsevans90 @smhnxdiii @rorilisa

A loud ding from the timer marks 40 minutes.

She peers into her oven, nervously eyeing her little experiment—the best, fudgiest brownies EVER! as proclaimed by a complete stranger on the internet, but she figured that the thousands of likes and online reviews had to count for something,

She went all out for this particular recipe, fishing for ingredients she’s never even heard of—dutch processed cacao, single origin chocolate, maldon sea salt. Seeing as how she’s never really had luck with baking, she’s not sure why she had chosen such a complex recipe. And just to pack on the pressure, there was a lot riding on these particular brownies. It’s the only reason why, after the second time she knocks over the bag of flour while reaching for the whisk, she doesn’t give up, hastily wiping up the mess through gritted teeth. 

Because despite Fury’s orders to sustain minimal contact with her target, she could never stand to be in debt. 

And during these past few weeks, she’d been indebted to Steve in more ways than one.

With these brownies, she figured they were more or less even. 

One last time, and she could be done for good.

She waits impatiently, fingers drumming on the counter while the bake cools, before cutting up the brownies and draping some aluminum foil on top. She slides the tray off the counter and scoops it into her arms, balancing Steve’s thermos on top.

She slips out of her apartment and makes her way across the hall.

A tentative knock on apartment #4, then once more when no one responds after a little while. 

Must not be home. Great. She’ll just return his thermos some other time and take the brownies to work—it’ll earn her a few much-needed brownie points with her coworkers anyway. 

She’s just about to turn on her heels and head back across the hall, when she hears his door jerk open, revealing Steve in a white tank top and grey sweats. Her eyes falter for a second, a little taken aback by Steve’s unfamiliarly casual attire.

Eyes wide, he smiles, leaning forward with his palm resting on the door frame.

“Jess! Hey,” His brows furrow a little, eyes flitting down to the tray weighing down her arms. 

“Hey, Steve.” She nods, eyes still fixated on how relaxed he seems in his pajamas, before it suddenly sinks in that this might be his rare day off from work. The last thing he’d probably want is her company. 

She’s just about ready to thrust the brownies and thermos in his arms and run off, panic rising in her throat.

“Uhm, I’m just here to—“

“—hey, Steve, that the pizza guy?”

A male voice shouts from inside the apartment.

Shit, he’s got company. So definitely not a good time.

Steve swivels around, calling back to whoever is in his living room “Uh, no, Buck,  it’s my…”

He turns back to her, eyes hesitating with an unreadable emotion.  

“… my neighbor, Jess.” He finishes quietly. 

Though her heart already sinks at the mention of his name, her stomach churns a second time when she hears footsteps approach Steve’s side. And low and behold, there he was—the infamous Winter Soldier and Steve’s best friend. It’s the first time she’s seen Bucky Barnes in person, and he’s just as formidable as Steve at first glance—biceps bulging through a red Henley shirt, metal hand sticking out like a sore thumb under his sleeve, not concealed with the glove SHIELD advises him to wear during public outings. He immediately sticks his hand into the pocket of his jeans, surveying her reaction to see if she’d noticed. She feigns innocence, smiling politely.

Yet, not everything’s true to her memory. 

His hair’s a little shorter than how she’d pictured, and his eyes a little lighter, a strain of hazel running through the cool blue. Any lingering sense of intimidation dissolves when he smiles, casting a sideways glance at Steve then back down at her.

“So this is Jess, huh?” He smirks, leaning forward as he extends his flesh hand in greeting.

“Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

‘So this is Jess.’

That, and the way Steve’s perks up at Bucky’s words, the tips of his ears blooming crimson, could only mean one thing. It’s a glaringly obvious truth that she tries oh-so-hard to avoid. 

Instead, she glances down sheepishly at the tray of brownies in her arms, then back up at Bucky’s extended hand. 

“Oh, hey, let me get that for you.” Steve quickly reaches forward, taking the tray from her arm. She shoots him an appreciative smile before tentatively taking Bucky’s hand, feeling more than overwhelmed by not one but two super soldiers now crowding the doorway. 

Bucky’s grip is more calloused than Steve’s, fingers shorter and thicker. His grip is just as strong and warm, though, and the charming grin he flashes her way leaves her wondering whether he’s just as… forward in meetings with other strangers. The rumor around her office had always painted him as the silent, brooding type. 

“I-I was just gonna return your thermos, and uh…” her voice falters, gaze trailing over to the way Bucky was leaning over the tray still in Steve’s hands, lifting the aluminum foil on top curiously. Bucky looks back down at her, smiling sheepishly. 

“Sorry, these smell amazing. Are they… shit, Steve, they’re brownies.”

“Buck.” Steve mutters, subtly nudging his best friend’s side as he angles the tray away.

“Yeah, I baked ‘em this morning.” She nods, giving Bucky an awkward smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear, shifting her weight between her feet. 

Her gaze trails over to the blonde, who’s giving her that familiar warm smile.

“You didn’t have to Jess, really. Thank you.” 

His gaze is so earnest, voice deep as he thanks her. She can only nod hastily in response, swallowing thickly.

Steve clears his throat, taking another step toward her, and gestures toward the apartment with his head. 

“Do you… do you wanna come in for a bit? Bucky and I were just about to put on a film.” 

And maybe it was the endearing way he still uses the word film instead of movie.

Or the way he seemed so different from his usual put-together look—hair light and soft, standing up in small, unruly peaks as if he hadn’t styled it since he’s woken up. A white sleeveless shirt, clad tightly across his pecs, grey sweats hanging low over his hips. 

Or, maybe, it was just his characteristic way of making an honest offer—warm and earnest, without any pretense of false politeness. 

Whatever the reason, she finds herself nodding, slipping past Bucky as he steps aside to let her inside.

Steve carefully sets the tray on his kitchen island, quietly chastising Bucky when he immediately starts to fiddle with the aluminum, trying to sneak a piece. She shuffles awkwardly around the kitchen island, so that there’s 40 inches of beige linoleum between her and the two super soldiers. She refrains from peering around the rest of the apartment out of politeness. From what appears in her peripheral vision, though, she can tell that the layout of his house is pretty much the same as her own.

“Those are for me, jerk.” Steve mutters quietly, the corner of his lip quirking up in a smile as Bucky’s starts to pull a slice off of the tray. 

“Sharing’s carin’ Stevie.” Bucky mumbles nonchalantly, 

Steve gives in with a joking sigh, leaning against the counter as he looks up at her, brows raised.

“Do you want a piece, Jess?” 

“Oh, no, I’m okay thank—“

“—holy shit.” She’s cut off by Bucky’s loud moan, holding up a corner piece with a large section already bitten off. 

“Fuck, that’s amazing, Steve. You gotta try it.”

Bucky chews as he glances up at her, eyes glinting under the kitchen light. He swallows, licking his lips before asking:

“You a baker, Jess?”

Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, walking around the counter and reaching for a roll of paper towels at the other end. 

“She’s a nurse, Buck.” 

Bucky’s brows raise at that, eyes lighting up with renewed interest as he sinks his teeth in, taking another bite.

“You must like saving people, then, huh? Like Stevie here.” He juts his elbow toward his friend, who rolls his eyes and shoots her an apologetic glance. She tries to stifle a smile, settling down in one of the kitchen bar stools, feeling a little more relaxed as the two Avengers continue to bicker bout how many pieces Bucky’s allowed to steal from Steve’s tray.

“Bucky’s right, though, Jess. This is phenomenal. How long have you been baking?”

The truthful answer would have been 5 hours. Instead, though, she gives him a smile, shrugging innocently as she answers:

“Not long. Started a couple years ago.”

She figured the whole ‘home-baker’ thing tracked with Jess’s character—alongside the whole wide-eyed, girl-next-door look.  

“So what movie are we watching?”

She asks nonchalantly—a clumsy attempt at shifting the conversation away from herself, but it works nonetheless.

Bucky sighs dramatically at the question, while Steve shoots him an amused glance.

“Well…” Bucky starts, picking up another brownie square before walking around the kitchen island toward the living room. 

“… Steve was trying to convince me to watch Star Wars with him.” He sighs nonchalantly, plopping down on the living room couch. 

And she can’t help but let out a surprised snort at that, hand immediately flying over to her mouth to stifle the noise. Mortified, she glances over sheepishly at Steve. 

Leaned forward with both palms on the kitchen counter, Steve looks up at her with a raised brow, a slight twitch in the corner of his lip.

“Sorry, I just… that’s the last movie I would’ve guessed for you.” She murmurs quietly, still stifling a smile.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Steve shoots back almost immediately, his lips breaking open in an amused grin.

“Well, it’s just, you know… kinda nerdy?”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. 

“That’s fair.”

From across the room, Bucky laughs too, scrolling carelessly through the TV channels as he tosses out a comment in their direction.

“Oh, you thought he was cool, Jess?”

She leans forward in her seat, staring directly into Steve’s eyes as a new sense of adoration blooms in her chest. 

Who would’ve thought that Captain America was secretly a geek?

She shrugs, a small smile tugging on her lips as she mutters:

"I'd like to think so."

And despite the fact that the rest of the night is filled with nothing but trivial moments, she feels the knot in her stomach growing tighter with each second she spends with Steve.

When he patted the spot on the couch next to him, gesturing for her to sit down, the fabric of his sweats brushing against her as he shifted to make room. The scent of soft oak and fresh linen as he occasionally leaned into her side, pointing out nerdy tidbits about the Star Wars franchise, eager to share the comforting alcove of fiction he’d found in the 21st century. 

Or even when the pizza delivery arrived and she finally got a peek at the box, discovering the name of his favorite pizza place. She had glanced over at Steve instinctively, lips stretched in a knowing smile as they exchanged a look completely unbeknownst to Bucky. 

With Steve, her heart beats immeasurably faster at the littlest of things.

And it fills her with more dread than she can bear. 

Apartment #3 Masterlist

note: aaaand after an eternity and a half, she finally makes an update. we've got some more shameless flirting coming up folks, brace yourselves

[ohtoseni]

like real people do

chapter nine

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x OFC

read it on ao3

the government forces soulmates to be together, no matter what it takes.

it just so happens that eve's soulmates are two bisexual super soldiers.

or,

steve and bucky struggle with their eighteen-year-old soulmate who refuses to settle into her new life after being kidnapped by the government.

tags/warnings: soulmate mark au, forced throuple/poly relationship (f/m/m), extreme age gap, kidnapping, slow burn, dub con, mental health issues (ptsd, audhd, ocd, bipolar, ed), found family, emotional hurt/comfort, sensory overload and meltdowns, eventual smut, tooth-rotting fluff, power imbalance, domestic discipline (spanking as punishment), general teenage angst, daddy dom energy, oral fixation, praise kink, implied/referenced child abuse/csa, kink exploration, p in v sex, oral sex, non sexual age regression, lots of cuddles and snuggles and crying

‘I would never date another person with BPD again.’

‘People with borderline personality disorder cannot accept the truth and are always trying to avoid personal responsibility for their thoughts and actions.’

‘They get verbally and physically abusive and split which causes them to act out as secondary psychopaths/sociopaths.’

Eve couldn’t help but keep scrolling down the Reddit thread, her mind racing as she grew increasingly anxious. Was this really what she was like? Each post felt like a mirror she was too afraid to look into but couldn’t turn away from. Every single comment, article, and forum seemed to confirm her worst fears. Manipulative, undeserving of love. She read story after story from ex-partners, estranged family, and old friends explaining why they cut someone like her completely out of their lives. Eve continued reading even as her stomach twisted and her breaths became shorter.

Scrolling back at old text messages, she thought back to old relationships that she ruined. Each text bubble in hindsight showed a certain level of unhinged manipulation and anger that Eve never noticed until years later. Looking back at her texts with her brief college fling with Barron showed her desperate pleas for attention every time he said he was busy. So many friendships faded and relationships she ruined due to her being “too much”. How long would it be before Steve and Bucky thought she wasn’t worth the trouble?

Movement from the hallway drew her mind away from her doomscrolling. She looked up as the hall light flickered on, illuminating the small crack of her open door. Steve walked past her bedroom door, already dressed for his morning run. Her phone showed the time- 5:29 in the morning. She had stayed up the whole night on her phone doubting her self-worth.

She wanted to prove herself useful and give them a reason to keep her around.

Climbing out of bed, Eve stretched and yawned out of exhaustion, her eyes watering slightly from just how tired she was. A quick glimpse into the mirror made her shudder- she was so pale, her eyes dark, her hair a matted mess, and her pajamas were all strewn about from tossing and turning in bed all night. She looked dead, her sleep-deprived state evident all over her face.

The doubt began to pour in as Eve questioned whether or not this was even a good idea. She was so exhausted. Urging herself to be useful for once, she forced a smile onto her face and pushed herself forward.

Soft footsteps made their way down the hall, making Steve turn around from where he was putting his shoes on. Eve looked half asleep, but she tried to hide it behind a little grin. Standing upright, Steve raised an eyebrow in concern.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” He took a step toward her, bringing her into a light embrace. “Did I wake you?”

Only neutrally humming in response, Eve leaned into his warmth. She could fall asleep easily in his arms at that moment, but she had a plan to fulfill.

“Don’t go out this morning,” Eve pulled away to look into Steve’s soft blue eyes, pleading slightly. “I wanna make you breakfast this morning.”

“Oh?” Steve blinked his eyes in confusion. The past few weeks Eve had been with them, she had never offered to cook a meal. They never forced her, secretly loving the act of service toward her. The way she’d happily wiggle when the food tasted good was worth the labor in their opinion. “You don’t gotta do that, babe.”

Eve’s lip jutted out slightly in a pout. “But I want to,” she insisted.

‘Please let me, please let me be worth keeping,’ Eve’s thoughts rapidly echoed in her head.

Who was Steve to say no to her and her baby doe eyes and pretty pink pout? Her vulnerability broke any resolve he had in standing his ground.

“Alright,” he caved in, already heading toward a barstool. “But if you need help, I’m here.”

She all but bounced around the counter toward the fridge, a triumphant grin on her face. Steve watched with loving eyes as Eve prepared some sort of pastry dish- she had two separate mixing bowls out for wet and dry ingredients. Knowing that he lived with basically a professional chef made Steve want her to cook for him more often. And compared to his and Bucky’s simple bacon and eggs, this was damn near a five-star meal.

“So what are you making?” He finally spoke up, hesitant to interrupt Eve’s concentration and soft humming.

Her tongue peeked out from her lips as she debated telling him what it was or not. “It’s a family recipe,” Eve said quietly as she began to whisk the wet ingredients into the dry. “Pannukakku.”

“Panna- what?” The foreign dish sounded oddly lewd to Steve, but he had to trust the process and Eve.

Her hands were trembling as she handled the mixing bowl, whisking it well until all clumps disappeared. “Pannukakku. It’s like an oven pancake. It’s my favorite!”

Smiling at her enthusiasm, Steve easily saw through her facade. From her exhausted eyes to her nervous twitching, he could tell all she wanted to do was sleep. The fact that she was this actively avoiding it made Steve wonder just what was going on through her head.

Once she poured the mixture into a baking dish, he stood up and walked over to her, offering to put the dish into the oven for her. He didn’t exactly trust her tired and shaking hands. “Let me handle that, doll.”

He easily took the glass pan from her, setting it in the preheated oven. Eve set the timer on for twenty minutes before resting her head in her hands on the counter. The familiar pulse of an incoming headache made Eve sigh in resignation.

Sighing himself, Steve rubbed her back in soft circles. She was crashing hard, her eagerness slowly dissolving. “You need to rest, Evie. This isn’t good for your health.”

“I’m okay,” she lied through her teeth, not even bothering to hide her yawn mid-sentence. Her entire body was shaking at this point, her legs struggling to hold her up even when using the counter as leverage. Steve let out a breath before taking care of Eve’s well-being for her.

Gently leading her with a hand on the small of her back, he nudged her toward the couch. A small protest escaped Eve’s lips, quickly cut off by the small stumble she took after her first step. She laid down without any protest as Steve slid his shoes off before joining her. He easily pulled her on top of him, leaning his head back against the arm of the couch. Their legs tangled together as Eve let her head rest heavily on Steve’s chest.

“But what about-“

“Shh,” he hushed her, petting at her knotted hair. He carefully worked out some of the knots his fingers encountered, trying not to hurt her too much. “We have a timer set. I’ll wake you when it’s done.”

Eve hummed, her eyes unable to stay open any longer. Within minutes, Steve felt her body shift, becoming slightly heavier and more relaxed as her breathing evened out. He looked down at her sleeping face, her long dark lashes resting peacefully against her little chipmunk cheeks, her lips parted ever so slightly in a plump pout.

Removing his hand from her hair, he moved it toward her face. His finger traced the light freckling over her nose and the tops of her cheeks. She looked so peaceful and finally at ease, Steve thought. Her moods shifted so quickly from raging and yelling to clingy and cuddly, but he loved her through all of them. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had been going through her head the past weeks, but she was getting better, getting comfortable. They were on a good run so far, all things considered.

Heavy footsteps approached from down the hall, and Bucky soon popped his head around the corner. Steve looked up to see his half-asleep husband alive but disheveled. His bed head nearly rivaled Eve’s- an impressive feat.

“What smells heavenly?” Bucky slurred out, looking from the mess in the kitchen back toward Steve and Eve on the couch. The smell of vanilla and custard woke him up, and he was slightly upset no delicious pastry was waiting for him.

Steve turned his neck toward Bucky, putting a finger to his lips before pointing at Eve. “She didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Bucky nodded slowly as if the movement of his head could wake the sleeping lump on Steve. He quietly whispered a response. “That still doesn’t explain what’s in the oven. You never bake.”

“Eve wanted to make us breakfast, but crashed out during it,” Steve said, idly running his fingers through Eve’s tangled hair.

Bucky let out a yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Shuffling over to the kitchen, he took note of the oven timer blinking down to its final minutes. “Five minutes left,” he murmured, turning back toward Steve and Eve. “Think we should wake her up?”

Steve shook his head, his hand never ceasing in its gentle petting of Eve’s hair. He couldn’t look away from her sleeping face- she looked so innocent and vulnerable when she slept, a far cry from her usual state recently.

“Let her sleep ‘til the timer goes off,” he said softly to not startle Eve awake. “She’s exhausted. Probably needs to go back to bed after eating.”

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Bucky grunted in agreement. His blue eyes flickered between the messy kitchen and the lump of a person curled against Steve. It wasn’t like Eve to go out of her way to take care of them- hell, she couldn’t even take care of herself at times. The thought made his chest ache.

“She’s been running herself into the ground recently,” Bucky remarked, voice quiet. “Ever since her last therapy appointment.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Yeah. We need to keep a better eye on her.”

The brunette debated on bringing up the topic of Steve’s Europe mission- they had yet to tell Eve about it. They both knew she wouldn’t take kindly to the news and dreaded when they would have to let her know.

Before Bucky could say anything else, the oven timer beeped loudly, breaking the soft hush of the room. Eve twitched in Steve’s arms before letting out a miserable little whine. She burrowed her face deeper into Steve’s chest, trying her hardest to escape the sudden noise.

Chuckling, Steve ran a hand down her back. “C’mon, Evie. Your pancake thing is done.”

“Too loud…” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. Eve sluggishly shifted against Steve with a groan.

Bucky pushed himself off the counter with a smirk. “I’ve got it.” He grabbed an oven mitt and carefully pulled the pannukakku out of the oven. Setting it on the stovetop, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, doll, this looks so fucking good. How did you even get this strawberry swirl in it?”

Eve, still limp for the most part, blinked sleepily before lifting herself off of Steve. “‘S called pannukakku,” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes.

Steve helped her sit up properly, placing a gentle reaffirming hand on her waist in case she teetered again. “Well, it smells amazing, Evie.”

The praise made Eve perk up a little, though her head still lolled against Steve’s shoulder. Bucky began serving up the custardy yet fluffy pancake, plating up generous portions for each of them. He set the table quickly before taking one of the two chairs, patting his thigh for Eve to come over.

“C’mere, baby,” he said, already knowing his girl wasn’t awake enough to sit up on her own.

Without hesitation, Eve slowly made her way over to Bucky with Steve’s helpful hand on her waist. She climbed onto Bucky’s lap, curling into him as he wrapped a secure arm around her waist. Yawning, she rested her head against his chest while he slid her plate closer to her.

Steve took the first bite, humming in approval. “Damn, this is pretty good.”

Following suit, Bucky nodded in agreement. He could tell Eve was fading again, so he began to feed her small bites himself. Eve barely registered the golden warmth of the pancake in her mouth, but sleepily accepted the offering.

Bucky pressed a kiss to her temple. “Best meal I’ve had in ages.”

A quiet giggle bubbled from Eve as she accepted another bite, her body melting against Bucky’s like butter. Between the sleepy haze and their constant stream of praise, Eve was left feeling light and floaty, a dopey little smile tugging at her lips.

“‘M good,” she mumbled, half drunk on their affection.

Steve chuckled, reaching across the table to ruffle her hair. “Yeah, you are, baby.”

Eve let out a soft, pleased squeal as she snuggled further into Bucky’s embrace. She was just a sleepy, smiling puddle of warmth and contentment.

———

Steve had been right when he said Eve would pass out right out after breakfast. One moment she went to get dressed for the day, and then she never returned from her bedroom. A quick look inside showed her fast asleep across the width of her bed, the clothes she picked out for the day spread out next to her.

“There was an attempt there,” Bucky commented. Steve just fondly shook his head, closing the door to let her sleep.

As the day neared noon, Eve once again emerged from her room. Only this time she was well rested and groggy from sleep. Just one look at her and Bucky could tell she was still in that soft, vulnerable state where she was not yet fully awake. She rubbed her eyes and let out a small yawn as she waddled toward Steve and Bucky on the couch, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging behind her.

Eve took up the small nook between Steve and the inner corner of the sectional, essentially cocooning herself between muscle and plush. Steve easily wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer.

“Did you sleep better this time?” Steve asked as Eve shifted against him, leaning her head against his shoulder. All she did she hum in response, closing her eyes as if she would fall asleep again.

Bucky briefly stood up, walking to the bathroom quickly to get Eve’s hairbrush. The mess of curls only worsened after her nap, and needed to be tended to before it matted up again.

“Alright, doll. Get into position.” It had become routine, really, Bucky brushing Eve’s hair. Her hair was ever so slightly longer than his own, and much thicker, curlier, and frizzier. A small gust of wind could knot the dark curls as it gently blew her hair all about. It was a pain to deal with, but Bucky gladly took the task over for her.

Instinctively, Eve shuffled onto the floor in between Bucky’s legs. She sat facing away from him with her legs splayed out in a ‘W’ shape. To Steve and Bucky, it looked uncomfortable on her joints, but the kid felt most at ease like that rather than kneeling or sitting down. She always was pretty strange, they thought.

As he bent forward ever so slightly, Bucky grabbed the ends of a section of Eve’s hair, working the brush through slowly yet firmly. It was easier to start at the ends and work his way up; it resulted in fewer complaints of pain and Eve over-dramatically claiming abuse to Steve. Bucky tried to be slow and careful, making sure not to tug too hard. It wasn’t exactly his nature to be soft, making these little moments a nice reprieve from normal.

Eve always melted into Bucky’s touch, her eyes closing and focusing on the way he’d section parts of her hair, running his fingers through the locks. Her pliant state let them know she felt safe enough to allow herself to be taken care of. If she could purr like a cat, she most definitely would.

Steve watched from his position next to Bucky, scooting away slightly to get a better view of his soulmates. There was something about seeing Eve so soft and trusting of them that made his heart ache in the best possible way.

He didn’t want to ruin the moment, but knew he had to. Breaking the news of his upcoming absence had no perfect time, but it was better to discuss it while she was calm rather than raging.

The weight felt like a burden on his body. Bucky, sensing the tension as Steve fidgeted around, looked over to the blonde with a small, reassuring smile. Bucky nodded slightly, knowing exactly what was going through his husband’s head. It was better to tell her now.

Taking the initiative, Steve moved down to the floor. He sat with his back against the couch, only Bucky’s knee separating him from Eve. The girl was still lost in Bucky’s touch, not noticing the new presence next to her. Steve sighed as he reached a hand out to brush his fingers against Eve’s cheek.

“Sweetheart, we have to talk about something.”

Eve only hummed in response, half distracted as Bucky continued to work on her hair. “Mm?”

He continued to cup Eve’s face, his thumb rubbing just under her eye. “I have a mission coming up,” he kept his voice soft and gentle. “I’ll be gone for a few days.”

Stillness. It was slight, but Steve could see the way she tensed up with the smallest pause. The soft smile on her face slowly dropped.

“When?”

“I head out this weekend.” Eve nodded once, staring down at her hands resting in her lap. The room was deathly silent besides the slow drag of the brush through her hair. It was a comforting constant.

“How long?”

That was the question Steve dreaded. He didn’t know. He and Sam estimated three days tops, but anything could happen. When discussing this later with Buck, they felt it was better to give a little lie than the cold truth.

“Five days. I’ll try my best to get back sooner, though.”

Inhaling deeply, Eve tried so hard to fight back the tears and panic. The exhale was staggered, and they all knew the tears would come soon enough. She tried to will herself to take in the information better, but that was always a losing battle. Tension crept into her shoulders, though she tried to hide it.

Putting the brush down next to him, Bucky reached down to tip Eve’s head up. Her watery brown eyes met his own. “I’ll still be here, Evie.” His hand wiped away a stray tear. “We’ll keep busy, I promise. You won’t even have the time to-“

“But I will miss him,” Eve interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. With that, the dam broke. Eve turned her head to the side facing away from Steve, sobbing into Bucky’s right leg. She curled into it as if she wanted to disappear into his warmth.

She wanted to be good, she really did. She tried too hard to take it all in stride, to make it not a big deal. Her boyfriends were superheroes, this was bound to happen. But she never was the type of person who could hold up to this type of news. The fear crept up on her until she had no choice but to shut down.

Bucky, without hesitation, scooped her up onto his lap. Steve was right up there next to them again, his arms wrapping both Bucky and Eve in a tight embrace. Eve trembled between them as her body was wracked with silent sobs. Her face was firmly buried in Bucky’s chest.

“Evie,” Steve desperately tried to find the words that would soothe her panic and anxiety. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, speaking softly into her hair. “I know this is hard. I don’t wanna leave either. But I will come back, I promise.”

The only response was another shaking breath followed by a soft sob. Her fingers clutched to Bucky’s hoodie, twisting the fabric to anchor herself.

“I know it ain’t the same, babe, but I’ll be with you the whole time. We’ll do whatever you want- movies, baking, games, whatever you choose.” Eve’s sobs softened at Bucky’s words. They could tell she was trying so hard to fight back her tears, switching from holding her breath to taking deep ones. Steve and Bucky tried to guide her through it, having Eve follow their example.

The sobs did die down eventually, leaving Eve a sniffling mess between them. Steve reached down, tilting Eve’s chin up so she had no choice but to look at him. “Talk to me, honey,” he pleaded softly, his voice near a whisper.

“You promise you’ll come back?” Her voice was small and fragile, breaking something in Steve’s heart. Her red-rimmed eyes looked at him, searching for reassurance.

He cupped her face, hands steady and warm and grounding. “Always. I swear it, Eve. Nothing’s going to keep me from coming home to you and Bucky.”

Love. Devotion. That is what Eve felt at that moment. It was a new feeling that left a part of her feeling uneasy, but warmth easily overpowered it.

Bucky pressed a kiss to her temple, his metal hand smoothing up and down her back in slow, rhythmic motions. “Stevie’s stubborn as hell. No way he’s letting anything stop him from getting back to us.”

That got a small smile out of Eve, a shaky, watery laugh escaping her lips. The worst of the sobs had passed, but the lingering anxiety still clung to her. They weren’t rushing her though, they just held her and let her feel her emotions.

Steve gently wiped away the dampness on her cheeks with his thumbs. “We’ll count down the days together, hmm? And I’ll check in as much as I can.”

Eve gave the smallest of nods, her fingers uncurling from Bucky’s hoodie. “Okay,” she whispered, trusting her soulmate. It still hurt. She hated this. But the loving warmth made it a little easier to believe his words.

Soon, she was shifted fully onto Steve’s lap before Bucky stood up with a big stretch. “Alright, kid, let’s get you some water before you give yourself a headache from all that crying.” He said fondly, reaching down and running a hand through Eve’s hair. Her eyes closed at the touch, her body torn between leaning into Bucky’s touch and Steve’s body heat.

“We’ll pick a movie to watch while Buck plays water boy.”

“Watch it, punk.” Bucky sassed back, grabbing Eve’s pink straw cup from the cabinet. The cup had been damn near $25, way too much for a stupid cup. But alas, Eve absolutely needed it because it was the perfect shade of pink, she needed a cup for her iced coffees, it would motivate her to drink more water, et cetera. It was very rare that Eve wanted anything that badly, so Steve and Bucky decided to just bite the bullet and spend the money on the café branded cup.

After filling it with ice and water, Bucky handed it off to Eve. She and Steve had relocated further down the couch, with Steve stretching out on the chaise with Eve sitting crisscrossed next to him.

“Okay, but Moana is such a good movie, Steve. And the soundtrack? A masterpiece.”

“We are not watching Moana for the thirty-second time.”

Eve took the cup from Bucky with a pout. She sipped from the straw and threw herself back against the couch in protest. She wanted to watch Moana, and it wasn’t fair that they just didn’t see the absolute cinema that it truly was.

The curtains closed, encapsulating the room in a calming darkness. Light from the kitchen still streamed in but was less harsh than the patio windows. It felt cozy and domestic, perfect for a day of snuggles and movies. Bucky moved from the window back toward the couch, sitting down on Steve’s lap.

“What, are you just not gonna let me watch the movie now?” Steve laughed, gently pushing Bucky’s head off to the side so he could see the screen.

“Thought you didn’t want to watch Moana?” Bucky smirked, grabbing the remote from Steve’s hand and opening the Disney app. Eve watched their shenanigans and chuckled behind her straw, coming up with a grand idea.

The cup was sat down on the coffee table as Eve moved to sit on Bucky’s lap, abandoning her blanket on the couch next to them. Steve groaned at the increasing weight on his body; this wasn’t what he had in mind for a cuddle pile. Nevertheless, he bit his tongue and bore through it, motivated by his soulmates’ fits of giggles.

[ironstrangle]

Kissing Sam Wilson #25 - Him (SamBucky, but Implied SamSteve and Stucky, 600 words)

@samsseptember prompt - Part Time Avenger | On The Run

“I always wanted to ask you,” Bucky admitted, as he looked down at the photograph. It was a grainy photo, probably taken on some cheap portable device. Sam and Steve smiled at the camera, but he could see the weariness on their faces. At the time of the photo, they were on the run from their own government. “I never really knew the right way to ask, but why did you follow Steve?”

Sam swallowed hard at those words. His eyes seemed to be fixated on the photograph. He looked as though looking away would be painful to him.

“That’s actually a pretty good question,” Sam chuckled, turning the photograph around so that it was facing down against his palm. That seemed to make it easier to focus on the man in front of him. “I mean, I knew why I followed Steve at first. I had lost Riley in the same way he lost you. I knew that I’d do anything to get my other half back and if it was possible for Steve, we had to try it.”

Bucky nodded, appreciative of the words. Sam’s empathy was something that he’d fallen in love with right away. He was so good to other people. He had lost a lot, suffered a lot in his life, but unlike some people, it hadn’t made him crueler. It had made him more compassionate, more loving, more intense.

“But that doesn’t explain why you became a literal fugitive for the man.”

Sam’s cheeks turned a little redder, confirming something about him that Bucky had long suspected. It didn’t bother him. He and Sam were in a healthy relationship that was going strong, even though by every other piece of evidence, it shouldn’t. They were doing well, and they loved each other.

The fact of the matter was, though, that they had both been in love with Steve Rogers at one point in their lives.

“When was it for you?” Bucky asked, the realization dawning easily.

“I would say just before the Accords fight,” Sam admitted. His face turned bright red, but to his credit, he flipped over the photo so that they were both looking at Steve’s stupid, handsome face. “Then, when he stood up for what he believed in…I was sunk. It was…it was silly…”

“It wasn’t silly,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “You have never judged me for my feelings for Steve.”

“Yeah, but you two had a lot more history, a lot more going between you two.”

“I fell in love with him for mostly the same reason,” Bucky admitted, squeezing his hand tightly. Sam felt the pressure there between them. “I saw his determination when he was a small kid, literally weighing about a hundred pounds. I saw the fact that he would never back down. It was hard not to fall for him.”

“Now look at us.”

Steve was gone, and they were a couple. They were, actually, doing well as pair-bonded. It worked perfectly. Their opinions about Steve were a little bit on the iffy side. They both loved and admired him more than they cared to admit, but there would always be that pain, that little bit of soreness.

“He brought us together, right?” Bucky said with a grin, kissing Sam and tucking him close to his chest.

“That he did.”

[azriona]

Oh, this is a fun list! Thanks for the tag, Society! 🥰🥰🥰

Here we go:

First Character You Wrote a Fanfiction About: The first fanfic I wrote was for The Phantom of the Opera, so Erik was probably the first, since as best as I can recall, Christine and Raoul don’t show up until later in the story. (The fic is not online and never will be; I’m not sure I even have a copy anymore. And besides, the last time I did find a copy and read it, it was laughably bad.)

Last Character/Current Fixation: Bucky Barnes keeps showing up in my fics, which is really funny to me because my first fixation in the MCU was Clint Barton. The Winterhawk got me, y’all.

Fic You Are Proudest Of (shamelessly self-promote yourself): I don’t know if “proudest” equals “closest to my heart,” but here you are: 3:07 a.m. from Sherlock BBC. The Next Level from YOI. Not a Fairy Tale Kiss from the MCU.

Most Popular Fic: According to AO3 and going by kudos, it’s either Timing or Those Three Words (which is really, really quicky catching up to Timing), but honestly? I think more people remember Mise en Place. If anyone in the Sherlock fandom still remembers me, it’s for that fic, and I’ve got so many good memories associated with it that I don’t mind one bit!

Fic you wrote that you DISLIKE the Most: I love all my fics (though I admit some more than others), but I can’t think of one I actively dislike, because if I dislike it, I don’t write it and I sure as anything don’t post it. There’s a few I don’t read again though, but not because I dislike them. I can’t read Makkachin’s chapter in The Next Level because it makes me cry too hard when I try.

Strangest Fic/People wonder where it came from/Why: I think the only fics I ever wrote that make people ask what I was smoking were the Broadway Musical Parodies. (Most of which are lost to time but they were HP so whatever.) They were so much fun, though.

Strangest Thing You've Ever Learned For a Fic: Look, my brain can rationalize anything, I’m not sure there’s anything truly strange that I’ve had to learn. Maybe a deep-dive into what Japanese products could reasonably be found in Russian grocery stores, though.

Favorite AU Type to Write: Omegaverse. (Which should surprise only the newer followers, honestly.)

Favorite Trope/Type of thing to Write: Madcap hijinks. If I’m giggling like mad, it’s more entertaining for everyone. Except maybe the characters themselves, but whatever, they know what they did.

Let's see... tagging @cecebeanie, @paula-in-dreamland, @cowboylikeyouu, and @mrsbuckybarnes1917. And anyone else who wants to play!

First, Best, Worst Fanfic Tag Game

This is coming from a different game I was tagged in about what fictional men make you feral. While going through them I realized I have a lot of fics that I've never talked about and I can't be the only one. Everyone has first fics, best, proudest, saddest, etc.

Let the chaos commence:

First Character You Wrote a Fanfiction About: Gaara from Naruto. Boy needed a hug. Murderous psycho but first thoughts were: That boy needs a hug and that's all he really wants.

Last Character/Current Fixation: Bucky Barnes. I don't think I need to explain this one.

Fic You Are Proudest Of (shamelessly self-promote yourself): Howling Witch. Not my most popular at all but I'm proud of it because I actually like how it's coming together stylistically. I actually feel like I'm doing something right with how it's developing. Not all the time, but some things. It's 3rd POV, named FMC, but I'm happy about it.

Most Popular Fic: Care. Period care fic with Bucky because I was in pain that day and wanted some care myself. Self-indulgent but it made me feel better and I hope it made others feel better, too.

Fic you wrote that you DISLIKE the Most: I know it's a hard one, and if there isn't one don't answer it. Personally I'm happy with what I have out right now. In the past, that hasn't always been true and I've had fics that I just didn't like when I went back to them. I had one where it was a Kili x OC fic and I just didn't like how the OC was going so I scrapped it.

Strangest Fic/People wonder where it came from/Why: I wrote several fics that were a LOTR/Hobbit crossover with Skyrim where the dragons were shapeshifting people and I made up an entire culture for them.

Strangest Thing You've Ever Learned For a Fic: Because of the last answer I became semi-fluent in Skyrim Draconic. Not Shouts. I mean conversational.

Favorite AU Type to Write: Vampires (even if they're bad in my current fic, I still have a thing for them) and Wolves.

Favorite Trope/Type of thing to Write: When the characters know they like each other and want each other but they aren't intimate or able to be together immediately for whatever reason. They may be flirty and kissy with each other, they may even have sex, but it takes them a while to get to actual intimacy. Don't know what to call it...Slowburn Express? I love the first flush of romance and writing that but I like writing what happens beyond that and the journey from that first butterfly sucker punch to being a truly, deep, and intimate relationship between two people.

That's it for now. Feel free to add some extra questions if you want.

Tagged list: @societyfolklore @mrs-elsie-barnes @sjsmith56

[fatecantstopme]

Bring Me Back to Life

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader (past)

Summary: The team comes home from a mission you sat out on due to an injury. Only thing is, the entire team doesn’t come back, at least not alive.

Steve comforts you, you comfort him…it turns to love.

Warnings: death, heartbreak, injuries, near-death experience, so much freaking angst it hurts. SMUT, oral (M & F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), praise kink, slight sub!steve. Light cursing

You were standing in your room, folding laundry, when you heard someone enter. You turned, expecting it to be Bucky, but in his place stood a solemn-faced Steve.

“Hey Stevie. You guys back?”

He just nodded as he stepped into your room completely. “(Y/N)…”

You stopped what you were doing and looked at him closely. “What’s wrong?”

“(Y/N/N), I think you should sit down.”

Your heart began to race. “Steve,” you said again. “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s—he’s in the infirmary.”

You paled, eyes widening. You started to move towards the door, but Steve stopped you.

“(Y/N), wait—“

“Bucky’s injured and you want me to wait?” you rushed from the room, ignoring Steve’s calls for you to stop.

When you reached the door to the infirmary, Sam was standing in front of it. He looked just as pained as Steve had, but you barely noticed. All you could think about was getting to Bucky.

“(Y/N), hold on,” Sam started.

You gave him a death glare as you pushed past him, fixated on the only thing that mattered to you: Bucky.

When you walked into the room, time seemed to stand still. On the bed in front of you laid the love of your life, your boyfriend of three years, Bucky Barnes. You knew with one glance that he was gone, but your brain refused to accept that information. He couldn’t be gone.

You walked towards him, ignoring the stares of your friends and teammates. Your hands began to shake as you reached the side of the bed. As soon as you looked at his face, you felt your world come crashing down. There could be no mistaking it, his soul was gone, all that remained was the shell of the man he was. You touched his right hand, surprised by the cold feeling.

Suddenly, your body ceased functioning and you collapsed in a heap on the floor. Several people rushed to your side, but Steve got there first. He wrapped his arms around you and held you as you screamed and sobbed. He didn’t let go even as you punched his chest and screamed at him for letting this happen. He didn’t let go even as you sobbed into his chest, soaking straight through his shirt. While he didn’t know what it was like to lose the love of his life, he felt your pain in his own way. His best friend was gone and he was never coming back.

**********

For eight months, Steve stayed by your side, grieving with you in a way only the two of you could. No one else understood the pain you were both experiencing, no one else could lessen that pain.

In time, you found it easier to think about Bucky without breaking down. You were able to share stories about him, laugh at things he'd done, smile at your memories of him. Steve was the only reason you had made it this far.

If he'd had to face this alone, Steve was certain he wouldn't have survived this pain...at least he wouldn't have come out the other side still himself. He'd lived it once before, but this was so much worse. The finality of it all, the certainty that his best friend was dead, was simply unbearable. He was grateful he didn't have to bear that pain alone, even if he would have given anything for you not to have ever had to feel the pain of losing someone you loved.

Steve was a good man, quite possibly one of the best, but he didn't feel like a good man anymore. Over the last couple months, he'd begun to feel things he shouldn't feel, want things he shouldn't--couldn't--want. The guilt had started to truly eat at him and he found himself avoiding you completely or acting weird in your presence.

Unbeknownst to Steve, you had noticed the change in his demeanor whenever you were around. He never wanted to pair up with you on missions anymore, he avoided standing near you during briefings, he didn't meet your gaze, and he'd even started avoiding team building exercises altogether, which was very unlike him.

Eight months was not a long time in the grand scheme of things, and certainly not a long time to mourn the loss of someone you loved. Especially someone like Bucky. He was your entire world, and you were his, but you were both painfully aware of the life you lived. There were no guarantees for tomorrow. Life was short, and therefore deserved to be lived to the fullest.

Bucky had once made you promise him that you wouldn't mourn him for the rest of your life should he die before you. You'd always told him to shut up, he wasn't going to die, so you didn't need to have this conversation, but Bucky was insistent. All he wanted was to know that you would live your life, that you would be happy, maybe even love again, after he was gone. You couldn't imagine a world without him in it, but you promised him because you could see how much it meant to him.

When he died, a part of you died with him. That's just how it goes when you lose someone you love, a piece of your soul goes with them. A few weeks after his death, you were reminded of the promise you'd made him as you went through his things. In typical Bucky fashion, he'd written you a letter, one you would only read upon his death.

When you read the letter, your heart broke for the second time.

My dearest (Y/N),

Yeah, I know that sounds sappy, but what can I say? I'm hopelessly in love with you. If you're reading this, then life didn't go as planned. I didn't get to watch you walk down the aisle or call you Mrs. Barnes. I didn't get to grow old with you, have a gaggle of children, and retire to some random suburb. There are so many things that I'm going to miss, so many things I can only imagine.

I know you hate it when I make you promise to live without me, but I can't leave this world knowing that it'll kill you too. All I want, all I've ever wanted, is for you to be happy. If I'm not here to ensure your happiness, then I need you to do it for me. Don't give up on life just because I'm not in it. Don't walk away from a chance at a beautiful life. I need you to live, to love, to move on. You may be the love of my life, but I don't have to be yours.

I know you're reading this and wishing you could smack me upside my head, but you made me a promise and I expect you to keep it. You gave me your heart and it's a gift I have always treasured, but now that I'm gone, I am giving it back to you, so you can give it to another deserving man. I know it hurts now, but I promise, it won't always feel this way.

I have loved you from the moment I met you, (Y/N), and I will love you long after I am gone. I would never ask you to stop loving me, but simply to make room in your heart for another. I'm so sorry I won't be there for all the incredible moments in your life. I'm sorry I won't be there to laugh with you, hold your hand, kiss you, or make love to you. Please know that you mean the world to me, and I will love you always. This is not the end of the book, simply the end of the chapter.

All my love,

Your Bucky

You broke down when you read it, the ache in your chest stronger than it had ever been. You wanted to crumple it up and throw it away, pretend like you'd never made that promise, like you'd never read the letter...but you couldn't. You'd never broken a promise and you certainly weren't going to start now.

You just didn't imagine that your heart would make room for someone else so quickly. Nor did you imagine it would be someone already in your life, someone close to both you and Bucky. You felt guilty for your feelings, but you knew Bucky would be happy to see you fall in love again. Bucky had always said Steve was the best man he'd ever known, so you had to believe he would approve of your choice.

But lately, things between you and Steve had been so strained. You weren't even sure you were friends anymore, let alone anything more than that. He was so far from you emotionally, it was as if he wasn't even there. It had been so long since you'd seen him smile, you'd almost forgotten what it looked like. The only time you heard his voice was when he was speaking to someone else or giving you an order. You didn't want to admit it, but your heart had started to break all over again.

**********

Three more months went by in much the same way. Steve iced you out completely, so you'd begun to treat him in the same manner. It nearly killed you to do it, but it hurt less than the alternative.

Little did you know, Steve was dying inside. The harder he pushed you away, the bigger the hole in his heart became. It had gotten to the point where he couldn't breathe in your presence without feeling like he was drowning. The worst part of it all was that he could see how much this was hurting you, how much he was hurting you. He would have given anything to make it stop, done anything, except for let himself love you.

On this particular day, you, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were out on a mission together. None of you had anticipated any issues, fully expecting the warehouse to be completely empty. Against your better judgment, the four of you had split up, each in search of what you came to find.

You'd been in the building for less than five minutes when all hell broke loose. You heard the shouts of your teammates over comms, followed by gunfire and loud thuds. You raced in the direction Natasha had gone, but were quickly stopped by three Hydra agents coming towards you.

You heard Steve's voice over the comms, asking where you were. You tapped the device in your ear to respond, but the three men moved more quickly than you'd expected. You shifted into battle mode and began to fight for your life. Every grunt, gasp, and curse came through loud and clear for your team to hear.

"(Y/N)!" Steve yelled again. "What's your location?"

"Left," you gasped out as you blocked a punch. "of--shit," you inhaled sharply as a blow landed to your side. "entrance," you finished, managing to land a punch of your own.

Steve knew you could handle yourself, just as well as Sam and Natasha could, but the thought of something happening to you spurred him into overdrive. He raced back the way he'd come, hoping to find you along the way. He could still hear you through your comms, which told him you were still fighting.

"I'm heading there now," Natasha's voice said over the comms.

She was closer to you than Steve was, but he didn't stop running in your direction. Before he could reach you, he ran into Sam just as he knocked out the last agent that had jumped him. "You good?" Steve asked.

"Fine. Let's go get (Y/N/N)," Sam responded.

As the two men ran, the sounds coming through the comms were getting more intense. Steve could tell you were losing steam, which meant you were at even more risk. Suddenly, he heard a pained gasp fill his ear, immediately followed by Natasha screaming your name.

Steve sped up, leaving Sam behind as he followed the sound of Natasha's scream. When he reached the open space, he saw something that terrified him beyond imagining. There were three men, one of which was clearly severely injured. The other two were actively fighting Natasha, but she was clearly holding her own. His eyes scanned the space and he saw your small form lying on the ground.

He raced towards you, not caring about anything but reaching your side. "(Y/N)!" he yelled.

You looked up towards him and his heart slowed down. You were alive.

He dropped to his knees when he reached you, eyes immediately assessing your body for injuries. You were clutching your side, hand covered in blood, pale face etched with pain.

"He stabbed me," you whispered.

Steve felt anger course through his veins, but he willed himself to remain calm and focus on you. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

You shook your head. "Help Nat."

Steve looked over to Natasha. She'd heard your statement on the comms and just shook her head. "I've got this. Go!"

Sam was running over to help Natasha, so Steve made the command decision to get you out of there. He scooped you up into his arms, trying to ignore your cry of pain as he lifted you. "Sorry, (Y/N)," he murmured.

"It's okay," you mumbled.

Steve moved with a speed he'd forgotten he had, racing towards the exit with your body in his arms. He didn't want to hurt you anymore than you already were, each movement jostling you painfully. You stayed as quiet as you could, biting your lip to avoid whimpering in pain.

When he got outside, Steve rushed towards the quinjet, jogging up the ramp and placing you as gently as he could on one of the bench seats. He started rummaging around the cabin, desperately searching for the first aid kit.

"Cabinet behind the pilot chair," you said softly.

"What?" Steve said as he turned to face you.

"The first aid kit," you said, pointing towards the cabinet.

He moved to open the cabinet you pointed at, pulling out the first aid kit and coming back to your side. "Can you lift your shirt up for me, (Y/N/N)?"

You moved your hand and pulled up your shirt slowly, allowing Steve to get a better look at your wound. He inhaled sharply before digging around in the kit to pull out cleaning supplies. "This is gonna hurt."

You nodded. "I know."

He didn't look at your face, still unable to make eye contact with you, focusing instead on cleaning the deep cut in your side. Even as he cleaned the wound, blood still flowed steadily from it. He quickly realized he wasn't going to be able to just stitch it up, he needed to try and stop the bleeding as best as he could and get you back to the compound.

"Stevie?" you whispered.

The softness of your voice scared him. He could tell how weak you were just from your voice. "Hey, hey, I'm here. You're okay," he said gently.

"Am I gonna die?"

For the first time in months, Steve made eye contact with you. He saw the fear in your eyes and immediately reached out to touch your face, cupping your cheek gently. "You're not going to die, (Y/N). I promise."

The authority in his voice almost made you believe that was a promise he could keep, but you knew better. You weren't sure how much blood you'd lost, but you imagined it was a fair amount based on how exhausted you suddenly felt. You just wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep.

When your eyes fluttered closed, Steve gently shook you. "Hey, stay with me, doll. Keep your eyes open."

You opened your eyes and looked at him. "I'm tired, Stevie."

Tears welled in his eyes. "I know, but you gotta stay awake, okay? Just stay awake."

You nodded, trying desperately to keep your eyes open as Steve pulled out several wads of bandaging and begins packing your wound to the best of his ability.

After a few minutes, Sam and Natasha came running up the ramp of the jet. Upon seeing you lying on the bench seat, Natasha rushed to the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's seat, preparing to take off. She knew you needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

"Buckle up, boys. I'm getting us back home in record time," she said as she started to take off.

Sam dropped to his knees beside Steve. "What do you need, man?"

"Get me more bandages," Steve insisted. His hands were holding the packed bandages into your wound, but he needed more. As Sam handed him more bandages, Steve pushed them farther into you.

You groaned in pain, eyes starting to close again.

"Don't you close your eyes on me, (Y/N)!" Steve yelled.

You couldn't do what he asked this time around. You were simply too tired, your eyes feeling too heavy. You could hear a mixture of Steve's and Sam's voices as your eyes fluttered closed and the world faded to black.

**********

You awoke to the steady sound of beeping, a sound you couldn't place. A few minutes passed and you began to wake up more fully, eyes finally fluttering open. You glanced around the room, quickly realizing you were in the infirmary back at the compound.

You groaned lightly as you tried to shift in the bed, sharp pain radiating from your side.

"(Y/N/N)?"

You turned your head and saw Steve moving towards the bed, concern on his face.

You offered him a small smile. "Hey," you whispered.

You watched his body relax, as if hearing your voice allowed him to finally breathe. He didn't quite meet your gaze as he spoke to you. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got stabbed," you joked lightly.

Steve winced. "It's not funny, (Y/N)."

You sighed. "I know, but I'm okay thanks to you."

He shook his head. "You're a fighter, (Y/N/N). That was all you."

"Well, either way, I want to thank you."

"You're welcome," he said softly.

He still wouldn't look at you and it was breaking your heart. You felt a wave of anger rush over you and you decided you just wanted to be alone. "I--uh--I'm tired."

"Oh--umm...okay, yeah, I'll, uh--I'll go," he said quickly.

You watched him walk out of the room and you exhaled heavily. The man had literally just saved your life and you were rude to him. You felt bad, but you were also so annoyed with him. He'd looked at you when he thought you were dying, but now that you were going to be okay? He couldn't look at you. It hurt more than you could ever express.

**********

Three days later, you were finally released from the infirmary and allowed to go back to your room. You were limping slightly, the pain in your side worsening if you walked too quickly. When you got to your room, you collapsed on your bed, tired of being stuck in the hospital bed. The comfort of your own bed quickly lulled you to sleep, the most restful sleep you'd had in days.

When you woke up, you were starving. You looked at your phone and realized you'd been sleeping for several hours and it was already 8pm. You dragged yourself out of bed and made your way downstairs to get some food.

When you entered the kitchen, you were surprised to see Steve sitting at the island, quietly eating a bowl of cereal by himself.

"Cereal at 8pm?" you asked with a chuckle.

Steve's head shot up at the sound of your voice. "I, uh--I haven't eaten much the last few days. I was hungry."

You cocked your head to the side as you regarded him. "Is everything okay? You normally eat enough for five grown men."

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "It's just been tough these past few days."

"Why? Did something happen?"

He just shrugged, staring down into his bowl of cereal.

"Stevie?" you whispered.

"I don't want to talk about it, (Y/N)."

You were so surprised by the sharpness of his voice that you instantly backed off. "Sorry. I'll just make a quick sandwich and I'll be out of your hair."

Steve exhaled loudly, the urge to punch himself in the face overwhelmingly strong. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to snap."

"It's alright." You set about making your sandwich in silence. After a few moments you spoke again. "If you decide you want to talk about whatever is bothering you, I'll be around."

He was surprised by your offer, but he nodded his appreciation. "Thanks."

"Anytime," you say as you grab your sandwich and make your way back to your room.

You don't see the way Steve stares at your back as you walk away, eyes filled with tears at the way you limped, pain obvious in every move you made. You didn't see the tears fall down his cheeks, nor the way he rubbed his forehead, stress evident on his features. He hated himself for so many reasons in this moment, shame oozing from every pore in his body. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you, but that was clearly what he was doing. He wanted to talk to you, to explain what he was doing, to finally tell you the truth, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to go to you, couldn't tell you how he felt...couldn't even admit it to himself.

**********

Almost three weeks passed before you finally started to feel relatively normal. Your side still ached a little, but you'd been cleared to start working out again. You were insanely thankful, having been cooped up in your room for weeks.

You walked into the compound's gym, happy to find it blissfully empty. It was early morning, long before most of your team was even awake. You started with your stretching before hopping on the treadmill, knowing you still needed to take it slow.

You didn't notice when Steve entered the gym, surprise on his face to see you there. He hadn't heard that you'd been cleared, but he also hadn’t spoken to you since that night in the kitchen. Maybe a word of greeting in passing, but nothing more than that.

He knew he couldn't just ignore you, so he decided to make his presence known. "Good morning," he called.

You turned your head and shot him a smile. "Good morning, Steve."

"When did you get cleared?"

"Last night actually."

Steve nodded. "Awesome. How, uh--how are you feeling?"

"Actually really good. Still a little sore, but almost back to normal. Being able to get back into the grove of things is definitely going to help. I was so tired of sitting around my room."

"I bet," he said as he picked up a set of free-weights. "I would probably die of boredom."

You chuckled at the the joking tone of his voice. "I almost did," you joked back.

He just smiled, attention now focusing on his own workout.

You watched quietly, eyes locked on the man across the room from you. He was looking in the mirror as he lifted, making sure to keep his stance proper.

After several minutes, Steve's eyes drifted, meeting yours in the mirror. You blushed as you looked away, slightly ashamed for staring at him so blatantly. To your surprise, you saw a small smirk form on Steve's lips, but he didn't say anything.

Steve was equally surprised to see you watching him. What really got to him was the clear desire he swore he saw in your eyes...but that couldn't be. You were Bucky's girl, always would be. It didn't matter that Bucky was never coming back, in Steve's mind, you belonged to someone else.

The two of you continued to do your workouts in silence. You finished up about 30 minutes later and headed back to your room to take a shower.

While in the shower, you let your mind wander...thinking about your relationship with Steve and how complicated everything had become. You just wanted to talk to him, to get back to a good place with him.

As soon as you got out of the shower, you quickly threw some clothes on, not even bothering with undergarments. Moments later, you were standing in front of his door, banging on it like a crazy person.

After several knocks, the door swung open to reveal a scantily clad Steve, hair and chest still damp from his own shower. When he saw that it was you knocking on the door, a deep blush heated up his face and he practically jumped backwards, searching for a shirt to throw on.

"Hey, sorry--I didn't know it was you. Would have put a shirt on," he mumbled as he pulled a clean t-shirt over his head.

"It's okay," you said as you entered his room and closed the door. "We need to talk."

"Umm, okay," he said. "What about?"

"I think you know."

He looked at the floor, the wall, the ceiling, literally anywhere but at you.

"That!" you yelled, pointing at his face.

"What?"

"You haven't looked at me since the day I got stabbed...and even before that, you could barely look at me. We don't speak, we don't hang out, it's like we don't even know each other. I need you, Steve, and I hate this. I hate how this feels."

Steve was quiet, knowing you were right.

"You have nothing to say?"

"I--I don't...what do you want me to say?"

"Anything, Steve! I want you to just say something! Tell me I'm crazy, tell me you hate me, tell me you never want to see my face again, but dear god, please don't keep doing this to me. I can't live like this," you ended your rant with in a whisper.

Steve looked down at the floor, the pain in your voice eating away at his resolve. He hated this as much as you did, but he wasn't sure what he should do...what he should say. "I don't hate you," he said softly.

You inhaled a stuttered breath and tried to keep your voice even, "Then why are you doing this?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered. "I'd never want to hurt you."

You took a step towards him. "At least look at me," you begged.

He knew if he looked into your eyes, he would lose it. But the pain in your voice mixed with the soft pleading tone nearly broke his heart in two. His eyes very slowly rose up to meet yours. The moment they did, everything changed. All of the emotions both of you had been keeping locked away came bubbling to the surface, evident in your gazes.

"(Y/N)," he whispered.

The way he said your name spoke volumes. You suddenly realized he felt the same way you did: guilt and shame covering a deep, endless love.

You took a step toward him, then another, until you were close enough to touch him. You started to reach up towards his face, but his gaze shifted away from you.

"Don't look away," you pleaded softly, laying your palm against his cheek.

His eyes met yours again and your heart clenched in your chest. There was so much you wanted to say, to explain, but you couldn't. It was as if your entire vocabulary had disappeared in an instant.

The same could not be said for Steve. Your loss for words somehow opened the floodgates of his mind. "Out of all of the things I imagined happening in the last year, falling in love with you was not one of them. I never intended to, I wouldn't do that to you, or to Bucky...but it just happened. I thought the guilt would ease if I didn't tell you how I felt, but it kept eating away at me, so I thought that maybe if I pulled away from you, the love would go away too."

"How'd that go for you?" you asked softly.

He laughed mirthlessly, taking your hand from his cheek and holding it in his own. "Worse than I could ever describe." He took a deep breath. "When you got hurt...I was terrified. I thought I was going to lose you and it nearly killed me. But when you survived and started to get better, the guilt I felt was drowning me. Guilt for loving you, guilt for hurting you, guilt for letting you down...I couldn't breathe."

"I know how it feels to carry that guilt," you murmured. "When I realized I'd fallen for you, I hated myself. My only thought was how could I do that to Bucky? It felt like I was betraying him." You sighed. "But I know better than that. I know Bucky better than that. All he ever wanted was for me to be happy, even if he wasn't around for it."

"He was my best friend," Steve whispered. "And he loved you more than anything in this life. It feels like I'm spitting on his grave bc I feel the same way he did."

"He wrote me a letter," you said softly. "'You may be the love of my life, but I don't have to be yours.'" You shook your head. "He made me promise that if anything ever happened to him, I would move on, find love again, live a beautiful life. It was the only thing he ever wanted for me."

Steve was surprised to hear Bucky had written you a letter. His friend had never mentioned anything like that to him. He wasn't surprised, however, to hear what Bucky made you promise him. He was always planning for the future...just in case.

"I didn't think I'd fall in love again so quickly, but it's not something I can control," you said. "It's too late now. My heart chose you."

For the first time in his life, Steve didn't think. He didn't pause, didn't try to be rational. He acted on impulse, on desire, on months of pent-up emotion.

His lips met yours in an unexpected fiery kiss, a kiss that stole all the air from your lungs. It was intoxicating and overwhelming, the kind of kiss you never wanted to end.

But of course, it had to end, you both needed to breathe, though neither of you wanted to part. You were breathless when Steve's lips left yours, leaving you wanting more.

His forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours. "If we do this," he whispered, "there's no going back."

You pulled away so you could look up at him. "I don't wanna go back."

Your words were the confirmation he needed to hear. He pulled you in tightly against himself, hands grabbing at your hips to keep you close. His lips slammed against yours again, tongue sliding into your mouth, a low moan slipping from his throat.

You found yourself suddenly desperate, the need to feel his skin against yours so overwhelming you couldn't breathe. You clawed at his shirt, silently urging him to remove it. He got the hint, pulling away from you just long enough to tug his shirt off over his head.

Steve wanted you so badly, his entire body ached with need, but he didn't want to lose control. He knew very well that his sheer size and strength could easily hurt you, and he wanted to be gentle.

His hands slid up under your shirt, tugging it upwards to help you remove it. When he saw your bare chest, he let out a low groan. "Holy...no bra?"

"Comfort first," you said lightly before leaning back into him, tugging his face down to yours, lips against his ear. "No panties, either."

Steve felt his cock jump at your words and if the man cursed, this would be the moment to do it. Instead he said, "You're killing me, doll."

"I'm just getting started," you teased before pushing him back so he fell onto the bed. His hands were still gripping you tightly, so he pulled you along with him. You landed on top of him with a chuckle before kissing him affectionately.

You made quick work of removing his pants, along with your own, revealing your nude form to him. He found himself wanting to touch and kiss every square inch of your body, but it seemed you had other plans.

You began to pull his underwear down and his cock sprang free. It was as large as you expected and you licked your lips in anticipation.

Steve watched you with wide eyes, much less comfortable in the bedroom than you were, given his minimal experience.

Your eyes flicked up to his as you slowly leaned down, taking his cock into your mouth, eyes never leaving his. His moan was so loud it sent a wave of desire straight to your core.

Steve watched as you began to move, lips wrapped tightly around his cock. He'd never felt something so incredible in his life, his moans evidence of his pleasure. His hand grabbed your hair and pulled it to the side so he could watch you as you sucked.

"Feels so good, doll," he groaned.

You moaned, sending vibrations through his cock, eliciting a deep moan from his chest. You started to pick up speed, your motions urging him quickly towards his orgasm.

"Doll, if you--god--if you keep doing that I'm gonna cum," he whispered.

You lifted off his cock for a second and looked up at him with a smile. "That's the point, handsome."

You descended on him again, picking up right where you left off. His hips began to jerk, his breathing shallowed, and his moans increased in volume.

You knew he was about to cum, so you relaxed your throat and took all of him into you. The sudden constriction and the warm, wet heat of your mouth had him cummming instantly, gasps of your name leaving his lips.

You swallowed everything he had to give, making sure to lick his tip clean once he was finished. His body shuddered and he tugged gently on your hair, letting you know he was sensitive.

He pulled you up to him, reaching out to drag your face down to his so he could kiss you. "That was incredible, doll," he murmured.

"Glad I could be of service," you said lightly.

He grinned. "I think it's my turn."

"Oh?" You knew Steve wasn't as experienced as you were, but that didn't mean he didn't have some moves up his sleeve.

"Mhmm," he hummed. "Come on up here and sit on my face, pretty girl."

Your eyes widened in shock, jaw going slack at his words. "Pardon me?"

He chuckled at your shocked expression. "You heard me, doll. I want you to sit on my face."

"And here I thought you were a good boy, Steven," you teased.

He groaned involuntarily at the praise and you picked up on it immediately.

"You like it when I call you a good boy, don't you?"

He nodded vigorously, surprised at the way those two words turned him on.

You ran your fingers through his hair gently. "Well, you have been a really good boy for me so far, so I suppose I could give you a reward."

"Please," he begged softly, not quite sure what he was begging for.

You grinned wolfishly. "Lay flat, pretty boy."

The giant man practically preened at your words. He felt this overwhelming desire to do whatever you asked him to do, to please you in every possible way. He was willing to do anything to earn your praise.

Once he was comfortable, you moved to hover over his head, preparing to give him what he asked for. "You sure, baby?" you asked sweetly.

His hands grabbed your thighs, gripping them tightly. "I wanna taste you," he whimpered.

You could have cum right there just looking at his needy expression and the pleading tone in his voice. You lowered yourself onto his mouth, allowing him to determine how much of your weight he wanted on his face.

His tongue darted out, licking against your pussy gently. He grunted, clearly bothered by the way you seemed to hover over him. He pulled you down against him with all of his strength and held you there firmly.

He let out a moan of contentment as he began to eat you out in earnest.

"Holy...shit, baby," you moaned, grabbing at his headboard for support.

In between desperate moans of pleasure, all you could think was holy fucking shit, where the hell had he learned how to do that? It was like he knew every single one of your sweet spots without having to learn them. He knew exactly what you needed to have you falling apart on his mouth in minutes.

"Oh god--Steve, please--don't stop, baby--please."

He loved hearing you beg, especially in that tone. He could practically hear the pleasure dripping from your voice as your arousal dripped into his mouth. He wanted to hear the sounds you made as you came, so he sped up his movements, silently begging you to soak his face.

And soak his face you did. You came with a cry of his name, juices pouring into his mouth as he continued to lap at your core. His tight grip on your thighs kept you from squirming out of his grip until he decided he was finished tasting you.

When he finally let you go, you collapsed on the bed beside him. "Good lord, Steve," you said breathlessly. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

He was still licking his lips as he rolled over to look at you. "Would you laugh if I said 'the internet'?"

Your head snapped to the left to look at him. "You learned how to eat my pussy like that from the internet?"

He could hear the incredulity in your voice and it made him blush with pride, and maybe a little embarrassment at hearing you say the word 'pussy'. "So I did alright?"

You grabbed his face and held him still. "Baby, you were amazing."

His blush only deepened. "Thanks, doll."

"Thank you," you teased warmly.

He chuckled lightly. "Is it okay if I'm not done with you yet?"

You grinned. "I'd be upset if you were."

He grinned back and rolled on top of you, wedging himself comfortably between your thighs. He looked down at you, eyes taking in your beautifully disheveled appearance. "You're so gorgeous," he whispered reverently.

Now it was your turn to blush under his appreciative gaze. His fingers ghosted over the scar on your side, a look of sadness crossing his features. Much to your surprise, his hand kept moving and his expression lost any trace of sorrow. While he hated seeing a scar mar you perfect skin, it served as a reminder of your strength.

His hands gently traced the tattoo on your collarbone and shoulder, eyes following the path as he moved. You couldn't help the shiver that raced through your body at his touch, the need for him pooling in your belly once again.

"Baby?"

"Hmm?" he hummed in response, eyes still on your body.

"I need you," you whispered.

His eyes shot to yours instantly, cock twitching at the need in your voice. "What do you need me to do, sweet girl?"

You bit your lip as you looked up at him, suddenly feeling shy. You had no issue demanding what you wanted from your partner, but Steve was different. He was softer, gentler, more innocent than anyone you'd ever been with. The coarse way you usually talked in the bedroom didn't feel quite right with him, so you tried a much softer approach.

"I wanna feel you inside me, baby," you murmured. "I ache for you."

Steve groaned lowly. "Anything you want, doll."

He lined himself up with your entrance and looked up at you for confirmation before slowly entering your core. He could see the pain on your face, despite the moans coming from your mouth, and it hurt him more than he'd care to admit.

"I'm sorry, doll," he whispered, placing soft kisses all over your face. "I know it hurts, sweet girl. I'll go slow--I'm sorry."

You loved how much this man cared about you, how gentle he wanted to be. It warmed your heart, but you didn't want him to think that you couldn't handle the stretch...this wasn't your first rodeo, so you knew the pain would quickly subside.

"Look at me," you said firmly, hands reaching down to grab at Steve's hips.

He looked at you, concern etched onto his handsome face.

"I can handle a little pain, Steve." Your hands slid to his ass. "I need to feel you inside of me and I need it now." You dug your fingers into him and pulled his lower body towards you, forcing his cock farther into you.

Your demands, mixed with the incredible feeling of being inside of you, urged Steve to plunge the rest of the way into your core. You gasped at the feeling of fullness, hands coming to rest on his biceps.

He was breathing hard already, the feeling of being inside of you was something he could never describe. It was the most pleasure he'd ever experienced and he hadn't even moved yet.

"Make love to me," you begged, a bit of dominance in your voice.

Steve's body reacted completely on its own, hips moving back and forth without thought. The moment he began to move, his brain was so consumed with pleasure that he couldn't think of anything else but you.

"You feel so good, doll. I love being inside you," he moaned into your ear.

Your brain had already began to shut down, blinding pleasure building in your abdomen. The only thing you cared about was reaching your high. "Harder, Steve," you begged.

He was slightly surprised by your demand, but he wasn't going to deny you. His hips began to move faster, slamming into you with more force. He didn't feel like he was giving you what you needed, so he shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts.

You cried out in pleasure, the new angle allowing him to hit a spot so deep inside of you, it was rare a man would find it. "Steve!" you moaned.

Even if he had been completely deaf and blind, he still would have known how much you enjoyed what he was doing by the way your core squeezed him so tightly. He was finding it extremely difficult not to cum, but he would be damned if he came before you. He was a gentleman, after all.

"Baby girl, I need you to cum for me," he whispered.

You were so close, but you needed more. "Talk dirty to me," you begged. Had you been in your right mind, you wouldn't have asked this of him, but your brain was too clouded with pleasure to think straight.

Steve was shocked by your request, but he could see it in your eyes--you needed this. He wasn't accustomed to dirty talk, but he'd be a liar if he said he'd never seen it in porn or read it in a book.

"You're doing so well for me, baby," he said, not sure if he was saying the right thing.

You moaned softly, spurring him on.

"So tight and warm. Squeezing me so good," he murmured.

"So close, baby," you cried.

"Yeah? You like the way my cock feels inside you?"

You nodded rapidly, unable to speak.

"Yeah, I know you do. Making such pretty little sounds for me."

You were about to tip over the edge, legs shaking, head thrown back, moans louder than before.

Steve knew it too...he could tell you were close. He wracked his brain for something else to say--something that would hit you just right.

"That's it pretty girl. This pretty little pussy was made for me. All mine," he growled. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him a little uncomfortable to say it, but he thought it would do the trick.

You screamed his name, orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. Steve kept thrusting, making sure to help you ride out your orgasm, while also chasing his own.

Moments later, he came deep inside of you, grunting out your name as he filled you with his seed.

You were a shaking mess beneath him once he finished and he pulled out slowly, making sure not to hurt you. He laid on his side beside you and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you tightly against him with your back to his front.

"You okay, doll?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," you said, still trying to catch your breath.

"Good." He was also out of breath, but it took him a lot less time to come back to normal.

Once your breathing had gone back to normal, his body relaxed. He was consumed with the desire to protect you and ensure you were happy and safe. Even the sounds of your labored breathing had his heart clenching in his chest.

"Excellent work with the dirty talk," you said softly. "Sorry I asked you to do that--I--I wasn't thinking straight."

He kissed your shoulder softly. "It's okay, doll. I'll do anything you ask of me. I'm glad I did okay."

"Okay?" you said in surprise, turning to look at him. "That was way better than okay."

He blushed, basking in your appreciation. "Would you laugh if I said it was the best sex of my life?"

You grinned. "I would never laugh, Steve. It's a honor to hold such a title...and also gives me a really good incentive."

"Incentive for what?"

"To do better next time," you teased, kissing him before rolling over so you could face him properly. "And the time after that."

He laughed. "I'll work on the dirty talk too, since I know you like that."

You smiled and touched his face gently. "I know how hard it was for you to say the word 'pussy', but it was hot as hell."

The redness in his cheeks deepened. "That's how you know I really love you. I'm willing to say things I've never said in my life."

"Well you also have a massive praise kink, so that probably factors in."

"A praise kink? What's that?"

You chuckled at his innocence. It was so damn cute. "You know how you liked it when I called you a 'good boy'?"

He groaned at the thought. "I think I remember."

You smiled. "Yeah, that's a praise kink. And the way you reacted to my demands? Kinda submissive...which, is a bit of a change for me, but it's incredibly hot."

"Really?"

You sat up slightly, gesturing to his large form. "Baby, you're a huge, hulking, massive specimen of a man...to have you being so submissive to me, so willing to do anything I ask? It's the biggest turn on I can imagine."

"So you think I'm a huge, hulking, massive specimen of a man?" he teased.

You smacked him lightly and he grabbed you, flipping you under him with ease. He ran his fingers lightly over your skin, tickling you as he moved.

"Oh my god, stop--stop," you said breathlessly, laughter spilling from your lips.

He stopped and his lips met yours in a sweet, loving kiss. "Sorry, doll. You're just so cute, I couldn't help it."

You rolled your eyes jokingly. "You're a dork."

"Mhmm," he hummed. "I'm your dork."

You sighed softly. "Yes you are, and I'm pretty damn lucky."

"Super lucky," he teased.

"Oh so you're a brat too?"

"A brat?"

Your eyes held a dark sparkle in them that intrigued him, but also kind of turned him on.

"Oh baby, I have so much to teach you."

"Can we start now?" he asked lightly, eyes full of mischief and love.

You grinned ear to ear, reaching up to tug his face down to yours. You kissed him deeply, sparking a passionate desire deep within him. He was putty in your hands and you reveled in the feeling of power. But if he asked you for something, you would do it without a second thought...so perhaps you were just as malleable in his hands as he was in yours. In that moment, you decided you wanted to spend the rest of your life finding out.

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Midnight Dip

Pairing; TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary; You and Bucky fuck in your newly installed hot tub.

Word Count; 1383

Warnings; NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit sexual content/language, cursing, pet names, unprotected vaginal sex, hot tub sex, nipple/breast worship, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note; I hope you like it :D

Requested by the lovely @secretnutluminary

My request are open!

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

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Credit @asterie for the gif

After a couple of weeks of renovating yours and Bucky’s backyard patio, the final piece of the project was coming together at last. The new hot tub being installed was the cherry on top, and you both couldn’t wait to have your first dip in it.

The tub installer had instructed you both to wait till around midnight to take a dip since the hot tub needed a few hours to balance out the added chemicals in the water.

It was a little disappointing that you couldn’t use it straight away, but it was important to listen to the experts; they knew the best.

So there was nothing for you and Bucky to do but wait it out until nightfall came. Then you and he could finally dip yourselves into the relaxing warmth of the tub.

——

The clock had finally struck midnight, and the time had come for you and Bucky to hop into the hot tub.

Bucky quickly changed into his swim shorts and headed downstairs first as you needed a few more extra minutes to get ready.

A few months ago, you had bought a new bikini set, but there hadn’t been an appropriate time to use it, until now.

You put on the light pink two-piece garment and examine your body in the full-length mirror, giving yourself a nod of approval of the fabric accentuating your features.

When you came outside to the newly renovated backyard patio, Bucky had already situated himself comfortably into the warm and bubbly water. His arms rested on the back of the tub as he waited on you to arrive.

You got in on the opposite side of him and sank into the heated water. The warmth instantly calmed your flesh and mind. Your eyes closed in bliss, and a sound of utter enjoyment came out of you as the jets on your back felt soothing.

As you opened your eyes after a few moments of enjoying yourself, they fixated themselves on Bucky’s expression. His eyebrow was raised with a stern look on his face.

You knew the reasoning for his displeased appearance, and that was because you were sitting the farthest away from him. It was done intentionally, of course, to tease him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Relaxing,” you said as a matter of fact in a taunting manner, “enjoying my new hot tub.”

You knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and you couldn’t help but flash him a big smile to tease him even more.

“No, I mean, why are you sitting all the way over there, silly?”

“I-“

Bucky didn’t let you sass him even more. His hands grabbed your ankles to pull you over on his side. A yelp came from you as the motion was quick.

“Sit beside me, doll.”

Once you were by his side, he draped his vibranium arm around your shoulder, keeping your body close to his, so you couldn’t escape his embrace.

He turned your face to his and kissed you, sweet and caring at first, but it didn’t take long before his actions became sinful and demanding.

So much for a relaxing evening in the hot tub. But knowing you and Bucky, you always found a way to turn every situation into a passionate moment. So it came to no surprise that you were now sitting on top of him, feeling his growing bulge against your core.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it, Bucky?”

A throaty chuckle sounded from him as his hands palmed your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his powerful grip.

“Well, you know me, doll. I can never resist you. Especially when you look so good in your pretty bathing suit.”

His lips collided against yours in a heated kiss, your tongues caressing one another. A rugged grip was kept on your hips underneath the water. His hold on you helped grind your covered pussy against his growing cock. Your hands rested where his shoulders met his neck, digging your nails into his flesh as you made out.

“Keep grinding on me like that, baby,” he removed his hands from you, “don’t stop.”

You didn’t.

You kept moving your pelvis against his as you leaned your forehead on Buckys. The sensation on your clit was what drove you forward.

Bucky removed your bikini top, and his eyes widened when he saw your breasts. The cold evening breeze had your nipples hardened as they were exposed to the air. You arched your back to present them for him, permitting him to do as he pleased.

“Fuck.”

He nuzzled his face in your soft flesh, palming your breasts in his colossal hands.

“I love it here,” he mumbled against your skin.

His expert mouth sucked, licked and bit your delicate nipple, giving it the attention it deserved before he moved on to the other to provide it with the same treatment. Mewls of satisfaction poured out of you with no control as he gave his undivided attention to your breasts.

You threw your head back as you were so close to the finish from the sensation on the two most sensitive parts of your body. Your hips picked up in speed as the tightness in your core was begging to be released.

“B-Bucky, I-I’m gonna-“

Bucky stopped his assaults on your breasts and grabbed your hips hard to stop your movements on him, forcing your release back.

“I need to be inside you first, baby.”

He freed his hard cock from its confinements and slid your bikini bottom to the side. His tip found your entrance, and he sank you down onto his cock, until his entire length was situated in you. You yelped out at the sudden stretch of your pussy. Closing your eyes hard at the hint of stinging pleasure.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, and a rough groan emerged from him. He needed a few seconds to get his bearings as you felt so incredibly tight around him.

“Fuck, so tight for me, doll.”

Once Bucky found his control back, he snapped his hips up against you, fucking you hard as you met his incoming thrusts. With each thrust, the tip of his cock brushed against your sweet spot, making you cry with sweet pleasure. The water splashed around you and onto the new patio as you fucked hard.

Bucky enclosed his lips around your nipple and continued worshipping them like he had done prior. Sucking, licking and biting on the sensitive area before he moved onto the other, switching position ever so often. Your hand snaked in his hair at the back of his head. Fisting your fingers in his locks to keep him close to your chest.

Your other hand went down to where you and Bucky were connected, circling your aching clit. The added stimulation had your orgasm rapidly nearing its end.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna cum.”

Him forcing your hips even harder down on him ignited your orgasm. Your walls flutter around him as you come hard around his length. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, your cries sounded against his flesh, as his arms embraced you hard to keep your body tight against him, snapping his hips up into yours.

“I’m close, doll.”

He chased his orgasm. Concentrating hard on how your warm and tight pussy hugged his length, begging for his cum. The added sensation of your mouth kissing, sucking and biting his damp flesh urged his orgasm forwards.

“Cum for me, babe.”

With a rough groan from within his chest, he came deep inside you. Curses of your name left his lips like a broken record as your walls milked his cock for all its seed.

“Just like that, baby. Give it to me.”

The sensation of his cum filling you up was the most satisfying feeling in the words. You always felt content when you were full of his hot cum.

Both of you stilled when you had come down from your high—holding each other tight as you calmed yourselves down.

Bucky grabbed your face in his hands, making you look into his blue eyes before he gave you a sweet kiss. When you parted, he flashed you his biggest smile.

“Best decision to install a hot tub, doll.”

“Agreed. Best decision ever, Bucky.”

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