#bucky x curvy reader

[drabblesandsnippets]

Whatever You Need

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

Summary: (3.3k) Bucky comforts you during a rough time. 

Background: Reworking of this snippet. It’s been a rough few weeks (for a lot of folks, I’m sure) and I couldn’t stop thinking about this one. To everyone who struggles with their mental health, please be kind to yourself. 

Warnings: 18+ Only. Mention of insomnia, depression, anxiety. Angst. Fluff. Attempt at a bit of humor? Soft and sweet Bucky. Established relationship. Pet names (sweetheart, doll). Non-sexual nudity & touching. Kissing. Cuddling. Brief mention of/alluding to past sexual intimacy.

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You sit by the open window, breathing in the heavy scent of the steady rain, listening to the thunder getting closer. You should be in bed, with Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, snuggling you back to sleep. But, you can’t seem to make yourself go.

It’s been weeks of this. Insomnia. Depression. Anxiety. Every day, things feel just a bit more hopeless, like you’re barely treading water, surely to go under at any moment. Rationally, you know this will pass, as it always does, you just have to wait it out and hope you don’t drown in the meantime. 

The closer the storm gets, the more anxious you feel. As if the energy of the weather is triggering your fight or flight response. You push open the window a bit more and scoot closer to the screen, imagining yourself out in the storm, getting soaked to the bone. At least then you’d have a reason for the way your body is currently shaking.

“Sweetheart,” the tenderness of Bucky’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you glance over to find him watching you from the doorway. You have no idea how long he’s been standing there, wearing just his underwear and an obvious look of concern on his face.

You let out a heavy sigh and bite back the unnecessary apology, turning your attention back to the storm, a wave of guilt making your stomach flip. Bucky’s done everything he can to be patient with you, and never once has he made you feel like you’re a burden, but it’s taken an obvious toll on your relationship. The way you’ve kept him at arm’s length, scared to let him see how much you’re really struggling.

Your racing thoughts are interrupted again when Bucky comes closer, now barely a foot from the window nook where you sit. “I just wanna take care of you.” You turn your head to watch him slowly crouch down next to the seat, never once taking his eyes off you, a soft smile on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”

You immediately shake your head, needing him to understand it’s not about that. Your mouth opens, the words on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out. This is how it’s been for weeks. Words desperately trying to claw their way out, only to get stuck in your throat with no escape. 

The frustration easily builds, fresh tears pricking your eyes, and you look away again, letting out a shuddering breath. Bucky should just give up on you. Leave you to wallow in self-pity and loneliness. He never will though, no matter how much you think you might deserve it.

“It’s also okay if you do want me to,” he continues, his hand slowly reaching out towards you, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the blanket wrapped around you, waiting for permission to touch you. 

Bucky sees you, understands you in ways no one ever has. Your independence is your shield, something you’ve carefully cultivated. You’ve handled everything that life’s thrown at you on your own, and relying on someone else doesn’t come easy. It has absolutely nothing to do with him, but he can still be there for you, if you’ll let him. 

“It’s okay if you need me to take care of you.”

His gentle assurance breaks your resolve, the tears currently blurring your vision spilling over your lashes, and the only thing you can do is bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from him. Bucky’s not one to give up so easily, choosing to join you, taking a spot on the edge of the seat instead of breaking the physical distance, his hand now inches from your sock-covered foot.

“You don’t have to look at me,” he promises, letting the words process before he continues, “I just want you to listen, okay? Can you do that, please?” 

All you can manage is a slight nod as you try to stifle a sniffle, your breaths uneven, willing yourself to stop the fresh tears threatening to build. 

No matter how many times you’ve been down this road - both alone and together - it never seems to get easier. Especially when Bucky’s male ego tells him he’s supposed to fix this, that it’s his job to put you back together and all you have to do is let him.

It’s a ridiculous notion, one he does his best to ignore, choosing instead to tell you, “I know it’s scary to admit you’re not okay, especially when you’re still trying to figure out what’s happening inside your own head. So, I’m not expecting you to have the energy to talk about anything tonight, I just want you to know that whatever you need from me, you have it sweetheart, even if you’re never able to tell me what’s going on.”

You try to fight through the rush of emotions, his words bringing a fresh wave of tears, your body aching for his comfort. You’re so tired of being strong, of forcing yourself to power through, pretending it’s not as bad as it seems. Bucky’s your one safe place in this chaotic world and for a fleeting moment, you have the courage to bridge the gap, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as you let your hand drop towards him.

He takes it for what it is, catching your hand before it can fall to his thigh and brings your palm to his lips, placing a sweet kiss right in the center. At the feel of your pulse fluttering from his simple touch, Bucky’s smile grows and he’s encouraging you closer with a soft, “co’mere,” his metal hand sliding along the outside of your arm to help guide you.

Pulling you into his lap, your soft curves molding perfectly to the harder planes of his body, Bucky wraps you up in his warm embrace, cradling your head against his shoulder. Your tears come more freely now and for a while, you just sit there, listening to the steady heartbeat of the man you’re lucky to call yours, the sound a gentle reminder that you’re not alone, regardless of what your brain tries to convince you of sometimes.

It’s not until your breath begins to even out, your sniffles slowly subsiding, that Bucky softly breaks the silence to ask you, “How do ya feel about a bath, sweetheart?”

A soft noise of protest comes out muffled against his skin, your arms tightening around his torso, content to just stay here as long as he’ll let you. Still, you can’t help asking, “is this your way of saying I smell?” It hasn’t been that long since you forced yourself to shower.

Bucky’s laughter gently shakes your body, your own smile building in return and he wastes no time in nuzzling your hair, his head dipping to dramatically sniff along your jaw and neck. “Nope,” he says matter-of-factly, meeting your gaze with a grin before repeating the action along the other side, drawing an unmistakable laugh from you. “You smell just as good as you always do,” he promises with a tender kiss right below your ear. “But, a bath might make you feel a little better.”

There are a multitude of reasons to say no - the energy it takes just to get in, the stark contrast of the cool air after getting out, having to dry off every inch of your skin before you can even think about getting into bed, just to name a few. All it takes is one look at Bucky and you’re realizing none of them matter because he already knows. 

His assurance that you won’t have to lift a finger comes quick, reminding you that he’s here to take care of you, in whatever way you need. He’ll even carry you, if you’ll let him.

To both of your surprise, it doesn’t take much for you to agree and the moment you do, Bucky seeks permission to kiss you, showing his appreciation, murmuring words of adoration against your lips. He takes a moment to savor the intimate connection, silently thanking the universe for bringing you to him, for allowing him the privilege of loving you.

He drops you off in the bedroom, resecuring the blanket still wrapped around your body, convincing you to rest in bed while he draws a bath. Once he’s gone, you actually start to doze off, snuggled with Bucky’s pillow, the distant thrum of the bathtub filling a nice break from the near constant rush of thoughts trying to occupy your mind.

When he returns, the vision of you resting peacefully is almost enough for him to break his promise to wake you. He’d happily sit watch, keep an eye on you for the rest of the night to ensure your sleep went undisturbed.

It’s the last thing you’d want though. You’d wake disoriented, feeling constricted in your clothing, worse off than you were when you fell asleep. 

With a heavy sigh, Bucky shakes his head, a regretful smile crossing his face as he reaches out to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers. “You ready?”

His voice is barely audible, your mind not comprehending his touch until his beard is tickling your nose, his lips brushing against your forehead. Your response comes in the form of a confused grunt, your face scrunched, hands reaching up to touch him.

“The bath’s ready,” he explains, his smile evident in his tone, giving you one last lingering kiss before pulling back. “Are you ready, or do ya wanna rest a bit longer?”

It’d be easy to just stay here, let Bucky undress you and put you under the covers, your body craving rest. It won’t last though. You’ll start to get restless, toss and turn in hopes of finding a better position, all the while your mind will refuse to quiet, growing more on edge until you’re forced out of bed yet again.

A bath isn’t a cure-all, and maybe it won’t really help, but you owe it to yourself to at least try. To let yourself be vulnerable, no matter how scary it feels. 

Bucky effortlessly carries you from bed into the dimly lit bathroom, the heater already keeping the room relatively warm, ready to be adjusted when it’s time to get out. After setting you on your feet next to the tub, he gives you another reassuring smile and starts to undress you, careful not to snag your shirt on your hair.

You have to close your eyes when he kneels to remove your sweatpants, your body fighting the urge to take over and do it yourself. It’s far from the first time Bucky’s undressed you - and it certainly won’t be the last - it’s just not usually under these circumstances. 

The lingering tension starts to fade when he looks up, his obvious love for you shining through even your most persistent insecurities. Once he’s freed you of the rest of your clothes, he helps you in, the oversized tub providing more than enough space for you to sink down, the water coming up to your chest.

Bucky takes his time, giving you a minute to adjust to the heat of the water while he gathers the necessary supplies, the bath pillow already secure behind your head. All you can do is watch him, your throat tight with emotion, tears starting to prick your eyes, the nagging voice in your head trying to convince you that you don’t deserve someone like him.

Biting back the urge to tell him what’s going through your mind, you blink back the tears, your eyes cast to the ceiling for a brief moment. He gives you more time than necessary, his focus on dipping the fresh washcloth in the water, then reaching for the body wash to pour a generous amount.

Seeing him preparing to bathe you makes the moment fully come into view and a soft, incredulous laugh leaves you, “are we really doing this?” You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so naked and exposed, despite all the sinful things you’ve let this man do to you.

Bucky’s grin does wonders for your anxiety, as does his soft assurance of, “not if you don’t think it’ll help.” He tilts his head, holding your gaze, ensuring you hear his next words, “But, if it’s because you think I don’t wanna do this, or I’m not gonna enjoy every single second of it? Doll, come on, this is me.” 

His words cause another exhale of a laugh and a blush spreads across your cheeks, Bucky’s smiling growing wider, his tongue peaking out to tease along his bottom lip. 

“I’m getting to take care of you, be near you, touch you. I live for this shit,” he laughs, his brows raised to drive home his point. “I’m obsessed with you, remember? I’d literally drink your bath water.”

You barely have time to react before he’s leaning forward, having every intention to prove it to you. Your wet hands reach out just in time to push against his head and shoulder before his face gets any closer to the water, a loud laugh spilling out of you, “What- Stop, Bucky, oh my god!”

His laughter joins yours and he allows you to turn his head at the last moment, taking the opportunity to close the distance to share a kiss, Bucky smiling against your lips. You can’t resist keeping your hands on him, the water dripping down his bare torso, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his own hand reaching out to cup your jaw.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he promises, peppering kisses across your cheeks and forehead, ending with one on the tip of your nose. Once he’s sure your worries and insecurities are starting to fade, he reaches for the washcloth again, telling you, “Now, just relax and let me take care of my girl, okay?”

A playful roll of your eyes and a smile you don’t even try to hide as you tell him, “fine,” begrudgingly doing as requested. Bucky takes it in stride, his smile never faltering, happily reaching for your arm to start taking care of you in one of the few ways you’ve let him recently.

He can’t help but take advantage of the opportunity, taking his time to bathe you, massaging your muscles in the process, his movements smooth along your soap-slicked skin. By the time he’s given each limb equal attention, you’re putty in his hands and you make no objections when the washcloth dips under the water to wash your stomach and hips.

Your eyes remain closed for the most part, Bucky’s occasional glance telling him you’re enjoying this far more than you anticipated. He makes a mental note to convince you to make this a regular thing, not just when you’re going through a rough time. You deserve to be pampered every day, but he’ll settle for at least once a month.

Not missing how careful Bucky is as he moves higher, the washcloth not lingering on your breasts any longer than necessary, you finally open your eyes, blinking slowly up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft smile as he starts to wash your collarbone, the warm water calling you to sink lower, as if it might erase the clinging numbness that refuses to dissipate. 

The words tumble out of you before you can overthink them, your question catching Bucky off guard, his hand stilling on the edge of the tub. “What if I never get better?”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs with a slight shake of his head, his brow furrowing to  match the frown beginning to appear. Your mouth opens to respond, the words failing you before they can even form, wishing you could rewind time to prevent the worried look on his face.

He breaks the silence before you have to, offering you an empathetic smile as he asks, “Can I get in with you?” It’s the last thing you’re expecting as a response and it catches you off guard in such a way that your mind stops racing long enough to scoot forward, making room for him.

There’s no time to waste, Bucky quickly discarding his underwear in order to join you, the oversized tub giving him space to sit behind you, pulling you back against his chest. With his arms wrapped protectively around you, he kisses your shoulder, rubbing his beard along your skin in hopes to ground you, “This isn’t going to last forever. Eventually, something’s gonna shift and you’ll start to feel better.”

Bucky’s not wrong. What you’re experiencing right now, regardless of how long it’s lasted, won't be forever and things will go back to normal at some point. Right now isn’t what you’re referring to though. With a heavy breath, you pull your knees up, letting the air hit your skin, goosebumps threatening to spread. “But that never lasts either.”

He can hear the emotion in your voice, the tears starting to build again, and it makes his chest ache, wishing he could ease your pain. “Maybe not,” he agrees, keeping his tone gentle, “but that’s okay. It’s all part of being human, sweetheart. We have good days, and we have bad days, and no, I’m not keeping score.”

An exhale of a laugh leaves you at the same time a tear escapes your lashes, causing you to automatically wipe it away, your wet hand leaving several drops of water in its place. Bucky gives you the space to collect yourself, using the opportunity to grab the washcloth and bodywash again, determined to complete his mission of bathing you.

You welcome the distraction, leaning forward to give him better access, his fingers soon working out the tension in your back. Your delicate mental state leaves you vulnerable, Bucky’s touch sending you further down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts, the once receding emotions returning tenfold, leaving you crying.

“You deserve better than this.”

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, gathering you in his arms to pull you flush against his body, your weight welcome on his lap, your face pressed against his neck, tears mixing with the water. “There is no one out there better for me than you,” he promises. “You’re it for me. You and your gorgeous mind and insanely hot body, and yes - all your ‘issues’,” he grins, kissing your temple.

There’s nothing you can do except sigh, your breath shuddering out of you, your hand pressed against his chest, drawing comfort from the strong beat of his heart. What he’s saying is starting to break through, reminding you what it’s like when things don’t feel so heavy. How easy it is to be loved by him when you’re not so scared of being a burden.

“I just want you to be happy,” you manage to whisper, working past the emotions trying to overwhelm you again.

“Good,” Bucky’s quick to respond, his fingers on your chin tilting your face up to meet his warm gaze. “‘Cause that’s exactly how you make me feel.” He can’t help but shake his head at you, his smile growing, as if you don’t realize how ridiculous you’re being, “Every day you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Nothing is ever going to change that. Got it?”

Another heavy breath, and a tear that Bucky casually wipes away, but this time it’s accompanied by a twitch of a smile, the waves of anxiety starting to recede. “Got it,” you whisper, meeting him halfway for a kiss, solidifying your devotion to each other, your promise to work as a team to get through whatever comes, without pushing the other too far out of your comfort zone.

It’ll take time, and it won’t be perfect, but at least you’ll have the rest of your lives to keep trying.

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Comments and reblogs very much appreciated!! 🩶

Main Masterlist

[nickfowlerrr]

right where i need you

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. established relationship. fluff. unprotected sex in the kitchen - sorry not sorry. and not much else, really! if i’m forgetting something pls lmk.

words: 2.3k

notes: i haven’t stopped thinking about him in that damn white tank since i first saw it and honestly i don’t know if i ever will. here’s just some random smut for you, inspired ofc by said white tank, please enjoy. thank you in advance for reading and as always - reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated! let me know what you think. 🩵

You can’t be held responsible for this.

It’s really not your fault.

He’s the one looking so…him.

It took one little look. And now here you are.

You’re not complaining! But when your phone starts ringing with texts in about fifteen minutes asking where you are and why you’re late, well… you can deal with that later.

You had padded down the hall, hair and makeup done and dress unzipped with your heels in your hand.

Did you really need his help to zip it up? No. But you can’t pass up the opportunity to feel his hands on you, even for a second.

He got home not too long ago so you know where you’ll find him, but he hasn’t come into the room to say hello, so you’re not exactly sure how you’ll find him.

You started considering skipping out on girls night the second you heard him come in without his usual greeting, and that is still definitely on the table. You haven’t been seeing him as often as either of you would like lately, and as much as you love your friends, you had brunch together last weekend, it’s not like it’s been ages… They wouldn’t be too upset, you’re sure.

You decided you’d make up your mind when you saw Bucky.

You find him exactly where you knew you would. He stands at the kitchen counter, his hair mussed, shirt discarded as he’s clad in his black pants and white under tank. He’s hunched over a bit and yet he still looks so big.

You smile wearily as you assess him from behind. He seems tense and tired and you can easily guess why. He’s been working nonstop for the past two weeks, you know he’s exhausted.

You walk closer to him and he turns to face you as you near his back.

He may be exhausted but damn he always manages to still look good. You’re almost envious of his natural allure.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets with a rumble as you reach out to touch him, your hand on his side as you step closer to him. His own find your waist as he pulls you in to hug you. “You look beautiful as ever,” he murmurs softly, holding you tighter than you’d expected.

“Hi, baby,” you ease back. It’s not a pet name you use often, but it slips so easily from your tongue as he holds you and you hug him back.

“Thought you woulda been gone already,” he says as you pull back from him, your eyes meeting as he keeps his hands on you.

“Not yet,” you say, “can you zip me?”

He smiles at you and you turn around, allowing him access to the zipper. He keeps a hand on your hip as he slowly works the zipper up the dress, taking his sweet time. Once he’s got it, he runs his big hand down your back and then settles it on your other hip, giving you a squeeze.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to face him once more, “So,” you broach, “how was your day?”

“Ah, we don’t need to talk about that right now,” he tries to brush off.

“Bucky,” you start to admonish before he interrupts you.

“Have I seen this dress before?” He asks as his hands wander along the fabric, his eyes following your every curve.

You sigh, letting it go for now, “No, it’s new.”

“Looks good on you,” he compliments.

“Thank you,” you smile with a titter.

He blinks at you, his eyes swimming with something you aren’t sure you can name as his big hands find your bottom.

“I’ve missed you so much, you know that?”

You nod, softening as you step closer to him, “I’ve been missing you, too.”

He gives your ass as squeeze as you lean into him and you don’t even realize you’re doing it as you let your gaze wander down his sturdy chest to where his tank top is still tucked into his pants. He’s so built and so big, you’re damn near obsessed. And God, you really have been missing him.

His warmth, his touch, his everything.

You only realize you were biting your lip as his thumb comes up to pull it from your teeth. And you only realize your hand has been drifting down his thick, strong torso when you brush the top of his pants.

You meet his eye and you need no other warning of what’s about to come as you see the longing there.

His hand is holding your face as he licks his lips without thought. His eyes drift from yours to your lips and then all at once he’s on you.

His kiss is fervent and hot as he leads you. You let him turn you as you’re entirely enraptured in his kiss. You don’t recognize the counter at your backside as you kiss him back until he lifts you up without warning. His strength is always so impressive to you as you yip and reach to hold onto him despite the fact you’re already sitting safely by the time you do.

Your legs spread enough to welcome him as he stands between them, your dress already ridden up your thick thighs. His kisses are incessant as he holds you, his hands and lips both wandering what belongs to him.

Your hands are in his thick, dark hair as he attacks your neck and you can’t help the moan that slips past your lips. You can feel his smile against your skin as he hears it, like music to his ears.

You pull him closer with your leg around him as he pushes up the material of your dress until it’s around your waist. His hands move higher and once he finds the top of your dress, he pulls it down too, taking your strapless bra with it. He unhooks it easily and tosses it aside while avoiding unzipping the dress for you.

His mouth is on your full breasts the moment he exposes them; licking, nipping, sucking at your nipples while your back arches and you moan at the feeling.

“Buck,” you eke out your plea, tugging at him.

He doesn’t stop but his hands do move down to undo his pants. He pulls away after a second and pushes them down enough to free his stiff cock. He pulls you closer to him and then drags your silky panties down, tossing them with your bra before he situates himself back between your spread legs.

The feeling of his hand on your bare thigh is enough to set you on fire. He squeezes the ample softness there as he feels you, letting his hand slide up your leg to hold your hip.

You’re definitely gonna be late now, but it really isn’t your fault. They can’t blame you. And even if they could, you don’t think you’d really care.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you feel his cock head at your entrance.

“So wet,” he murmurs as he drags himself up and down your slit teasingly, earning a whimper from you. “I know, baby,” he chuckles, looking up to meet your puppy dog eyes, “I know. I’m gonna give it to ya, know exactly what you need, sweetheart,” he says, his words smooth as silk as he talks huskily.

He guides himself back to your slick entrance and right before he starts to push into you, he makes sure your eyes are on him, and of course they are.

You hold eye contact as he slowly moves into you, your lips parting on a gasp the deeper he goes. Your hands are messed in his hair again as your walls involuntarily squeeze his length inside of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe. You pull him closer, angling yourself to kiss him again as he slides the rest of the way into your tight pussy. He kisses you back just as fervently as before as he starts to pull out of you before thrusting right back in. His thick cock dragging perfectly along your tight walls as he fucks you. His hand tightens on your hip as you squeeze him again, his eyes squeezing shut as he moans in turn, but his pace never faltering.

You wrap your arms around his neck and press yourself to him as he holds your waist. His cock hitting deeper with his every thrust. You’re already on the brink of your orgasm as you bury your face in his neck, breathing him in as he fucks you in perfect time. His grunts and groans and moans fill your ears as your own spur him on.

“Missed you so fucking much,” he pants as he squeezes you again. You kiss his stubbled jaw, arching into him, “Missed you,” you mewl. You suddenly feel his thumb on your clit and you gasp out your moan.

“Bucky,” you cry, hands gripping his solid back.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he husks, “come on. Let go, baby. Come for me. Need to feel you come around my cock,” he grits, working your clit in tight circles as you clench around him, eyes squeezing shut and arms holding him ever tighter. “Need to feel you,” he begs a little quieter, almost as if he was talking to himself.

You can’t hold back any longer as his cock hits that special spot inside you once again while his thumb is ceaseless on your sensitive clit. Your face is in his neck as you quake against him, coming hard. Your body feels alight and electric, sparks of unadulterated pleasure shooting through you as you shudder and moan at the overwhelming feeling. Waves of ecstasy washing over you as you moan and whine in Bucky’s ear.

He doesn’t relent as he works you through your high and pushes himself closer to his own, praises for you and groans of his own pleasure sounding from him as he fucks you, making sure you feel every inch of him, his hands gripping your ass as he keeps you close.

Your walls pulsing around his length have him growling as he teeters on the edge of his orgasm, but it’s your soft moan in his ear as you hold onto him that really pushes him over the edge. You sound so pleased, so satisfied and debauched and it’s all because of him. It’s all for him.

You gasp as he comes inside you, curses of pleasure and your name on his tongue, his hot cum filling you up as he slows his thrusts. You feel his lips on your temple and then your cheek as he kisses you gently while he comes down. Your walls still squeezing him softly as you do the same until he finally pulls out of you, tucking himself away.

You hold his face in your hands, admiring him for a moment before you pull him closer for a kiss. He still stands between your legs as he lets you pull him further into you before you finally let him go.

“I’ve really missed you,” you murmur. “I know you’re off all next month, and we’ll be around each other, be able to make up for lost time,” you smirk coyly, “but,” you breathe, “still, I kinda just wanna stay here with you tonight.“

“Yeah?” he asks with a half smile, “what about girl’s night?”

“They’ll survive without me.”

“You really don’t have to cancel your plans for me, sweetheart,” he assures you, that look in his eye telling you more than his words. He doesn’t think you mean it, doesn’t want to seem like he wants you to stay just as badly as you want to… “I think I need some alone time, anyway,” he adds - now avoiding your eye as he speaks, and only fueling your previous suspicions as he fixes the top of your dress, taking a second before he wraps his arms around you. You let your own slide around his neck as he rests his head on your chest.

“I don’t think I believe you,” you reply easily with a kiss to his hair before you urge him back and get off the counter.

He watches you as you turn around, your back to him. “Unzip me?”

He does as you ask, after a few seconds.

You shimmy the dress off and don’t look back to him as you go for your phone set on the opposite counter. You shoot your friends a text letting them know not to expect you tonight as you feel Bucky at your back.

“You don’t have to stay for me,” he says again, even softer now.

You turn to face him, meeting his eye, “Tell me you want me to leave, and I will,” you say.

He bites his lip as he watches you intently, shaking his head a bit before he speaks, “I can’t.”

“Didn’t think so,” you smile triumphantly.

You take his hand in yours and pull him out of the kitchen, down the hall to your shared bedroom. He follows with no complaint.

“You shower, I’ll clean myself up a bit, then cuddles and talking, and then… round two?”

“And three,” he agrees, pulling your naked body against his still clothed one before he kisses you again. “And dinner somewhere in between.”

“Sounds good,” you smile against his lips. “The usual?”

He nods, “I’ll call it in when we get outta the shower.”

“We?” you quirk a brow, noticing the twinkle of mischief in his bright blue eyes just a moment too late.

You yelp as he picks you up effortlessly in his inhumanly strong arms, his mirthful chuckle sending butterflies alight in your belly as he smiles that charming smile at you.

“We,” he confirms, walking you both into the bathroom, with no complaint from you as you relax in his hold.

God, have you missed this.

[vunblr]

What if...?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight dom! Bucky. A little angst.

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

Word Count: About 8.4k.

She knew exactly who he was the first time they bumped into each other when she ran toward the stairs of her apartment building, and he suddenly emerged from them, lost in thought. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and the glint of metal was pretty noticeable when he reached out to grab her elbow to prevent her from falling backward. The touch was brief, since he retired his hand promptly when he was sure she would not fall, his blue eyes revealing something akin to regret.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice low and gravelly as he retracted his hand, tucking it into his jacket.

“Oh, don’t be,” she responded, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly as she waved her hand dismissively. “I should’ve been more careful. The elevator’s out, and I was in such a hurry… ugh. We always tell the kids not to run in hallways and stairs because accidents can happen, and here I am-" She cut herself off, realizing she was rambling, and gave an embarrassed smile. “Anyway… hi. I’m Y/n, I just moved in yesterday.” She extended her hand.

He reached out, his grip firm but gentle. “James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, and as she straightened her nurse uniform, she bit her lip. Handsome. The cute wrinkles that creased the corners of his striking blue eyes, were the kind that hinted at a man who had both smiled and seen more than his fair share of hardship, and it was hard not to notice. His body, the epitome of perfection. She mentally slapped herself for staring. “Well, Bucky, I’m running late for work, so I need to go, but I’ll see you around. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded, watching as she hurried down the stairs, her uniform swaying slightly with her steps. He stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment longer than he should have, replaying the soft smile on her lips.

The days after that encounter passed in a blur of awkward run-ins. Each time, she greeted him with the same soft smile, and each time, Bucky found himself lost in thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

It started with a polite nod, maybe a smile here and there, but soon, their brief encounters turned into casual conversations. Small talk about their days, the weather, even little jokes about the state of their shared building. He found himself looking forward to those moments, however fleeting they were, because it felt so easy to exchange a few words with her, how her laughter always seemed to come just when he needed to hear it. He’d often catch her gaze lingering on him a second too long before she looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks and it was enough to make him wonder if maybe, just maybe, she felt the same pull that he did.

Then, one evening, as they both stood waiting for the elevator, she quirked a brow at him. "You know, Bucky," she started, her voice light, "if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me."

He blinked, caught off guard, but the playful glint in her eyes made him relax. He let out a small chuckle. "Well… I could say the same about you." She laughed, and once again, the sound made him feel almost normal.

His therapist had been telling him for months that he was isolated, and that he needed to socialize, form connections. She had even suggested dating, but every time he tried, it hadn’t gone well. The interactions felt awkward, forced, and he often found an excuse to leave early, or worse, sometimes he didn’t even bother with an excuse, just walking out of there without a word.

There was something about Y/n that set her apart, mostly the ease with which their conversations flowed. He wasn’t the type to talk much, often keeping things curt and to the point, but she had this way of making the silence between them feel comfortable, never pushing him to share more than he wanted. He didn’t have to try so hard to keep up with standard appearances. But the pull toward her wasn’t just about feeling comfortable, he wanted her. He caught himself watching her more often than he’d like to admit, she was exactly his type, soft and curvy in all the right places. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch her, to run his hands over her body, feel her warmth beneath his fingertips. But every time he got close to asking her out, fear crept in, locking the words in his throat. Fear of rejection, of being too damaged, of her seeing the parts of him he was ashamed of. It always stopped him.

Tonight felt different, though. There was something in her playful approach that made the fear feel less suffocating, less overwhelming. The elevator doors opened, and as they stepped inside, Bucky turned to her, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely believe he was about to do this.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

She glanced at him, her eyes curious. "Yeah?"

He swallowed hard, feeling the moment's weight as he stood before her, and almost panicked. This wasn’t something he was used to. He could fight in gruesome battles, survive impossible odds, flip a fucking armored truck with a tug of his arm… but asking someone out? That felt like a whole different battlefield. It was terrifying in a way those other things weren’t.

For a moment, he almost backpedaled. His mind scrambled, desperately searching for something else to say, some way to deflect his intentions and change the subject. But nothing came. He was stuck. He’d already opened his mouth, and there was no way to retreat now without looking like a fool.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped.

“Would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?” The words came out gruff but honest. For a second, doubt crept in, making him wonder if he’d just made a mistake.

Her eyes widened in surprise before lighting up, a smile spreading across her face that eased the knot on his stomach. “Oh, I’d love to. It’d be fun to do something outside the building for a change. We run into each other so much, that I actually thought about asking you to hang out, but you always seemed rushed, like you couldn’t wait to leave. I’m glad that’s not the case.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, we can be neighbors and friends. There’s nothing in the building rules against it.”

Bucky blinked, his heart sinking at the word friends. He forced one of the practiced, uncomfortable smiles his therapist suggested. Friendzoned -a term he’d only recently discovered- wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he hadn’t spelled it out, either. Of course she thought he was just trying to be friendly, he hadn’t given her a fucking hint of his real intentions. He hadn’t flirted, hadn’t made even the slightest move to swoon her.

The old him would’ve had no trouble conveying his interest. He would’ve been smooth and confident, knowing exactly how to charm her and make his intentions clear. But he wasn’t that guy anymore. He hadn’t done this in decades, and the rules seemed to have shifted in ways he didn’t fully understand. Hell, he had shifted. He sighed. 

"Uh, Y/n?" he started, his tone careful and tentative. She looked back at him, her eyes curious. "I just want to be clear," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "I meant it... as a date. Not just neighbors or friends grabbing a bite."

For a moment, she didn’t respond, still processing what he had just said. His words hung in the air, heavy with significance. And then, something clicked. A blush crept up her neck as her smile turned more thoughtful. He wanted to spend time with her not because they lived in the same building or happened to bump into each other, but because he was interested.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize… I mean…” she stumbled with her words, “I didn’t know you meant it like that." She has had her fair share of men in her life but being honest with herself, in a million years, she wouldn’t have guessed someone like him would be asking her out. Not Bucky, the quiet, handsome, brooding neighbor with the sharp jawline and the weight of a thousand untold stories in his eyes. For months, she had brushed off the little moments between them as neighborly interactions, nothing more. It had been easier that way. Safer, maybe. But now, standing here, the truth of his intentions was undeniable.

He waited, his expression still calm, but the vulnerability in his eyes was unmistakable. She almost laughed at herself, the absurdity of it all. Of course, she had noticed him. How could she not?

Her smile softened, "I’m glad you clarified." she finally said, her voice quieter now. "And yeah, Bucky. I’d like that, a lot."

Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d been holding his breath and had just now allowed himself to exhale. A faint smile crept onto his lips, one that actually reached his eyes, softening the hardened edges he usually carried.

"Great," he murmured, his voice low but warm. "I’ll, uh, figure something out."

They shared one last look before the elevator doors opened, and as they stepped out, Bucky’s heart was still racing, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

The first date had been simple, almost quiet in its ease. He brought her flowers, a small, hesitant gesture that made her eyes light up. They went to a bistro and talked about life, interests, and the kind of things you only share when you feel a certain sense of safety with someone. Bucky never said more than necessary, but she learned to read the way his eyes softened when he listened, the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when she said something that caught him off guard. It was easy and comfortable as their previous interactions, and yet, in the back of his mind, there was always the whisper: do you even deserve this?

The second date was at the small café on the corner of their building. There had been more laughter this time, the conversation flowing easily. As they sat across from each other, their knees brushed under the table. It was subtle, almost unintentional, but the warmth of the touch lingered. It happened again, and neither of them moved away.

They walked back in silence, a comfortable quiet settling between them, though there was an undeniable charge in the air. As they reached her door, she turned to face him, and for a moment, the space between them felt heavier, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

His hand hovered just near her lower back, not quite touching, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric of her dress. For a brief second, she thought he might pull her closer to break that last sliver of space between them, but he didn’t. His hand lingered for just a moment longer before falling away, his expression betraying a flicker of hesitation.

Bucky’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips, his brows furrowing slightly, before he looked away, almost as if chastising himself. His old-fashioned upbringing, perhaps, held him back and kept him from making the move she half-expected, the one she wanted.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. His tired eyes lingered on hers just a little too long, as if he were still debating, still fighting the pull to act on the desire he was clearly feeling.

She nodded, trying to ignore the flutter on her chest and to respect his boundaries, even though her hands itched to reach for him, to pull him closer and start what he wouldn’t. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly, her own voice betraying the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

They stood there for a heartbeat longer, the short distance between their doors now feeling like miles. He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile, then turned toward his own apartment, the quiet between them somehow louder now.

By the time the third date approached, Bucky’s nerves were starting to get the better of him. He didn’t want to ruin this. The cocky Sergeant Barnes -the man who hadn’t yet turned into a walking nightmare- would’ve laughed at him. That version of himself had been bold, self-assured, the type of man who could sweep a woman off her feet without a second thought. He’d have taken the lead with ease, knowing exactly how to handle the situation. But that man was long gone, buried beneath the weight of all he had done, all he had become.

Before leaving for the date, he poured himself an imperial pint of asgardian ale. Just enough to give him a buzz, to take the edge off. Standing there, glass in hand, he caught his reflection in the window and sighed. Could she see it? The darkness? The scars left behind from being Hydra’s puppet? And even if she didn’t... how long until she did? You don’t deserve this, the voice whispered again, unrelenting.

That night, after dinner, they found themselves in her living room, two untouched coffee cups growing cold on the table beside them. The dim light softened the space around them, creating an intimate cocoon that made their conversation flow effortlessly. Yet, beneath the easy chatter, Bucky’s doubts lingered. He couldn’t shake the feeling that any move forward could shatter the delicate balance between them.

He’d been raised with a sense of propriety, a rhythm to follow when it came to courting. There was a dance to it, an unspoken set of rules about when to advance and when to hold back. The trouble now was figuring out how much to let himself move forward, how far to let this go before the weight of his past dragged him under again.

As their conversation naturally ebbed into silence, he noticed her gaze flicker to his lips, lingering just a bit longer than usual. His pulse quickened. She was giving him a sign, even if she hadn’t meant to. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but the look in her eyes, the quiet anticipation, and the ale still running through his system urged him forward.

He leaned in slightly, their knees brushing, the warmth of her body drawing him closer. His hand hovered near her arm, and she responded getting closer, her lips parting ever so slightly as if inviting him in without saying a word.

Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between them, his heart pounding in his chest. The kiss was meant to be soft and chaste, but all restraint flew out the window the second their lips touched.

His hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her closer, the kiss growing hungrier, more urgent, as if months of longing were unraveling in that single moment. With a gentle, almost teasing flick of his tongue against her lower lip, he urged her to open her mouth. She complied, her lips parting as she allowed him in, and things turned molten. His tongue slid against hers, and the heat between them spiraled when she let out a quiet, breathless moan. The sound sent a jolt of desire pushing him further. His metal hand remained firm on her back, pulling her as close as possible, while the other slipped into her hair. She responded eagerly, her fingers gliding up his chest and tangling in his now messy bun, tugging him closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was all-consuming, urgent and messy, as months of tension finally broke free. Eventually, they slowly pulled apart, heavy breaths mingling in the charged air between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, now swollen and flushed from their activities, and he felt the undeniable pull to dive back in.

Then he noticed it. His vibranium hand had slid down to her waist and was gripping harder than he intended. Much harder. He swallowed and looked at it, the realization sinking in. His hand, still gripping tightly, could harm her. He sighed, frustration and self-reproach tugging at him, unable to find a balance between his longing and his fear of hurting her.

She caught the sigh, her eyes following his downward gaze until they landed on his hand, still gripping her waist. And then it clicked, she understood. It wasn’t just the pressure of his hand; it was everything behind it. The strength he was constantly aware of, the control he had to maintain, the fear of hurting someone he cared about without meaning to. It wasn’t just about this moment, it was about everything he carried with him.

Instead of pulling away, she did the opposite. She shifted slightly, pressing closer into his hand, her body language reassuring him. With that small gesture, she was telling him she trusted him, she wasn’t fragile, and she wasn’t going to break. He didn’t need to hold back with her.

He exhaled softly, and a question bubbled up, one that had been lingering in his mind for far too long. “Have you ever thought how things would have been if we had met under different circumstances?” His voice was quiet, almost tentative, the weight of the topic heavy in the intimate space between them.

Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. “Different how?” she asked, leaning in a little, her eyes searching his.

Bucky took a breath, his gaze drifting again as if he were caught somewhere between the past and the present. “I mean… if I hadn’t been…” He trailed off for a second, a shadow crossing his expression. “If I didn’t become what I am. If I’d been just… me.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as though speaking the words out loud might break something fragile between them.

She stayed quiet, giving him the space he needed, her hand gently resting on his arm, a subtle reassurance.

“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted, his eyes still distant, fixed on a point somewhere beyond her. “If we’d met before all the... before everything.” His lips pressed into a thin line, guilt flickering behind his blue eyes. “Maybe in another time, I could’ve been just a guy. Someone who didn’t have…” He paused, his metal hand still against her back. “Someone that wouldn’t have been so messed up. Someone normal and approachable.”

Her heart clenched at the weight of his words. “Bucky…” she started, her voice soft, but he shook his head slightly as if to wave off her sympathy.

“I don’t know,” he continued, quieter now. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve…” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

Without hesitation, she entwined their fingers, squeezing gently. “You do deserve this,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering as she met his gaze. She wasn’t going to let him retreat into the dark place where his self-deprecation lived. “You deserve to be happy, Buck. You’re a good man.” She sighed and shifted beside him, her head resting back against the couch as she considered his previous words and then an idea popped up.

“Let’s see… if I had been born before 1920, I’d probably still be a nurse.” Her lips curved into a small smile as she looked at him sideways, eyes gleaming in the dim light. She watched him closely, seeing how he would react, her heart thumping just a little faster as she waited. “I’d have enlisted to work in a field hospital. And… who knows, maybe we could have met there when you were serving.” She let the thought linger in the air, light and playful, hoping it would lift the heaviness that had settled between them.

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He shifted closer to her without even realizing, his hand still resting lightly on her waist. “You would’ve been responsible for making sure I was fit for duty,” he mused, his tone a little lighter now as if the idea of an alternate history didn’t seem so bad. “Keeping an eye on me, seeing my injuries, maybe even patching me up yourself.” He added with a playful edge, allowing himself to immerse in the scenario.

She grinned, shaking her head, eyes twinkling as she imagined the scene. “Oh, from what I heard about you, I doubt you would have visited the hospital very often, Sarge,” she teased, nudging his knee with hers playfully, a grin tugging at her lips.

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and genuine, as his thumb began tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, a gesture she was growing fond of. “Probably not,” he agreed, leaning in slightly, his voice dipping into something softer. “But I would’ve noticed you from afar. Even if I had no reason to be there, you would’ve stood out.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the back of his hand, a smile playing on her lips as she waited for his answer.

Bucky glanced down at their intertwined hands, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against her softer ones. He looked back up at her, his voice steady, but with a hint of something deeper. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinked, caught off guard by the casual sincerity in his tone. “Beautiful, me? Pfft!” She laughed softly, with a playful spark in her eyes. “But... now that I think about it, pin-up girls were a thing when you were serving, weren’t they?”

Bucky leaned back into the couch, pulling her with him, his arm wrapping firmer around her waist, a slow grin forming at her words. “Yeah, well, nurses were definitely included in the ‘interesting’ category too,” he teased. His eyes flicked down, tracing the curves of her body as his hand tightened slightly around her waist, making her feel self-conscious. “Especially ones with curves like yours.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Bucky continued, his voice lower now, a bit more serious. “You’d have been popular among the guys in camp, you know. They’d have been lining up, falling over themselves to get your attention.” He paused, his gaze flicking back to hers. “But trust me, I would’ve noticed you first. And I wouldn’t have let anyone else have a shot.”

Her cheeks flushed as she tucked her legs beneath her, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so you would’ve asked me out?” she teased, her curiosity bubbling to the surface as she edged closer to him, her eyes locked on his.

Bucky turned slightly toward her, the hand resting on her arm sliding down slowly, his fingers brushing her skin in soft, teasing strokes. “Oh, I wouldn’t have just asked,” he said with a smirk. “I’d have made sure you had no reason to say no.”

She felt her heart quicken at the subtle heat in his voice, the playful edge giving way to something more intense. Her breath hitched slightly, and she bit her lip as she gazed up at him. “Is that so?” she murmured, her voice soft, a bit more serious now. “And how would you have done that?” She leaned in a little, her shoulder brushing against his, her warmth radiating into the small space between them. “How was the game back then? Brought flowers? Invited me to dance?”

“Both, probably,” he murmured, his hand now resting on her thigh, his thumb grazing the fabric of her dress in slow, deliberate motions. “Flowers, because they’re classic... and dancing, because it’s intimate.”

“Well,” she whispered, her voice softer now as she leaned her head toward him, lips just inches from his ear, “I guess I would’ve let you court me, Sarge. Tell me about a date with you.”

Bucky’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh, the pressure just enough to make her heart race. His stubbled cheek brushed against hers as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Saturday night,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “dinner at the Officers’ Club, followed by a slow dance... and then back to my quarters for a proper goodnight kiss.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the warmth of his breath and the weight of his words settled between them. She could feel the tension thickening in the air, her voice trembling slightly as she teased, “Only a kiss?”

Bucky smirked against her skin, his lips hovering near her ear. “Maybe more than just a kiss,” he rasped, his voice low and full of promise, “but only if you wanted it too.”

She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Hmm, I dunno, Sergeant Barnes... things were done more properly back then, right? No sex before marriage, and all that stuff?”

He let out a low chuckle, his hand already inching higher up her thigh, the heat of his touch sending shivers up her spine. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his voice taking on a teasing edge. “I would've waited until our wedding night…” His hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, fingers grazing the soft skin of her thigh. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have thought about it. Every. Single. Day.” He leaned in again as he whispered. “How you’d look... how you’d feel... imagining all the ways I’d finally get to touch you.” His breath was warm against her skin, the words heavy with tension.

“Is that so?” she murmured, her fingers sliding up his chest, gripping his collar just enough to keep him close. “You think you could’ve waited?”

His hand tightened again on her thigh. “I would’ve tried... but I don’t think you would’ve made it easy.” Bucky’s playful tone faded into something more serious, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Would you have let me… let me have you like that?” His words carried a weight that made her heart race.

She swallowed, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter as she looked up into his eyes, feeling the pull of him in a way that left her defenseless. “I-” her voice faltered, her pulse racing, but she managed to find her words. “Yeah, Bucky... I would’ve.”

Bucky’s metal hand, firm but tender, climbed from her waist tracing a slow, deliberate path up her spine. He then reached for the little buttons at the neckline of her dress, his touch both careful and bold as he unfastened them, one by one. Each undone button revealed more of her skin to his darkened gaze, and the way he looked at her made her feel exposed in a way that went beyond the physical. “I would’ve taken care of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing her collarbone. “Made sure no one else got close to you.”

Her body leaned instinctively toward him, craving the closeness as her free hand ran up his arm, her fingers tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “No one else would’ve mattered,” she whispered.

With a swift, deliberate motion, the hand on her neckline slid down and snaked behind her, grasping her ass and pulling her fully into his lap. She gasped as her hips pressed against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted her. “Every night,” he growled, his voice rough with need, “I would’ve made sure you were mine.” His eyes were ablaze with raw desire as his grip tightened, holding her firmly against him.

Her pulse raced, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and his mouth crashed into hers in a searing kiss. His other hand slid higher up her thigh, teasing the edge of her underwear, fingers brushing the soft skin. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled by the kiss, and when he broke it, his lips found the curve of her neck.

“So only one kiss, huh?” she chuckled in a breathed tone, her voice trembling with anticipation as her hips instinctively rocked against him.

Bucky inhaled deeply against her skin, trailing hot kisses down toward her chest. “Well, I would've kissed you every chance I got but believe me, that wouldn’t have been enough...” His words were thick with promise, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed his arousal harder against her, his hand slipping between them, fingers tracing her slick heat over her underwear. The breathless gasp that escaped her was all the encouragement he needed. “… that wouldn’t have been fucking enough.” he whispered against her skin, his voice low and filled with hunger, as his fingers moved with purpose, leaving no doubt about what he wanted.

She bit her lip, her voice soft but laced with playful intent as she fed into the fantasy they were weaving. “Well, if we had ourselves a little house with a white fence, I’d have waited for you to come home every day in a frilly apron,” her eyes locked onto his, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she added, “with nothing underneath.”

The image she painted made Bucky’s breath hitch, his grip tightening around her ass. His eyes nearly rolled back, his imagination spiraling into wild possibilities. “Damn.” His voice was laced with lust. “If I could’ve had you waiting for me like that,” he murmured, his hand gripping her tighter, fingers digging into her skin as his restraint began to falter “I’d have come home early every damn day just to take advantage of you.” His lips brushed the swell of her breasts, the heat between them spiraling as his imagination ran wild, and he pulled her impossibly closer while teasing over her soaked panties.

Her gaze flicked from his lips back to his darkened eyes. “Oh yeah?” she challenged, her voice a sultry whisper. “Right there on the kitchen table?”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, the raw desire in his eyes nearly swallowing her whole. “Hell yes, right there on the kitchen table,” he growled, his vibranium hand gripping her ass harder, possessively. “I’d bend you over it, flip up that little apron, and bury myself inside you until you screamed my name for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.” He confessed without a hint of remorse or shame.

Her body reacted instantly, hips pressing hard against the teasing hand hovering over her clothed pussy. A soft whimper escaped her, the sound almost desperate. His hand answered her need by slipping her panties aside, his fingers slowly sinking into her heat, stretching her with deliberate, agonizing precision. The sensation sent a shudder through her, her body arching into his touch.

She let out a shaky breath, her playful tone faltering as her body betrayed her. “How kinky,” she managed to tease, biting her lip as she met his gaze, her voice barely steady under the growing pressure inside her.

Bucky inhaled sharply, savoring the way she responded, his hand moving with more purpose now. “Kinky enough to have you blushing for days,” he growled, his teeth grazing up to her jawline before dragging his lips slowly up to brush against hers. His fingers kept sliding deeper inside her with slow, deliberate strokes. “And when the milkman came the next morning…” The hand on her ass squeezed the supple skin harder, pulling her even close against him, while the other continued its relentless torment between her legs. “...you’d be so sore from the night before, you wouldn’t even be able to stand straight. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye without blushing, remembering just how loud you screamed.”

She blushed at his statement, totally immersed in the fantasy. “That sounds… so good, Buck.” She managed to say, her voice trembling with want. She bit her lip again, locking eyes with him and starting to ground herself shamelessly against his fingers, the pressure building quickly inside her. “But... would you only fuck me at the kitchen table when coming back? What about… other creative places? Like the back porch, under the shade of the bindweed?...”

Bucky's eyes closed as her suggestion sparked a flood of heated thoughts. “Hell, yes," he growled, his voice deep and gravelly, thick with desire. He pushed his fingers deeper inside her, his thumb circling her swollen clit, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. “I’d lift that sexy little apron right up, spread your legs wide open, and fuck you right there under the bindweeds," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, each word laced with promise. "And you'd moan my name, scream it, while everyone else thinks we’re just having a quiet afternoon tea."

The combination of his filthy words and the relentless pressure of his fingers sent her body trembling with anticipation, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Bucky…" she moaned softly, her hands tightening their grip on him, desperate for everything he was giving her. Her hips bucked uncontrollably against his hand, her breath hitching as his fingers curled inside her, hitting just the right spot and sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body. The pleasure built inside her, tightening, coiling until every nerve in her body felt alive.

Bucky felt the signals and growled, his fingers moving faster now, each stroke deliberate and calculated as his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. “I’d had make sure no one could ever touch you the way I did,” he muttered, his voice low and possessive. "Every inch of you, mine." He punctuated the last words with hard, rhythmic rubs at one side of her clit and that was all she needed for the climax to hit her, a wave of intense pleasure crashing through her. Her moans turned into soft cries as she buried her face on his neck, her body trembling violently as his hand continued to work her through it, prolonging her ecstasy.

When her body came down from her high, still trembling from the intensity, Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers. Panting, she looked at his gaze and saw the raw, unbridled desire burning in his cobalt eyes. Without hesitation, she leaned in, her lips finding his stubbled jaw, trailing soft, hungry kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking against his skin while her hand wandered lower and lower on his abdomen, finally unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness, venturing inside his underwear.

The moment her fingers brushed against his cock, he tensed and groaned. “W-wait,” he rasped, his voice thick with need and restraint. His hand held hers firmly, keeping her from going further.

Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, her lips still hovering near his neck. “Why?” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “I want to make you feel good too. You deserve it, Bucky,” she whispered, her words full of tenderness and desire. Her fingers twitched beneath his grip, her intention clear.

Bucky let out a low, shaky breath with a hint of frustration. He knew he had to come clean. “I want it too, trust me,” he muttered, his voice low, strained. “But it’s been so long... too long. If you touch me now…” He trailed off, swallowing hard, the unspoken words hanging in the air. “Let me lead,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. He leaned in to kiss her, deep and slow, pouring all the pent-up desire into the kiss.

She sighed softly, pulling back just enough to reach for the hem of her dress, slipping it over her head in one fluid motion. The fabric lifted away from her body, leaving her sitting in only her bra and panties as the dress was tossed to the side of the couch.

Bucky’s gaze darkened as he took her in, his hands instinctively roaming over her bare skin. But then he groaned again softly, almost painfully, his fingers pausing as his grip tightened around her waist. “What happened to let me lead?” he rasped; his voice thick with restraint.

Her breath hitched at his words, her lips parting as if to respond with a half-hearted apology, but before she could, his hands were already sliding down her body, reclaiming control. His fingers traced her bra straps, slipping them off her shoulders with excruciating slowness. “I need to do it my way,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “If you don’t behave... this ends before we even begin.”

The meaning of his earlier words hit her then, her body stiffening as realization dawned. He wasn’t just leading to take his time with her; he was fighting to keep from losing control, from coming right there in his pants. Her teasing grin faltered, replaced with a softer expression. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice quieter now, laced with understanding. “I didn’t realize…” Her fingers gently grazed his cheek, guilt creeping into her tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you.”

Bucky tensed slightly at her touch, inwardly cursing himself for letting his vulnerability slip. His masculine pride stung. Great job, Barnes. Way to cool the mood. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers in an attempt to brush off the tension. “It’s alright,” he muttered, but the strain in his voice betrayed him. His fingers dug into her hips just a little, grounding himself. “I just... got worked up faster than I expected.” He exhaled shakily, trying to ease the tension. Then he started to move.

As his fingers worked at the clasp of her bra, his touch slow and deliberate, he broke the silence with a low murmur, his voice thick with desire, yet laced with a hint of vulnerability. “You know… I liked you from the moment we bumped into each other on the stairs,” he said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I still remember the way you looked at me, even after I knocked you off balance and grabbed your arm. No gloves, metal hand out in the open… but you didn’t flinch.”

She smiled softly at the memory, her breath hitching slightly as the tension between them simmered. When her bra fell away, his gaze dropped to her exposed breasts, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. His flesh hand cupped her gently, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, teasing motion.

“I loved how your uniform looked on you then,” he continued, his voice growing huskier as his metal hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer. “I still do. Every time I see you in it, it makes it hard to focus on anything else.”

His thumb continued its slow teasing, but then his expression shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. His voice dropped, a hint of regret slipping into his words. “I wish I’d asked you out sooner. The old me… he would've handled this better. Would’ve known exactly how to...”

She cut him off before he could finish, her eyes fierce, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. “Stop,” she said firmly, her voice soft but unwavering. “The moment of ‘what if’ has passed. I don't want the man you used to be.” Her lips brushed against his jaw, her breath hot against his skin. “I want you. Not someone I never knew.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them fixing his gaze on hers. She wasn’t looking for the version of him with the effortless charm and swagger. She never did. She wanted him, baggage, scars, and everything else.

A slow, shaky breath escaped him, his grip on her tightening as a flicker of vulnerability passed through his eyes. “You don’t know how much that means,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against her jaw, then down to her neck. His movements were soft at first, but as her hands gripped his shoulders, urging him on, the hesitation melted away.

His mouth found hers again, kissing her hard, his hands moving with more confidence again. “I’ve wanted this... you,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “For so damn long.” She responded with a moan, her body arching into him as he took full control.

Bucky groaned, unable to hold back any longer as the tension between them reached its peak. He gently shifted her off his lap, laying her down on the couch, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he stood. His breath was heavy, and though his chest tightened with familiar insecurities, especially about his arm, he pushed forward.

His fingers moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. As the fabric fell to the floor, his eyes darted to her face, half-expecting some flicker of hesitation or doubt. Instead, her gaze roamed over him, dark with desire as her eyes took in the hard lines of his chest. “Damn... you’re perfect.” Her voice came out breath and soft. Swallowing hard, Bucky quickly slid his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, kicking them aside. Now fully bare before her, he stood there, his chest rising and falling as her gaze lingered on him. He could see her eyes focused on his size, her lips parted as she let out a soft, breathless sound. The way she looked at him -no hesitation, only hunger- made his insecurities, the doubts about his scars, his arm, everything, to retract to a far corner of his mind.

Without a word, he climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs, their bodies pressed together, heat and tension coiling between them. His hands trailed down her sides, gripping her hips firmly as he pulled her closer. Slowly, he guided his cock to her slick entrance, teasing her folds as he coated his shaft with her wetness. A low, rumbling groan escaped his lips as he playfully rubbed the tip of his cock against her clit, the pressure sending jolts of pleasure through her.

Her body reacted instantly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she writhed beneath him. “Bucky…” she moaned softly, her hips tilting up toward him, her body aching for more.

He moved slowly, sliding inside her inch by inch, and paused as soon as he was fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust. Her body clenched tightly around him, a gasp escaping her lips as her nails dug into his shoulders. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, the sensation of him filling her completely overwhelming her. The tight heat of her body had him teetering on the edge, but he held back, determined to give her time.

He pulled back slightly, then pushed forward again, slowly and deliberately, testing her response. Her breath hitched, her thighs trembling around his hips with each thrust. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut as she struggled to find her breath.

“Fuck, Bucky,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice barely audible but heavy with surprise and awe. “You’re… big. I’ve never... God!”

Her words sparked something deep within him, the mixture of vulnerability and pleasure igniting a fire he could barely contain. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his control began to slip. His hands moved to the back of her thighs, gripping them firmly just beneath her knees, then in one swift motion, he lifted her legs, spreading her wider as he started to thrust deeper, hitting spots that made her eyes fly open, a strangled moan escaping her lips. “Bucky… oh my God,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she struggled to take all of him.

Encouraged by her reaction, Bucky picked up the pace, his thrusts growing harder and faster, losing himself in the haze of lust that overtook him. He pulled her thighs higher, spreading her wider, driving into her with relentless force. Each thrust was deeper and rougher, and her moans quickly turned into desperate, breathless cries of pleasure.

The sound of her moans, the way she cried out his name, only fueled him further. “You like that?” he growled, his voice low and ragged as he thrust into her again, deeper, harder. Her slick heat gripped him tighter with every movement, making his pulse race. “Look at me, Doll. You like it rough?”

Her body arched beneath him, her hands scrambling for something to hold onto as the intensity of his thrusts tore through her. “Yes! Bucky… fuck! Don’t stop,” she moaned, her voice breaking as he kept his relentless, punishing pace.

“Oh, I won’t stop,” he growled, pulling out of her with a slick sound, only to flip her over onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips roughly, pulling her ass up and positioning her on all fours before she had time to catch her breath.

Before she could process the shift, Bucky slammed back into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her fingers clutching at the couch cushions as he drove into her from behind, his pace unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his flesh hand sliding up her back before grabbing a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as his hips pistoned against her, thrusting deep and hard.

She let out a scream of pleasure, her body trembling as he pounded into her. “Yes! Oh God, yes,” she cried, her voice hoarse, her body helpless under his rough control.

Bucky grunted with each powerful thrust, his grip on her hair tightening, his metal hand digging into her hip, guiding her back onto him. The angle allowed him to go even deeper, kissing her cervix with every push of his hips. Her moans only spurred him on, the rhythm of their bodies frantic and primal, skin slapping against skin.

He released her hair and grabbed both her hips, yanking her back onto his cock with force, losing himself in the haze of lust. “Come for me,” he growled, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp smack, making her gasp.

Before she could recover, his hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. He circled it with firm, deliberate pressure, his voice rough as he leaned over her, thrusting deeper still. “I want you to come all over me, Doll.” The moment his fingers found her swollen nub, her body responded, hips bucking involuntarily as her breath hitched. The pressure building inside her hit its peak, and with a loud, desperate moan, she shattered beneath him, her body trembling violently as she came hard.

The feel of her tight, wet heat spasming around him was too much for Bucky to handle. He let out a guttural moan, his hips slamming into her as his own release took hold. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice ragged as his body tensed, and he came hard, spilling thick, hot spurts into her. His hips jerked involuntarily with each wave of pleasure, the intensity of his orgasm hitting him harder than he’d expected. He gasped, his forehead falling to her back as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock pulsing inside her, still surrounded by the tight, wet heat of her body.

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room, the intensity of their release leaving them trembling, their bodies slick with sweat. Bucky stayed inside her for a moment longer, his fingers lazily circling her clit, drawing out her pleasure as her body continued to spasm beneath him. But as the haze of bliss began to fade, his mind started to catch up with his body, and a flicker of doubt crept in. Had he been… too much?

Slowly, he withdrew from her, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His hand slid up to her shoulder, gentle, almost tentative. “Are you okay?” His voice was low, uncertainty laced in every word.

She turned her head slightly, her cheek pressing into the cushion as her hooded eyes found his. “I’m better than okay,” she murmured. “That was... perfect, Buck.”

He exhaled, feeling the tension in his body ease, but his mind refused to quiet. What if she was trying to play it cool after being on the receiving end of nearly 80 years of pent-up frustration?

Sensing his unease, she shifted, sitting up on the couch. Her hands cradled his face, her thumbs gently brushing against his skin. He looked almost miserable for someone who had, minutes ago, been nothing short of a god of intercourse.

“You didn’t hurt me, Bucky,” she said, her voice firm yet warm. “I meant it when I said it was perfect. Stop overthinking. It was the best I’ve ever had.” Her cheeks flushed as she realized the weight of her words, but she didn’t back down. “I mean it,” she added, her voice softening as her gaze dropped for a moment, the blush deepening. “It really was the best I’ve ever had.”

The tension in his body slowly began to melt away as he absorbed her words, a flicker of relief washing over him. His breathing steadied, and the storm of doubts in his mind started to quiet. He looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for letting his insecurities creep in. Running a hand through his messy hair, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I just... I get in my head sometimes.”

She gave him a gentle smile, her fingers brushing his scruffy cheek again. “You didn’t ruin anything, Bucky, not even close. If anything, the only thing you’ll have to atone for... is setting the bar pretty high.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile as her words sank in. He exhaled deeply, feeling the weight on his chest finally lift. Without saying anything, he reached up, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing softly over her skin in a silent gesture of gratitude.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was full of understanding, unspoken promises, and the certainty that, somehow, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[violetflowerswrites]

I love the inclusivity!

18+ Bucky loves your back rolls. They’re the perfect place for his hands when he hugs you. You’re so soft. So so fucking soft. He loves to cling onto you, kneading his hands into your warm, silky skin, his fingers working into the little curves of your back. He loves that he can grab onto you with fistfuls of your body to hold, his face buried into your neck while he savours your body.

He loves how they look in dresses. Especially backless ones. He finds evey little curve so sensual and intimate. It’s the first place his hands go to for comfort. He sneaks them up your shirt with grabby hands, while you coo and coddle him like the needy baby he is for you and it’s the best thing ever.

It’s his favourite thing to feel when he has you on your back, arms wrapped around your body, his hips snapping into you, plowing you into mattress. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way his thick cock stretches you open, hitting that spot that makes you scream. Then he wraps you up and his hands fine purchase on those sweet rolls along your back and it makes him whine and whimper, gripping them so he can be extra close.

You’re just so soft. How was he allowed to touch something so soft. He’s so greedy, fat drops of precum leaking from his tip when he moves to sit up and have you seated on his cock. He gets to run his hands up and down to feel your velvety skin, fucking feral when he catches a glimpse on the mirror reflection. Your pretty back moves in gentle waves with each thrust of his hips and it’s not enough. He wants you to feel his cock in your soul, feel every bit of him, fucking you so hard, your body has no choice but to take it.

He wants those pretty rolls to move.

His eyes roll back momentarily before focusing again, grabbing and squeezing your flesh, feeling it ripple and tremor with each slam of his cock.

There it is. Gorgeous ripples matching the way his name falls from your lips. Soft. Pretty. So sweet.

He doesn’t stop until his balls are empty, cum dripping down the seam of his balls and onto the bed.

Now he gets to hug you and he’s not longer gripping and tugging. He runs his hands up and down, inhaling your sweet scent while tucking his face into your neck again, keeping you right wherever you belong. Right on his lap, filled with his cock and cum, keeping him all safe and warm. He paws at them with grabby hands, never getting tired of how they feel.

God, he loves your back rolls.

[http-shield]

Bucky and Sam watch as a guy tries to hit on you at the bar.

“Shouldn’t you do something?” Sam asks, curious as to why bucky hasn't moved.

“Nah, she’s got it” he croons, eyes trained on the unfolding situation.

And you do, in fact, have it. You can handle yourself, have gotten out of much tougher spots without the help of anyone and you enjoy that feeling. Now, you can protect yourself despite having no powers nor superhero training, but when you flash Bucky a look, he walks over without a second thought. The glass shoved into Sam's unexpecting hands, metal whirring and soft clinks as plates click against each other. He isn't going to use the prosthetic; there's no need to cause a bigger scene, but he might flash the metal to give the creep a bit of a scare. he claps the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the way he jumps.

"Alright, bud. Pack it up." But the guy shrugs him off, looks at the ex- assassin over his shoulder, and then turns back to you, leaning closer despite your very obvious rejection.

The muscles in Bucky's jaw clench as he leans forward, hand now wrapping around the back of the creep's neck. "You've got two seconds to get the fuck away from her, or I'll rip your throat out."

The guy turns, face contorted in rage and itching for a fight, but as he takes in the face of the Winter Soldier, he balks. There are no apologies thrown your way as he scrambles away, head ducked in order to disappear from his sight.

Bucky turns to you, a soft smile replacing the grimace he had not two seconds ago and leans in for a soft kiss.

"Bucky Barnes, my hero." you swoon and wrap your arms around his neck. "Where would I be without you?" he returns the gesture, holding you fast against his body.

"I don't ever wanna find out."

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[buckets-and-trees]

What You Want

Characters/Pairings: lawyer!Bucky x curvy!female assistant reader Word Count: 2.7k Summary: Your boss, powerful lawyer Bucky Barnes, insisted he needed his indispensable assistant to accompany him on his trip to Norway. He also promised he would have you home in time for Christmas, but the weather decided to strike its wrath and decimate international travel, leaving you stranded for a few more days.

Content Warnings: modern AU, slight power dynamic, periphery/secular reference to the Christmas holiday, vaginal fingering, use of "plum" as a term of endearment

Logistical Notes: Written for @sstan-hoe Vee's Holly Jolly Challenge - I was given a selection of prompts including "That noise...keep making it," reindeer, and lawyer/assistant power dynamics. Also my December entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the FLASHBACKS prompt. Divider by @saradika.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You heard the door open and close behind you and then familiar footsteps approaching, but you didn’t turn to look, instead keeping your eyes on the beauty of the frozen wilderness on display before you.

“Peace offering?” Bucky spoke as he stepped up beside you at the rail of the balcony, holding one of two steaming mugs in his hands toward you.

You sighed but gave him a small smile and took the mug. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re a very powerful man, Bucky, but I’m relatively sure you don’t control the weather.”

“Not yet, but I’m trying to pull some strings,” he said with a smirk, and you smiled.

“It’s not your fault we can’t get a flight back to the States when a blizzard has taken out half the Eastern Seaboard.”

It was unlikely that even with all of James Buchanan Barnes’ considerable lawyering power and money that he would be able to get you back home before Christmas. The main international airports in New England would have to live through the record raging blizzard, dig out, and then there would be hundreds of thousands of passengers to accommodate in and out of the country. Reasonably your guess was that you wouldn’t be returning until as early as the day after Christmas at the earliest.

“I should still apologize though. I said I would have you home for Christmas.”

You took a sip of the hot coffee. “You should apologize, but you’re not.”

He smiled. “No, I’m not.”

He turned and looked out over the forest and frozen tundra with you, the snow sparkling by the moonlight. This side of the resort hotel Bucky had booked the two of you into looked out over the wilderness.

“How long are you going to stay out here?”

“Until I see a reindeer. You brought me to Norway in December. I want to see a wild reindeer.”

“Fair enough.”

After a few more minutes, Bucky spoke again. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat, though? They said our accommodations should be ready after dinner.”

It had been a bit of a feat to find any place this close to Christmas that wasn’t closed or completely booked, but Bucky had managed to find this place that although they said they didn’t have a place immediately available, they had late check outs that just needed to be cleaned and refreshed for new guests.

“It’s a very fine restaurant.”

“Alright, let’s go eat.”

“If that will be all for the evening, I’ll be happy to escort you to your suite, Mr. Barnes,” the maître d’ said. He had been attentive all evening, but being with Bucky on this business trip you had quickly learned only the most excellent service was a common thing for him.

“Yes, thank you, I think we’re finished,” Bucky replied, looking to you, and you nodded. You both scooted your chairs back from the table and then followed the man out of the restaurant, through the hotel lobby, past the bar, past the observatory lounge and balcony you’d visited earlier, and to a pair of elevators.

Dinner had been quiet, but not an uneasy quiet by any means for the two of you. Bucky was an intimidating man, power emanating from him very naturally, but after the first few weeks as his assistant, you had gotten over your nerves. After sitting with him through many lunches, plenty of meetings, taking notes from him on cases and projects, and a fair few late nights, you had grown comfortable around him, learned that he could be easy to talk to, but didn’t strive to fill a silence for conversation’s sake, something you appreciated.

The hotel Bucky had found was an upscale, moderately sized wilderness and ski lodge. When you arrived on the fifth and top floor, there was a cozy hallway that only boasted three doors, and you were led to the one at the very end, where the man unlocked the door, stepped in to hold it open, and then handed the key to Bucky.

“If you should need anything at all, simply pick up the phone and our staff will assist you,” he said. “Have a good evening, and we hope you enjoy your stay, even though we know it was unexpected for the holiday.”

“Thank you, dinner was fantastic, and the place looks wonderful, you’ve been great, Lucas. Have a good night,” Bucky said, and pressed what you were sure was a generous tip into the man’s hand.

All your and Bucky’s things had been left neatly to one side of the entry of the suite. A quick look around revealed that there were two rooms off either side of the spacious sitting area as well as a small kitchen and bar, and on the far side full floor to ceiling windows and a balcony. You had hoped for two rooms like you’d had at the previous hotel, but two rooms in a suite would be perfectly fine, especially since the stunning view out of the sitting room’s windows wasn’t the only beauty in the place. There was a fireplace with a gorgeous mantle with a roaring fire already ablaze and a stunning Christmas tree with gorgeous trimmings in the Scandinavian style.

“It’ll do, yes?” Bucky asked, watching you take in the beauty of the tree.

You smiled warmly at him, then looked back at the tree. “Yes, it’ll do just fine.” The sitting room was spacious and rivaled your cozy studio apartment back home for size. You stepped further into the suite. “Do you want to take a look at the rooms and pick which one you want?” you asked. All the trip was on the company’s expense account, and as his assistant, although you suspected he might be a gentleman and offer you the better room, you would defer to Bucky to actually pick.

“We’ll share whichever one is better,” he said with a shrug.

You scoffed. “No, there are two rooms in this gorgeous suite, I’m sure they’re both fantastic, I don’t mind taking the one you don’t want. Might even sleep on the couch so I can stay by the tree and look out those windows all night.”

He chuckled, low, and suddenly at your back. “You misunderstand me, plum,” he said, placing his hands on the curve of your hips and pressing his chest up against your back. He leaned in to speak the next words directly in your ear. “I’m having you in my bed tonight.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t move, and a soft, “Mr. Barnes,” was all you could say.

“Aw, none of that, plum, you haven’t called me Mr. Barnes for months, and I won’t it happening again now.”

“We shouldn’t,” you tried to protest, but even as you said the words, a traitorous part of you didn’t put much feeling behind them.

“Shouldn’t we? You’re smart enough to know I didn’t really need to bring you on this trip with me, but I wanted to. Didn’t want to go that long without seeing you, wanted you by my side in a charming Nordic country during the height of its festive season, and you said yes, like the perfect assistant that you are. I told myself that was enough, didn’t go knocking on your door any of the nights we were at our first hotel, kept it professional despite wanting more and more of you every day we spent together away from the office.”

His hand moved from your hips to circle around your front, his left moving over your soft stomach over to the other side to rest over the front of your right hip, and his right further up your torso, his hand brushing the underside of your breast and resting firmly just below it, bringing you flush against him.

“Fate won’t let me get you home for Christmas, so why deny what it’s dangling right in front of me now?”

He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, and a small whimper escaped your throat.

“Let me have what I want,” he murmured, leaving a slow trail of more kisses down your neck. “I know you want it, too.”

“I – no, I don’t – I”

It was impossible to put up the words of protest when he licked the shell of your ear. You shivered in his arms instead.

“Let me ruin my perfect girl,” he pressed, slipping the hand that was at your hip into the waistband of your trousers. His hand stopped when his fingers met the lace edge of your panties. He turned you around abruptly and kissed you full on the mouth, cupping your face with both hands so you had no choice but to take the heat of his kiss, and the flame he’d been sparking started to catch more dangerously in your core.

He had somehow maneuvered you further into the sitting room so that when he suddenly broke off the kiss, you were in the middle of the space, the warm glow of the fire and the tree lights casting over you both.

Bucky stepped back, and you frowned in confusion, still breathless. He trailed a finger up the column of your throat to the tip of your chin, his blue eyes dark and hungry. “Undress,” he said.

He moved to the couch and sat, his eyes returning to you as he settled in.

“Undress,” he repeated.

That commanding tone struck another spark right to your cunt. You knew you were already growing wet for him.

You toed off your shoes one at a time, then took off your socks – those requiring you to move a little less elegantly than you wanted with his searing gaze on you. Standing aright again, your hands moved to the button of your trousers, fingers trembling since you had never stripped in front of anyone before. You weren’t a virgin, but although the partners you had been with before had been eager to have you naked, none had ever asked you to undress for them like this, like they wanted to see your full figure, not just fuck it.

Bucky spoke your name in a way that had you pause and look up at him again.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You know I pride myself on my instincts. I think we both want this, but there are two rooms here.”

You bit your lip.

He was offering the veiled choice if you wanted it.

Your mind raced with flashbacks of conversations and thoughts you’d had over the past few weeks clear back to the first few meetings with your boss.

Insisting to your mother that your boss did absolutely need you to fly with him to Norway to assist him with meetings with an international client the week before Christmas.

Your best friend insisting on a shopping trip for your fancy work trip to a foreign country “because if your hot boss isn’t going to seduce you, have a foreign fling!”

Your heart stuttering the first time your eyes met your boss’s deep blues the day you interviewed with him.

The same eyes that were riveted on you now.

On you.

You unbuttoned your trousers and lowered the zipper. You glanced down as the fell to the floor, then stepped carefully out of them. When you looked back up, you saw even more hunger in Bucky’s eyes, and it warmed your blood. Looking right into those eyes, you reached for the hem of your sweater and lifted it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor as well.

“Mmm,” he hummed in approval. “C’m’ere,” he beckoned, sitting back on the couch again, but beckoning you into his lap as he watched your every move.

You concentrated on his eyes and on keeping your breathing steady. When you were close enough for him to reach for you, he held out his hand. You took it and let him pull you gently down to straddle your legs on either side of his.

“My perfect plum,” he murmured. His hands moved up your thighs, over your hips, up your waist, and back down.

“Your plum?” you asked, watching his face as his eyes roved over you up close.

“My perfect plum - I want to savor every delicious curve of your body,” he said before dropping a kiss to the top of your breast. Your hands went to his shoulders to steady yourself. “When I felt that lace of your underwear, I thought maybe you did want this, too.” His lips moved to the other breast where he kissed the exposed skin, then traced his tongue along the edge of the lacy cup, causing you to shiver. “There isn’t any other reason you would be wearing such pretty lingerie, is there?”

“No,” you admitted immediately.

“Just for me,” he said as he moved his hand to your mound and immediately slipped a finger beneath the fabric to stroke along your folds, making you gasp. “Good girl, already wet for me.”

You keened as his finger traced your warm hole but didn’t go in, instead taking the slick there and pressing it up over your folds. He continued tracing them up and down before moving up to find your clit, knowing he found it the second your head dropped back, and you let a, “Yes,” tumble from your lips. “More.”

His other hand skimmed up from your hip, up your side, to your neck, and then angled your head back down for another kiss. Your lips met his eagerly, mouths parting, you licked into his mouth, and he growled his approval. He moved his finger from your clit, but your whine was brief as he slipped that finger along with a second straight into your cunt, stroking in and out, over and over again. You canted your hips into his hand, and you felt the rumble of a chuckle in his chest, but he didn’t stop kissing you. Instead, he curled his fingers forward with each stroke, quickly finding the spongy spot that made you tremble and moan.

Breathless, it was you who had to break off the kiss first, but you pressed your forehead to his. “Feel good, plum?” he asked, and you registered that he sounded as earnest as you felt, his voice deep and a little breathless, too.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped.

“Mmm, sir? I like that,” he said, and rewarded you by moving his thumb to start circling your clit.

You moaned openly.

“That noise…keep making it.”

He sped up his motions just slightly, seeming to feel how your body was tensing up, building toward a powerful release.

“Ready to cum for me like a good girl?”

“Yes, sir!” your answer was more like a plea. “So close.”

Keeping up the rhythm on your clit, he applied more pressure with each thrust of his fingers up inside of you, hitting that sensitive spot on the front of your walls, and with just a few more strokes, the wave crested and rolled over you.

“That’s it, plum,” he cooed as you trembled above him, his other hand coming to smooth unhurriedly up and down your back as his fingers continued to stroke your channel, slowly extending your orgasm. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He removed his fingers and brought them up to your mouth. You sucked them in, laving your tongue over them. “Can’t wait to see you come for me again,” he said. And too impatient for you to lick his fingers clean, he withdrew them and crashed his lips back into yours.

“Earlier tonight when I said I should apologize, and you called me right out for not doing any such thing?”

“Yes?”

“This is why I didn’t apologize. I was in no way sorry that I had more time with you, and I’m going to use it to take you apart and put you back together all night.”

You would think about all of this later. But he emptied your head of anything but him and the pleasure between you, making more than good on his promise to take you apart until you were completely spent and ruined in his bed.

READ THE SEQUEL: NOW THAT I SAW YOU

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[buckys-wintersoldier]

Reader being really annoying to Bucky, but an absolute sweetheart to everyone else. When he’s complaining about it, he calls the reader “a brat.”

Nat pauses his rant and deadpans, “She’s not a brat, she’s your brat.”

Bucky tracks the reader down in the compound and tests Nat’s theory. She’s right, the reader is Bucky’s best.

(I’m so sorry, this has been brainrot material for me for over a week, now, and I just had to share it with someone else.)

Hey, sorry for the late reply. This one had my attention immediately but when I tried to write something it came out as shit thing so… yes. Absolutely love that idea! Bucky would definitely do that.

His brat | B.B

You’re such a brat, aren’t you? At least Bucky thinks so until Natasha tells him that you’re not just a brat, you’re his brat.

Pairing -> Avengers!Bucky Barnes x Brat!Reader

Wordcount -> 944 Words

Warnings -> Reader being a brat, idiots in love, teasing

Events -> Hot Bucky Summer | Week 10 | "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.", Gagged, Voyeurism, Somnophilia | @buckybarnesevents

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

You’re a brat, at least would someone ask Bucky, that would be his answer. You tease him, call him grumpy, grandpa.

You earn a rolling of his eyes whenever you do it, now it only needs you walking past him and he is already knowing that you’re going to say anything, whatever it is — it’s a teasing him.

Secretly he hopes that it means something, but being a brat doesn’t mean anything right? Maybe you just don’t like him? Or you just have another problem with him and don’t tell him about.

As bad as your teasing and joking can be, he feels his heart racing and a smile almost creeping in his face when you’re around, or just walk into a room.

But once again you teased him — this morning. You had a bunch of magnets and put them all on his metal arm, giggling as you also put wiped cream into his hand and slid your fingers over his forehead until he threw his hand into his face.

It needed a while to clean the arm and himself. And now he is sitting with Natasha on the couch, watching television while they talk.

“She is such a brat, always doing this jokes. And this morning! She put wiped cream on my hand and tickled me! Plus my whole arm was stuck with magnets,” he complains, moving his hand over his face and arm to make it more clear.

Natasha chuckled, pointing to the underside of Bucky’s arm. “There is still one stuck,” she smirks as he removes it with a groan.

“See! Such a brat this girl,” he mutters, throwing the magnet to the table but unfortunately for him it gets stuck on his finger and he throws his head back annoyed. “Even the magnets themselves tease me!”

The red haired woman nods her head, smirking. “You know… she isn’t a brat…” she says. Bucky turns his head to face her, narrowing his ocean blue eyes. “She is your brat, Bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head. Maybe Natasha is right? But maybe you just hate him and that’s why you’re teasing him all the time.

But after the talk he wants to find out if it’s true, are you his brat? Bucky doesn’t follow you around, but whenever you’re training or during dinner or if you’re in a room together he watches you intensely.

Around Steve you’re all sweet, asking him about his day, laughing with him, and being the sweetest one you can be. Even with Sam you’re nice, helping him out if he asks.

Not even the new agents are teased by you as much as you tease and annoy Bucky.

And with the girls you’re nice anyway. Bucky knew already, but it hits him then — you’re really not a brat, you’re his brat.

He then makes a plan, there are two options you act around him like you do, right? Either you’re head over heels in love with him as well or you’re really just annoying around him — and he hopes it’s the first option.

Bucky waits in the floor as you get up from the couch, excusing you by your friends because you need some more snacks.

As you walk out of the room and into the floor you’re already pushed into the wall with a soft yelp. Ocean blue eyes stare into yours and you notice the handsome face of Bucky with a wide grin on his pink, plump lips.

“Hi, doll!” He grins, his big hands holding you by your hips and pressing you firmly against the wall. “Thought I would thank you for the wiped cream this morning.”

“U-uhm, yes. You’re welcome,” you stutter, being catcher off guard. “Y-yes I- uhm.”

“Cat got your tongue, darlin’?” Bucky asks, his lips only inches away from yours and a whimper leaves your lips. His voice is low and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes move from yours to your lips and back to your eyes.

“N-no,” you whimper, almost leaning into him to chase his lips for a soft kiss but he leans back with a grin.

“Mhm, not? Then do you want to tell me why you’re always such a brat?” Bucky asks, one of his hands trailing up and down your side, causing goosebumps all over your body.

“I- I- Bucky, please,” you say, your tone pleading as you look over his handsome face to his plump lips — they look just so kissable.

“What do you want, doll?” He is such a tease right now, and you know he won’t give you what you want unless you ask him for it — ask him to kiss you.

“K-kiss me, please,” you whine, pouting softly as he chuckles.

“Kiss, that little bratty mouth of yours?” You nod, hands sliding to his chest to fist his shirt and pull him closer to you. “Yeah, always such a brat and now begging for me to kiss you.”

“Please Bucky, your brat, only your brat, always your brat,” you mumble, leaning closer to him. And then he finally brings his face closer to yours.

“Yeah, that’s it, doll. My brat, only mine,” he smiles, pressing his lips softly against yours and you sigh softly. After so much teasing and trying to get his attention, to be close to him — he finally kisses you. “But we should talk about your attitude, my sweet brat. Maybe a punishment would help you to be a good girl for me, even though I really like your bratty side.”

Reblogs and comments are really appreciated, as well as likes. But if you want to support your content creators, comment and reblog, it will make them way happier!

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@whatever-lmaoo some fluffyyyy for you!

[buckyshoneybunny]

Spooky Secrets & Sweet Treats

College!Quarterback!Bucky Barnes + Curvy!College!Reader 

Summary- You and the gang decorate for Halloween and host a Halloween party. During which a heated argument starts up between you and Bucky, revealing some hidden truths. Will these new truths lead to a new relationship and a fresh start between you two, or will it become worse than before? 

W.C.- 3653 

Warnings- Smut, unprotected sex, poorly written smut

A/N- Hi! I really hope you guys like this, I honestly don’t know how to feel about this, like I love it but I also hate it lol. The picture above is roughly what the living room looks like, I designed it myself on a designing website. The other pictures aren’t mine. This will be part one of a series. Part two will be for Thanksgiving and part 3 Christmas, and so on. Not proof read. The back story I used is my own sooo yeah. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Oh and happy Halloween!!  

Masterlist  Series Masterlist

Having not eaten all day, your stomach rumbled in protest. You sat in the middle row of the lecture hall, Nat on one side, Yelena on the other. This was the last class of the day, your ADHD medicine wearing off causing you to be even more impatient. Your right leg bounced mindlessly under the table; Natasha placed her hand on your knee with a warning glance. You stop and mumble out an apology.   

You couldn’t help it honestly, today was Halloween, not your favorite holiday but still. You were sizzling with excitement. You, Natasha and Yelena (your roommate's), Nat’s boyfriend Steve and his two friends Sam and Bucky, were coming over after class. The guys would be making the food while you girls set out the decorations and got everything ready. That’s right, you were having a Halloween party!  

You were never one for parties, not that you didn’t like them you just weren’t ever invited in high school. No one wanted the shy girl at their party. But since meeting Nat and Lena you’ve grown more confident, you were still shy, that was just who you are, but you’re a little more outgoing than you once were.  

There was just one tiny problem, Bucky. You loathed that man, and according to him the feeling was mutual. Every little thing he did annoyed you, he made sure he went out of his way just to piss you off. With his stupid, cocky smirk, sparkling white teeth, gorgeous shoulder length, chocolate brown locks that he let grow out since meeting you. Even those shirts that seem three sizes too small, showing off his delicious abs that you just wanted to li- 

Stop that! 

You mentally climbed out of that rabbit hole, not wanting to go too deep. No matter how much you wanted to get a taste of the star quarterback, you hated each other and that was all it was ever going to be. 

After what you’re sure is another 20 minutes, the professor finally dismisses everyone. You quickly gather your things and dart out the lecture hall, Natasha and Yelena hot on your heels.   

Shivering as you stepped outside, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you, the cool autumn breeze blew about. Fall colored leaves littered the sidewalk, crunching under your feet. 

You smiled. You loved fall and winter, everything just seemed happier. Holidays back-to-back, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. You loved Christmas. The sparkle of Christmas lights, curling up on the couch wrapped in a blanket watching Christmas movies, you just loved it.   

The party started at nine, so you had roughly five and a half hours to get the supplies, set everything up, and get ready yourselves.  

“You excited?” Nat asks, drawing you away from your thoughts. You three walking to your house on the far end of the campus. It was a two story, three bedrooms, two bath house. Nat and Lena’s parents were rich, having some sort of high-end job in the government.  

“Duh,” you laugh.  

“Even though he’s going to be there?” Yelena pipes up. You sigh. 

“I’m determined to not let him get to me; I am going to have a good time tonight.” 

“You say that every time,” Nat snickers.  

“Yeah well, I mean it this time, he’s not ruining this party for me,” you defend.  

“You say that too,” Yelena giggles. 

“Say what?” The annoying voice you know too well asks before you can say anything. Turning around you find Bucky, Steve, and Sam following you guys. Steve wraps an arm around Nat, kissing her forehead. Sam ruffles Yelena’s hair.   

Clad in his signature black leather jacket, the six-foot something wall of muscle wore blue jeans, red henley under the jacket, and his combat boots. This isn’t fair, why does he have to look so hot? His hair pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck. 

“Nothing James,” you roll your eyes. You could see the tick in his jaw, he hated being called by his first name. 

 “Come on, princess,” he spits bitterly. “Keeping secrets from me now?” You just huff and keep walking in the direction of your house.  

Princess. That name made your blood boil, you despised it, and he knew it too. It wasn’t the name that bothered you really, just the way he said it, like you were some spoiled brat. You most definitely weren’t. You didn’t even know why he called you that, but that was the name he’d given you the night you first met. 

You weaved your way through the mass of people, trying to reach the kitchen. Natasha had dragged you to this party, claiming it was way past due to meet the gang. Yelena wasn’t any help, going right along with Nat’s plans. When one sister had her mind set to something, the other backed her up and to say they were a force to be reconned with was an understatement. 

Before you could reach the kitchen, you smacked right into a wall, or what you thought was a wall until two strong, veiny hands shot out to steady you before you could fall. Looking up you see a pair of steel blue eyes boring into yours. The man had a sharp, clean shaved jaw, his brown hair short and fluffy, and stuck up in all different directions. His full, pink lips moved, saying something you didn’t quite catch. You realized you had been staring for too long. 

“What?” You ask loud enough over the music.  

He chuckles. “I said, are you alright, ...?”  

“Oh! I’m Y/N, and yes, I’m fine. Thanks for catching me,” you smile. “And you are?” 

His smile falls. “Bucky,” he says gruffly. “Watch where you’re going next time, princess,” he spits out bitterly before expertly weaving through the crowd.  

You stood there confused for a moment, wondering what the hell happened. Natasha told you to give him some time and he’d warm up to you. To everyone’s surprise, he never did. 

Your shoulders relaxed as you breathed a contented sigh as you stepped inside your shared home. A fireplace with shelves lined on either side. When you moved in Nat and Yelena let you decorate, you had taken interior design in high school so you knew how to make certain things work. A light grey couch sat in the center, with a coffee table in front of it, and a TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace.  

Nat let you take the lead, directing everyone. She knew how your OCD and ADHD could get, especially when it comes to planning things like this, everything had to be a certain way. Bucky rolled his eyes and mumbled some smart remark under his breath. Once everyone was assigned a job you all got to work.  

Steve and Sam went to the store, Bucky started to chop firewood to help keep the house warm-you liked using that rather than the heater, made it cozier, plus it saved money. Nat and Yelena worked on getting the Halloween decorates out of the shed. You did a quick clean, making room for the foldable tables Steve and Sam were getting. You scolded Bucky when he tracked mud through the house, to which he flipped you off.  

Once the boys got back and the decorations were all set up and tables put up, everyone got ready. Natasha and Steve dressed up as superheroes, Sam as a Falcon, ever the nerd he is. Yelena dressed up as a vampire, Bucky was, well you didn’t know what he was. All you knew was he’s half naked and making your panties sticky.  

And last but not least, you dressed up as a bunny, well sort of. You wore a soft pink short cotton skirt with a bunny tail, a matching cotton crop, and bunny ears. Steve painted on a bunny nose. You were very unsure of the outfit at first, but Nat and Yelena, both assured you that your curves look delicious in that outfit.  

Once everyone was dressed Steve and Sam fired up the grill to start cooking, Nat and Yelena setting out the condiments and other various food items. Bucky got the fire going, having paused to help Steve and Sam set the tables up when they got back. You added a few finishing touches to the decorations, moving a few things, stuff like that. You idly wondered why Bucky was so quiet, usually he’d have you clawing your eyes out by now.  

But Bucky was in his own little world. He leaned back on his haunches once the fire was set. He glanced over at you, taking in your outfit. His tight ripped jeans did nothing to hide the effect it had on him. He'd seen you glance at his bare chest multiple times by now, he didn’t have a costume in mind. He just threw on some old, tight, ripped black jeans, if anyone asked what he was he’d think of something.  

He watched as you moved a few decorations, a pout on your soft pink lips. Your brows were furrowed in a frown, he wanted to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. He shook his head to try and clear those thoughts, looking away before you could catch him.  

Yes, he hated you, but that didn’t mean that your curves didn’t make his cock throb and his head fuzzy. The way you looked in those heels, how they made you sexy legs look long and soft. But you were this self-entitled princess who always had to have her way, it pissed him off, everyone loved you. Even your creative writing professor you guys had seemed to adore you, it made his blood boil that you were the teacher's pet. 

If only he knew. 

He remembers how you had him all figured out before you guys even met.  

Bucky scanned through the crowd of people in his house. He, Steve, and Sam threw a celebration party for winning last night's game. Steve had invited his girlfriend, which she invited her sister and their roommate.  

He was quite excited to meet this gorgeous angel Natasha always talked about. He spotted Natasha and Yelena; the third girl had her back to him. He could only assume the third girl was you, your soft Y/H/C pulled into a braid. The blue jeans you wore hugged your thighs, your tank top hugging your chest and curves. 

He smirked, you really were gorgeous. As he walked closer, he could hear your honeyed voice. He frowned when he heard what you were saying. 

“I don’t see how I could like someone like him,” you tell Nat. “He’s probably some fuckboy like every other football player. Some jerk with a high ego.”  

Your tone sounded disgusted; he huffed a breath. Any excitement he had for meeting you was long gone. He was so fucking tired of people associating him with the stereotypical quarterback. He wasn’t a fuckboy, far from it.  

He'd only been with a few women, contrary to what everyone believed. He didn’t fuck them and leave, no, his ma raised him better than that. He took them out, treated them right, the perfect gentlemen. He was dedicated to any and all his relationships, they just never seemed to work out.  

So, when he ran into you later that night, literally, he put up the wall that he hides behind and brushed you off.  

A couple of hours later the party is in full swing, people dancing, music blaring. You step out on the back patio, needing a break from the noise and people. You sit in one of the outside chairs, looking at the stars. You mentally scold yourself for not bringing a jacket as you shiver. You feel fuzzy as the whiskey you’d been drinking takes effect. 

A few minutes later a sweaty Bucky opens the sliding glass door. He pauses when he sees you. He huffs and closes the door, taking a deep breath of fresh air. You turn away from him, ignoring his presence. You hear the door open a couple of times before you feel a warm leather jacket being set over your shoulders.   

The jacket smells of leather and pine, mixed with something else, Bucky. You turn your head to see the man himself standing behind you.  

“I don’t need your stupid jacket, James,” you huff and move to slide said jacket off. He places his big hands on your shoulders, keeping the jacket in place.  

“Can you for once stop being a fucking brat and just take the goddamn jacket?” He snaps, feed up with your constant attitude.  

You shove his hands off you and stand up. “What the hell is your problem?!” You yell, finally at your breaking point.  

“My problem?!” He yells back. “My problem is you’re a self-entitled brat who always gets what she wants. Who thinks she knows everyone, well news flash princess, you don’t.”  

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  

“You making assumptions about me before you even get to know me.” You give him a confused look so he continues. “That night at the party you told Nat how you couldn’t ever like someone like me, how I’m an egoistic fuckboy. I'm so fucking tired of people making assumptions.”  

Guilt settles into bones; you hadn’t realized he heard you. “Oh, Bucky I’m so-”  

“No, you know what?” He continues, cutting you off. “You’re the one with the high ego, everything just has to be your way, doesn’t it? This has to go there, that over there. Everything has to be perfect for little miss sunshine.”  

“Wh-” 

“No, you’re gonna shut the fuck up for once and listen to me. And it’s not just that, you always get what you want, everyone fucking babies you and adores you. Even the fucking professors love you. I mean it’s pretty obvious you’re a teacher’s pet-” 

“Enough!” You yell, your voice breaking. He goes quiet, panting from his rant.  

“I’m not the teacher’s pet, she checks up on me to make sure I’m okay. After she read my memoir for our memoir assignments, she started to check up on me. Making sure I was safe where I’m at, if I had a trusted adult to talk too.” 

“Awe, did the princess have a few bad memories that she wrote about? Hmm? Well news flash princess everyone has bad memories, that doesn’t excuse that you always get what you want.”  

“You know what, fine! You wanna know why I am the way I am?” You yell. “Growing up I didn’t have a fucking say in anything! I was treated like a piece of property; my own father called me his property! I did everything for them, I was 14! 14 and if I didn’t cook or clean no one would.” Your voice breaks. 

Bucky goes to say something but you keep going. “My own grandmother got my entire family to hate me and I was only 3, it took years for them to finally figure the truth out. My father would guilt trip me, manipulate me. I took care of my mother at her lowest, watched her on the verge of death and she still favors my brother. Nothing I ever did was good enough! I could go on forever about how fucked up everything was, James.” 

Bucky stands there in shock. “Wow...I um...” He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry for judging you before I got to know you, I really am. But do not call me a brat and say I always get what I want.”  

You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. Both of you stand there in silence, filled with guilt at how you’ve both been acting.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. You nod. 

“Me too,” you whisper back. 

Neither one of you knows who moves first, but one moment you’re looking each other in the eye and the next Bucky has his tongue tangled with yours. He tastes of beer and cake, you moan softly, Bucky swallows the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever had. 

His hands, both metal and flesh, grip your ass and pull you closer. His hard bulge grinds against your naval, he groans. When the need for air gets too great, Bucky pulls back and starts to litter your neck with sloppy wet kisses.  

“My room,” you shudder. “Now.” 

“So fucking bossy,” he grumbles. He throws you over his shoulder and goes back inside. No body pays any attention to either of you, too busy dancing or too drunk to care. He takes the stair two at a time.  

You get bold and slide your hands into his jeans, groping his bare ass, he had gone commando. He slaps your ass in retaliation, causing you to yelp. He finally reaches your bedroom, kicking the door shut and tossing you on the bed. You slide up the bed, shoving the pile of stuffed animals onto the floor as you go. Bucky kicks his boots off and climbs on top of you.  

Bucky attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting. You moan and pull the hairband out of his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands of hair. You tug and he groans, you tug harder and he bites down hard.  

He kisses down your collar bone to your chest, yanking the crop top off you and groaning when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking and nipping as it hardens. You let out a high-pitched whine, the pain mixing with pleasure. His metal hand kneads the other, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference. He switches, giving them both the same treatment.  

Once he’s had his fill, he starts to kiss down your stomach, hands groping your thighs.  

“These fucking thighs,” he grumbles. “You have any idea how many times I thought of these gorgeous, thick thighs. Fuck.” He’s thought of you? 

He pulls your skirt down your legs, tossing it somewhere behind him. He gently undoes the straps on your heels and slides them off. He slides his hands up your thighs, one hot and one cold, he spreads them and groans. He leans forward and licks at your clit through the fabric of your panties, moaning at the taste of your juices.  

“Bucky!” You gasp and grip his hair.  

“So fucking good,” he mumbles, mouthing at your pussy. He grips your ass, holding you up and shoving his face into your pussy even more. The fabric gets wetter, a combination of your juices and his saliva.  

You whine his name and tug his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him, moaning at the taste of your juices on his tongue.  

It’s a mess of messy kisses and fumbled movements as Bucky kicks off his jeans and socks, pausing to grind his cock against your panties. Your eyes widen when you see him, he chuckles and tells you not to worry, he’ll fit.  

“Bucky please,” you whine.  

“I know, baby, I know,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I gotta prep you first.” 

He rips your panties off, flinging the ruined fabric to the other side of the room. He reaches down with his flesh hand, spreading you slick over your clit before carefully inserting one finger.  

You moan and wiggle your hips, impatient. He flicks your thigh and tells you to be patient. He adds a second finger, then a third. He slowly opens you up, teasing and torturing you, rubbing that spot that makes you see stars.  

Two can play this game.  

You reach down and grab his aching cock, thumbing the slit and spreading the precum that’s gathered there. Bucky moans and bucks his hips, cursing.  

“Bucky please, I’m ready. Just fuck me already.”  

He grunts and pulls his fingers out, sucking them clean. “I’m clean but I have a condom in my wallet.” 

You shake your head. “I’m clean and on birth control.”  

“Fuck yes,” he groans. He flips you over, making you face down, ass up. “This fucking juicy ass.” He slaps your ass a couple of time, groping the juicy flesh hard.  

“Please,” you whine and push back against him.  

Finally, he takes pity on you and lines himself up. He slides all the way in on one thrust, both of you moaning. He gives you a moment to adjust before setting a brutal pace. 

He angles his thrusts just right and you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good in your whole life. He leans down, plastering his sweat slicked chest to your back and kisses your shoulder and neck.  

You make little noises with every thrust, fueling Bucky, his own groans and grunts right next to your ear.  

“So fucking tight, shit,” he moans into your shoulder. He reaches down and starts to rub tight circles over your clit and you cry out.  

“Fuck! Bucky please!” 

“Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna cum? Hmm?”  

“Yes! Please! I’m so close!” You moan. 

“Cum.” His thrusts turn even more punishing, if possible, focusing on that spot. Your thighs start to shake. His perfect thrusts and the pressure on your clit push you over the edge. Your eyes roll back, hands griping the sheets so tight they could rip.  

Bucky's pace stutters, you clenching his so tight he cums seconds after you do. He collapses on top of you, both of you trembling and panting.  

He rolls off you to the side, pulling the sheets over you both and spooning you from behind. You both succumb to sleep minutes later, too exhausted to talk about what just happened. 

______ 

The morning sun shines through your blinds, the birds chirp outside your window. You groan and roll over, not wanting to get up just yet. You reach out for Bucky, only to find cold sheets.  

Bucky was gone. 

[whatever-lmaoo]

Make me a star

Summary: You’re giving Bucky a lap dance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x curvy!reader (i had a plus size reader in mind but anyone can read it! I didn’t use many descriptive words pertaining to size💖)

CW: 18+ This is suggestive as hell(we get close to crossing that line but i didn’t so ig you could say it’s kind of smut, idk😭 ), implied sex, handcuffs, slight dom/sub dynamics, mentions of spanking at the end, I think that’s all but if i forgot anything please don’t hesitate to send me an ask or dm me💖[1.2k]

A/N: Firstly these cute line dividers were made by @firefly-graphics 🌸 I know the title sucks but I had no idea what to name this😭 This is my first time writing something even remotely suggestive, let alone whatever the hell is up under the cut, so I apologize if it’s not the greatest💖 The song I used for this fic is “Dirty Diana” by Michael Jackson. You don’t have to listen to it because it’s not a song fic, I just used a few lyrics. I hope you enjoy and constructive criticism or any nice comments are always appreciated🥹✨💗

After checking that the handcuffs are tight enough around Bucky’s wrists and positioning his hands behind his back doesn’t cause him any discomfort with his shoulder, you stand up and walk towards your dresser, picking up your glass and sipping your drink. “Was cuffing me necessary?” He says, tilting his head to the side, licking his lips slowly as he lets his eyes trail up and down your figure.

You smirk over the rim of your glass, admiring how the dim light from the candles makes his eyes look almost black. “We both know how touchy you get, and I’ll be damned if I let you ruin my gift to you. Plus, I enjoy seeing you all tied up for me.” Biting your lip, you send him a playful wink before heading to your nightstand.

Placing your cup on its surface, you pick up your phone and scroll through your playlist, searching for the perfect song. Your lips form into a smile once you’ve found it. You close your eyes and roll your shoulders back to release any leftover tension before pressing play and setting your phone back on the nightstand.

You turn around as the familiar intro of “Dirty Diana” plays through your speaker, meeting Bucky’s gaze, swaying your hips slightly as you stroll toward your lover sitting patiently in the middle of the room. He whistles as you glide one hand across your thigh to the hem of your robe, bringing it just high enough to cover what’s hidden underneath. Your other hand travels across your neck and down your curves as you roll your hips to the beat.

You trace your fingers up Bucky’s thigh, past his arm, and to his shoulder as you take your place behind him. You bring your other hand around his body, meeting them both in the middle of his abdomen before dragging them slowly up his chest. One hand dips inside his button-up while the other continues its path up the side of his throat and into his hair. You rake your nails against his scalp before tilting his head back gently and dipping your head into the crook of his neck, peppering kisses across the skin, nibbling on his pulse point before sucking it into your mouth.

The way he trembles beneath your touch and the deep moan he lets out sends an addictive sensation throughout your body. You give his hair one last tug before releasing him altogether; continuing your circle around his form, you glide your hand down his other arm, dragging the tips of your fingers over his thigh before stepping in front of him.

Bending over slightly, you put your hands on his knees, watching his eyes fall to the red lace outline of your lingerie that peeks out of your robe. You push his knees together, placing your legs on either side of him and sit on his lap. The sounds of a gasp and a groan fill the room as your heated core meets his jean-clad member.

You watch as his face contorts into one of realization as you continue to grind on his thighs, your wetness seeping into his pants. “Baby, are you not wearing any panties?” You didn’t think his eyes could get any darker, but somehow they did. “Even better,” you say, rolling your hips as you tug on the tie of your robe, releasing the knot and pulling it through the loops, revealing the pretty, crotchless number you’re wearing.

His mouth watering at the sight of your hardened nipples and barely covered pussy drooling over his thighs, begging for some attention. You chuckle at the sound of him struggling against the handcuffs. “Be a good boy and sit still,” you tease, wrapping the belt around his neck and twisting it around your left hand, bringing his upper body forward.

“I’ll be your night-lovin' thing,” you whisper against his neck. You move your head to hover over his head, your nose barely touching his, gripping his chin with your right hand and tilting it up. “I’ll be the freak you can taunt,” the glint of mischief in your eyes grows as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on the muscle and letting it go with a pop.

Releasing one end of the tie and throwing it carelessly to the side, you let go of Bucky’s chin. You stand on your knees, dragging your chest in front of his face, grinning as he darts his tongue out, licking a line across your breast, and you pull away just as his teeth grazes one of your peaked nipples.

You slide off his lap and slip off your robe, turning around to bend over so he can get a view of your glistening folds. “I’ll be your everything,” you bring your left hand to the back of his head as you sit in his lap again, grinding your ass back into his cock, dragging your hand to the side of his damp cheek.

Turning your heads to face each other, you look him in the eyes as you whisper, “If you make me a star,” against his lips before crashing your mouths together in a needy and lust-filled kiss, humming at the taste of strawberries and chocolate lingering on his tongue. You continue to move your hips as you swallow each other's moans; he sucks on your lower lip as you slowly pull away, needing to breathe, a line of saliva following you as he lets go.

Chest heaving as you rest your head on his shoulder, you shut your eyes and arch your back, wrapping your left hand around the nape of his neck. Bucky watches as you bring your other hand to your sternum, ghosting your fingers down the middle of your chest, passing your soft belly, and leading them to your aching clit.

Just as you’re about to reach your destination, you hear a growl come from the man underneath you and the chain of the cuffs snapping before you feel a warm hand gripping the inside of your thigh roughly while a cold one wraps around the heated skin of your throat. The contrasting temperature and firm hold he has on you sends you into a dizzying headspace, and a loud moan slips past your lips.

“I may have let you restrain me, but touching my pussy will always be off-limits, Doll.” Another moan escapes you, loving when he starts to get rough with you. “If it weren’t our anniversary, I’d spank your ass raw, but since it is, I guess that’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” He stands up and turns you around before lifting you in his arms, walking to your bed, and dropping you in the middle of it.

You move back until your head hits your pillow, spreading your legs as you watch Bucky slowly unbutton his shirt. “Happy anniversary, Baby,” you say, drooling at the sight of his toned abs. His pants and boxers go next, and you clench around nothing when he starts twisting his hand around his hard cock. Climbing on the bed, he hovers over you, kissing you passionately before pulling away slightly. “Happy anniversary, pretty girl. I hope you’re ready because I’m not stopping until you’ve got nothin’ left to sing.” A dangerous smirk grows on his face as he begins to make do with his promise.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Happy Birthday

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader

Summary: (1.5k) After your friends forget your birthday, a stranger interrupts your plans to celebrate by yourself.

Background: Requested by a lovely anon last night. Happy (belated) Birthday! May you find some better friends, as well as a sweet (and/or whatever you’re into 😏) Bucky!

Warnings: Disappointing birthday. Fluff. Meet cute? Very brief mention of insecurities (both). Sweet Bucky.

---------------------------

You aren’t expecting much on your birthday - a phone call, a text, maybe even a card in the mail from one of your friends - but, the day passes like any other. 

Your phone remains relatively silent, devoid of new notifications every time you give in to the urge to look, the disappointment growing each time. 

A bit of hope still remains, a part of you believing you’ll hear from at least one of them by the time evening comes, that there’ll be some sort of acknowledgement of a day that’s supposed to be celebrated.

Hours slowly tick by and still nothing. No one reaches out. Not one of your friends care enough to even remember to send a simple ‘Happy Birthday.’ And now it’s almost too late to do anything about it. 

The impulse to text them first dies before you even pick up your phone, deciding at the last minute to do something for yourself instead. As much as you’d love to have friends to wish you a happy birthday, the least you can do is celebrate on your own.

With most places already closed, given the late hour, you end up at a hole-in-the-wall diner, tucked away on a quiet street. It’s not as empty as you expect it to be, a few patrons spread out along the booths lining the wall, a couple others sitting at opposite ends of the counter, all of them absorbed by their own form of distraction - a quiet conversation, their phone, a book.

You’re barely even acknowledged as you walk in, the older man behind the counter passing you a menu on your way to your choice of the empty corner booth. Grateful that you’re not the only one eating alone at this late hour, you take your time choosing all your favorite items, determined to celebrate, even if it’s by yourself.

It’s not until you’re standing at the counter to place your order that you take more notice of the man with the leather jacket, his face buried in a book. He’s incredibly distracting, your gaze unceremoniously drifting to the stubble lining his jaw as you try to focus on getting your order right. 

You don’t know it, but he finds you equally distracting. From the moment you walked in, Bucky took notice, the familiar look of loneliness in your eyes drawing his attention. It’s far from what’s kept his interest though, the subtle air of confidence and determination surrounding you pulling his focus whenever you’re not looking.

The urge to initiate contact grows with every passing second, the itch to seek connection making him shift, his jaw twitching under your sporadic scrutiny. He’s not even sure what to say, a simple ‘hi’ feeling too inconsequential, too impersonal. 

And then you’re gone, having returned to your seat, waiting for your meal, the moment of possibilities dissipating before Bucky really had a chance to imagine what might happen. 

Back in the 40’s, he wouldn’t have thought twice about approaching you, and he certainly wouldn’t have worried about saying the right thing or being rejected. But, Bucky’s not that man anymore and all the wishing isn’t going to change that. 

So, for now, he just watches you, careful to avoid your gaze, his heart beating wildly in his throat every time a smile crosses your face, your phone providing you some sort of entertainment.

It’s the only distraction you have, your plethora of apps keeping you from staring at the man that feels like a walking piece of art. If today were any other day, it’s entirely possible you’d actually try to get his attention. You’re already dealing with enough rejection though and you’re unable to handle the possibility of any more tonight.

Once your food comes, you force yourself to savor each bite, drawing out the last little bit of your birthday before it’s officially over. The disappointment over your friends will surely linger for days to come, so you may as well try to enjoy this as much as possible, no matter how alone you feel.

You save the best for last, returning to the counter to get a to-go box for your leftovers and placing an order for a slice of cake, barely managing to add, “it’s my birthday” at the last moment. 

It leads to an awkward smile with the owner as he gives you a quick, “happy birthday” in response, your cheeks flushing as you return to your booth. You weren’t even planning to say it, no matter how much you rehearsed the words in your head before you went up there.

Once you were standing there, though, you felt like you deserved to hear ‘happy birthday’ once more before the night ends, even if it’s from a slightly forced interaction. It’s not like you ever have to come back here anyway.

It’s her birthday.

The decision is made before Bucky has a chance to talk himself out of it, slinking out of his seat after he bookmarks the page he’s read at least twenty times now. After a short conversation with the owner, who for some reason enjoys his quiet company, Bucky sneaks into the back to get to work.

He doesn’t have nearly everything he’d like, but he’s resourceful, making do with what he has access to, intent on making this a happier birthday for you. Torn between getting it right, and not wanting to keep you waiting, it only takes a few minutes before he’s walking back out, his gloved hand hidden behind his back.

You’re caught off guard when you see him approaching, his smile making your stomach flutter and your pulse race. There’s no denying that you’re his destination, his sure footsteps leading him straight to you, your lips parting prematurely, as if you’re capable of even saying anything first.

He doesn’t give you a chance, the moment he’s within reach of your table, his hidden hand returns with a flourish, producing a haphazard birthday cake. Several pieces of different types of cake sit in a oddly-shaped circle, unlit mismatched candles placed around the barely legible words ‘Happy Birthday.’

Tears prick your eyes the same time laughter bubbles out of you, this sudden display of kindness leaving you speechless, a range of emotions washing over you. 

He seems to take it in stride, his head tilting as his smile grows, telling you, “Happy Birthday.” He pulls a lighter out of his pocket, his brow raised as he holds it up to ask, “How you feel about being center of attention? Say the word and I can get this place to sing to you.”

You’re quick to shake your head as he starts to light the candles, your skin already warm from just his attention, your voice finding you long enough to tell him, “No, I don’t - that’s okay - thank you.”

“Fair enough,” he grins, finishing the last of the candles, your eyes drawn to the reflection of the flickering flames on the sleeve of his jacket. 

Your mind is racing with things to say, wanting to remind him to be careful so he doesn’t accidentally burn himself, to ask him if he works here, to figure out why he’s being so nice. No words come until he’s introducing himself to break the ice, asking for your name in return.

You almost stumble, your own name nearly forgotten as he sits across from you, his gloved hands pushing the cake a bit closer towards you.

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you,” he says before a rueful smile graces his face. “Now, I’m gonna have to sing ‘happy birthday.’” When you open your mouth to protest, he shakes his head, telling you, “It just doesn’t seem right to have you blow out your candles without it.”

Another shake of your head to assure him, “You don’t have to do that.” 

“Oh, I definitely do,” he promises with a swift nod, his tongue peaking out to wet his lips in preparation. “It’s not really a birthday celebration without it, but I promise not to draw too much attention.”

After a quick glance around the diner, ignoring the knowing look from the owner, Bucky does as promised, keeping his voice low enough not to make any of the other customers want to join in as he sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to you.

As overwhelmed as it makes you feel, it’s hard to ignore the warmth that settles over you, each line of the song erasing some of the disappointment from the day. Hearing your name fall from his lips, even as part of the song, finally breaks your resolve, the tears that have been threatening to build starting to blur your vision.

If Bucky notices, he keeps it to himself, encouraging you to buy into the premise and close your eyes to make a wish. It’s hard not to give in, finally letting yourself live fully in the moment, to allow yourself to be celebrated with a complete stranger.

The wish you make isn’t anything new, but as you open your eyes, finding Bucky still smiling at you, ready to cut the cake and continue this celebration, you’re struck with a feeling that’s impossible to shake.

Maybe today isn’t about rejection after all, maybe you just needed to reminded of what you deserve.

---------------------------

Happy Birthday, anon! I wasn't sure what you were looking for, but I hope you like it. Feel free to ask for a continuation 🩶

Everyone, please use the comments (or reblogs!) to wish anon a happy birthday!

Main Masterlist

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mz. Bitch's Masterlist

Started: 2/24/24 Last updated: 11/18/24

Due to inline link limits, please click on the story name to start reading and follow the chapter links. Thanks little darlings! Love y'all!

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes *One shots Sex Pollen My Alpha Got Nothing On You Part 2 Movie Night Please Come Back Vibranium & Stainless Steel Shy Dream Girl A little help from my friend Angry baby? Throw It in the Dishwasher Part 2 The Boss Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 I.T. Time to Heal A Very Cutesy, Very Demure Halloween Regrets & Apologies Quite a Workout Part 2 Overheard Oh Sister Let's Go Down Little Sea Storm *Series Breaking the Class Ceiling **Finished Bucky Barnes is a middle class clerk. He needs to marry well to take care of himself and his father. Y/N Y/L/N is the heir to a millionaire fortune, who is blunt, no-nonsense, flirtatious, and looking for a partner. Everyone is vying for her hand. Can Bucky ever win? Pretty Pointy Smile **Finished Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since.  His father has had enough and sells him to the circus.  The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be. Sugar Mama **Finished Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him. Marriage of Convenience **Finished Y/N’s father is gone, and he leaves it all to her.  But in 1880s Oregon, she can’t own land without a husband.  Under the threat of it all being taken away by a land hungry Sheriff, what’s a girl to do with no prospects?  Maybe one of the cowboys on the farm can help… The Temptation **Finished Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons **Finished Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way? Stranded **Finished Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island.  Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive.  But is he really alone? The Fuck Up **Finished Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Naughty Nanny **Finished Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought. Run, pretty girl, run **Finished Even with the safeguards put in place after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the remaining Avengers find themselves on the run after the American government falls into disarray.  The code word is sent, and they’re officially fugitives.  Bucky makes a run for the safe house set up for emergencies like this where the Avengers are told to meet up, but on the way saves the pregnant agent turned payroll specialist that he was partnered with.  Will they make it before she goes into labor?  Or at all?

Pretty P.A. **Finished Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion model agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.  The Gorgon **Finished The village nearest the mountain by the sea has a generations-old tradition of offering sacrifices to the monster in the mountain to gain favor and keep its wrath away from the people.  Every person starting from the age of 15 has to take a turn in making the journey up the mountain to the mouth of the cave once a year to drop off the gifts…and it’s a journey that some never come back from.  Y/N took her turn when she was 15, and now the rotation has come back to her again.  If the gift isn’t given by the autumn solstice, there’s no telling what harm the creature will wreak onto the people.  With a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way, will she make it to save her and her people?  Can a monster have a heart? Dreamboat **Finished Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise.  Sweet Pumpkin **Finished Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Yes Mama **Finished Bucky Barnes has made quite the name for himself in the underground mob boss world.  But he’s not the boss.  Just the face of the Family. 

A Pirate's Life for Me **Finished Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew on the Armored Star are the most fearsome pirates in the known world.  They’ve given the British fleet a run for their money as they try to free the enslaved and take from the rich, but they could have never guessed how the British empire would retaliate against them.  When a new pirate ship appears and lays waste to all in its path, will Bucky and his crew be ready for the wrath of a woman scorned?

The Witch and The Doctor **Finished Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds.  But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people.  After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Peter Parker *One shots Emotional *Short Series Tasty **Finished Peter just wanted to have one night of fun.  Then that night of fun almost killed him.  Now it won’t stop haunting him.  And he’s loving it. 

*Series The Young Duke **Finished Queen Y/N is running out of time.  At 35 years old she has to marry and make an heir to the throne, but all suitors so far have been unsatisfactory in one way or another.  Duke Peter Parker is the young Duke of Queensland, and his family is on the brink of ruin due to his parents’ failures and famines throughout the years.  He needs to find an advantageous marriage to save his family’s estate, so when an invitation from the Crown comes, he jumps at the opportunity.  Will it be a match?

Steve Rogers *Oneshot Sex Pollen

*Series My Queen **Finished Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Fortuna Major **WIP Steve Rogers came home from World War II shell shocked and overwhelmed by the place he once called home.  After losing his mother he and his injured best friend Bucky decide to find a quieter, slower way of life to heal from the war.  They head out west until they hit Fortuna, California, and get jobs in the lumber industry.  Steve comes across a local lodging for miners and lumber workers, and falls head over heels for the female owner who takes no man’s shit. 

Stucky *Oneshot Three's Company

*Series Emerald Hallow **Finished Steve Rogers wants to move on.  He wants to forget Peggy, and dive into the 21st century.  But this man of the past doesn’t know how to navigate being an Alpha in a modern world of skittish Omegas.  He prides himself on his self control, never wanting to harm or scare them, until something just smells too damn good. And he's not the only one who smells it...

Actors

Sebastian Stan *Series A Patient Man **Finished Sebastian swore to never fall for another co-star again. Until Y/N drops into his life.

[nickfowlerrr]

didn’t know if you’d care if i came back

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: sweetness. tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff fluff fluff. grumpy x grumpy sweethearts who haven’t defined the relationship lol. cuddling. blink and you’ll miss it mention of body insecurities. uhhh if i’m missing something that should be tagged pls let me know!

words: 1.7k

notes: idk where this came from but if you’re noticing repeating themes in my writings - no you’re not.

anyway! thank you in advance for reading, i hope you enjoy. as always, reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated! let me know your thoughts 🩵

“Get out,” you speak, your ever present annoyance clear in your voice while your stone face is completely unaffected as you type on your phone, not bothering to so much as glance at the door. You’re comfy in your bed while your space heater hums and you keep typing away as you hear the door click shut once again.

Your blanket is pulled and your bed shifts beneath you as you type faster, working to finish your thought before it slips away completely. Still not looking at anything but your screen,

“Get off my bed,” you demand to no avail.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, his own constant annoyance audible as he easily wraps you up in his strong arms. Your soft body presses against his as you maintain focus on your phone, rolling into his hold while maneuvering your device from hitting him. One last sentence and you’re done. You hit save and then let your phone drop after locking it.

“What happened to hello?” he asks harshly as he holds you close.

“You were busy,” you shrug matter of factly, face in his chest as you get comfortable.

“Look at me,” he demands, forcing you to angle your face to meet his eye as you sigh with a roll of your eyes.

“What?” you humph. “I’ve been gone three days, you haven’t even had time to miss me.”

“I don’t care if you’ve only been gone three minutes,” he squeezes your jaw a bit, eliciting a sharp breath from you as your gaze softens up at him. “If you’re not right next to me, doll, I’m missing you.”

The sincerity and warmth in his normally icy blue eyes has your heart melting just a little more. He missed you… he really missed you?

It’s atypical for you, but you don’t have anything to say in refute as you stare back at him - a part of you waiting to see something that will give him away and confirm your suspicions that he’s lying. The other just wanting to commit that look in his eyes and the gorgeous color to memory.

He missed you.

No one’s ever missed you before…not really.

He came to your room of his own free will, just to see you? He’s holding you so close and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so warm or welcome.

Or wanted.

And he’s not even trying to get you out of your clothes. He’s just here. To be here. To see you. Because he missed you.

He missed you.

“And for the record,” he continues speaking, interrupting your thoughts, “I won’t ever be too busy for you.” His eyes soften even more as he notices the growing emotion welling in them as you work to maintain your facade of careless, feel nothing, grump. He knows the feeling. He knows you.

He brushes his lips softly on your forehead and he feels your fingers tighten ever so slightly in his shirt as you let yourself relax a bit more into him, “Not for you,” he mumbles his promise.

You fight a shudder as you blink your eyes, batting your lashes in an attempt to fight the sting of welling tears before they have a chance to fall. Damn this man and his uncanny ability to have your walls crumbling around him within mere minutes.

You’re still not even sure how this all started. It was one night together on a mission.

And then another night together back home.

And then another.

And another.

And then an afternoon together. And then a morning.

And then a full day.

Into the next.

And then it was sharing beds every now and again.

And dinners.

And then more and more frequent sleepovers. And now it’s? You aren’t sure.

It went from just desperate late night sex to…to whatever this is.

But, whatever it is, you think it might be for the better. Bucky helps you feel…better.

Safe.

Cared for.

Loved.

You push that thought away. That’s just…too much.

Isn’t it?

You cuddle into him despite yourself, nuzzling into his chest for comfort.

“Sorry.”

It’s nearly a whisper, but he hears you. His big hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back as he keeps you to him.

“I wan-,” you bite your tongue, swallowing the lump growing in your throat.

I wanted to, you were going to say, to see you first. Just didn’t want to bug you.

You hear his response in your mind as you thoughtlessly press your lips. ‘You’re not a bug. You’re not a burden.’ You know what he’ll say, and you want to believe him. But you don’t think you can hear him say it right now without the damn breaking.

You try to clear your throat as you let your hands wander him and speak a little louder now,

“I missed you.”

He’s smiling softly, not that you can see it, as he grabs your hand gently caressing his side and brings it to his lips. Your gaze follows the movement curiously before you watch him kiss your hand. Your stomach flutters at the small act of affection.

Bucky tugs you closer and you lift your leg to hook over his, just wanting to be closer, to feel him more.

“And how dare you try to kick me out of my own room,” he scolds.

You laugh, real and true as you shove him a bit. “This is not your room,” you deny.

His toothy grin is infectious as he eyes you. “Oh yeah?” he says, reaching behind you to grab something, “then what’s my pillow doing in here?”

You freeze for half a second, he notices but doesn’t mention it, as your eyes widen ever so slightly. No, you think, you definitely put that back before you left.

You quirk a brow as you turn to see his pillow in his hand before he drops it back on the bed. You know you put his pillow back, and wait…that wasn’t even the pillow you had.

Why would his pillow be in here, unless…

“You slept in here?” you ask, your voice much softer than you intended as you look in his eyes.

His smirk has lightened drastically, but still gently tugs on the corner of his lips as he tries to read your thoughts. He nods a little, breaking eye contact for a quick moment as he wets his lips out of habit,

“I missed you.”

Your own lips quirk at the corner as you feel your heart swell.

“And you were due back here at four this morning,” he adds.

He was waiting for you.

You knew someone at the tower was monitoring the flight itinerary but you’d assumed it was Stark or Fury. Now you know it was him. And your heart somehow feels like it’s gonna burst out of your chest as your tummy tingles with something you don’t think you can actually name.

But it’s good.

Better than good.

Oh god.

Maybe it is love…

He turns to lay on his back and takes you with him as he does.

You groan a bit and try to shuffle off him, not wanting to crush him despite his super soldier status. He doesn’t let you, not that you’re surprised. He keeps his hands on you, one on your bent thigh and the other around your back, resting protectively on the curve of your waist meeting your hip.

He loves the feeling of your body on his, revels in your weight resting on top of him - in every circumstance. Your curves, your softness, your warmth.

You.

“Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles, letting his eyes close as he relaxes into the mattress. You sigh, staring at his contented face while his hands gently squeeze you comfortingly.

You watch him for a while, enraptured by his peaceful rest until you really feel his breaths even out. He’s sleeping like a baby as you lay on top of him and you can’t help your disbelieving titter. How this is comfortable for him, you’ll never know.

You let a hand touch his cheek gently, your fingers brushing his five o’clock shadow. You angle yourself to put a delicate kiss on his stubbly jaw. You don’t notice his nose twitch a bit or the tiniest furrow of his brow as you pull away.

Your fingers card through his hair as you admire him. You take a deep breath. If you can feel it, you can say it…

Another stuttered breath. “I,” you start, “I love you,” you murmur softly, sure he can’t hear you. You lean just a touch closer, lips just brushing his cheek. “I really love you.”

You feel a little proud of yourself as you pull away. You said it. You don’t know the last time you told someone you loved them. Can’t remember the last time you really felt it, or felt safe enough to say it. Sure, he’s sleeping, but still. You said it. And if you said it now, you know you can say it again. One day. When he’s awake. When you’re ready. You smile to yourself before you let your head rest on his chest, content now to sleep for a bit too in the comfort of his presence.

Bucky’s heart is beating so damn loudly he’s a little terrified you’ll hear it as you make yourself more comfortable atop him. He wants to squeeze you and tell you how much he loves you too, to kiss you til you’re dizzy and make sure you really understand just how deeply in love with you he is.

But he knows he wasn’t really meant to hear that just now. And despite that, he’s really glad that he did.

Because you love him.

You really love him.

He knows this is new to you, and you’re still trying to get used to it, to figure it all out, despite the fact that there’s no mystery here for you to solve. But he doesn’t mind moving at whatever pace you want or need. After so long, he never thought he’d find this. Never thought he’d feel this again.

And then came you.

You’re his perfect match. And his best friend.

And you love him.

Bucky’s never really felt lucky in his life. But here and now, with you starting to mumble softly as you lay on his chest, trusting him, loving him, well he’d consider himself the luckiest man in the world.

[vunblr]

Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

------------

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

------------

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up.  “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

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inspo: prompt three from this post

“Fuck, you turn me on so much.” Bucky groans and throws his head back, breathing ragged.

Your hands stop their work, fingers bloody as you hold the gauze against the wound to his ribs. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you screech, quickly refocusing your thoughts and press harder against the bleeding gash.

"You just, fuck. It's just you." Bucky whines, and you don't know if it is pain or some weird, sick pleasure he is feeling. "You were so hot screamin' at me."

"Jesus Christ, James." you huff, no longer thinking of berating him further for his ridiculous actions in battle. "You... I can't even tell you off now."

Bucky smirks and shifts, grimacing at the pain radiating through his side. "Come here." he holds up his arm and beckons you with two bloody fingers.

"No, I'm not playing into your weird shit, Barnes." You glare at your partner. "You're bleeding, I need to secure the wound."

"I'm gonna be fine. Just come 'ere, baby." the name has your scowl softening.

You hold one hand to his abdomen, keeping pressure as the blood slows, and lean towards him, weight braced on your free arm. "that's my girl." he praises, words breathy.

Bucky slides his hand to the nape of your neck, securing his fingers in your hair. Your faces now inches apart, he lets his eyes slip shut. "I'm gonna to be fine, sweetheart. You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough."

"That's why I've got you. You stress enough for the both of us."

Bucky leans forward and presses his mouth to yours, the kiss slow and sloppy as tries not to move unnecessarily while his body stitches itself back up. His lips move languidly against yours, tongue brushing against your bottom lip in a way that is too casual for the impending doom you have just escaped from. You pull away, the taste of blood on your tongue, and frown at Bucky, his grin lazy and stupid.

"I'm serious. You turn me on so much."

[deepdisireslonging]

Cake or Cookies

A good round of sexy texting during girls’ night leads to sexy personal time when Bucky gets home.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Reader

Warnings/Promises: food mention, descriptions of injuries (canon-level), dirty talk, sexting, SMUT, oral (both receiving), implied further smut

Word Count: 3080

Note: They can pry the Avenger Apartment/Tower from my cold dead hands. Everything’s fine, everyone is fine; what trauma? Why can’t we have nice things? I went hunting through some of my lost prompts and found a couple to squeeze together. Happy reading!

Girls’ night in the Tower was bound to be dangerous. It was usually when Natasha came up with the next round of pranks to play on the boys. And when Wanda took it upon herself to create the best pillow fort to watch movies in. Her magic made it easy to pile the couch pillows and blankets into what looked more like a cozy cave than a fort. And Maria kept track of where to find any films not already stored in Stark’s library.

You were in charge of snacks. Drinks were cozy only: tea, hot chocolate, and coffee. Alcohol parties were for other nights. Snacks ranged anywhere from home-made chips to hors d'oeuvres (fancy and simply indulgent), to the smorgasbord of mass produced favorite snacks you raided from the corner bodega. But you were stumped when it came to tonight’s desserts. The bodega’s sweet treats were present, cheap candy and the like, but you were stuck between the roll of cookie dough and a box mix for cupcakes.

Stumped, you didn’t acknowledge the warm body that ghosted up behind you until a hand slid across your waist. “It’s girls’ night. What are you still doing here?” Sitting down the treats, you turned in Bucky’s arms and scratched your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He lightly kissed your forehead. “Needed a break from Tony. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.”

You both inhaled deeply, cheek to cheek. The last mission had been a rough one. Most of the team had come back banged up. And you still had a nasty scrape of road burn up one leg. Which is why you were wearing the equivalent of biker shorts. Pepper had gotten them for you sometime after the social media trend of those leggings ladies liked to tease their S.O’s with. They were surprisingly supportive of your form. You usually wore them underneath your gear because they were borderline indecent. But, with one of Bucky’s oversized shirts covering your figure, nobody had commented.

Except for Bucky as he slid his hands down your body to rest over the curve of your ass.

“I thought these stayed out of sight?”

You teased a glance up at him. “Usually, yes. But It’s girls’ night. We all wear the equivalent of our pajamas since you boys will be out. You are all going out, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Eventually.” But he didn’t move. He hugged you closer, brazenly tilting your head to one side with his nose so he could kiss the underside of your jaw.

“Y/L/N!” Natasha waved from the living room. “Are we ready to go, or what?”

A smile spread across your face. You lightly pushed Bucky away, making him whine. Natasha was already starting the voting poll for the evening’s movies when you turned back to the counter. “I’ve got to bake before the party starts. Do you have a preference for what sweets you’d like to be left over? Cookies or cupcakes?”

Bucky pressed up behind you, resting his large hands on the counter on either side of you, and griding his front into your ass. “Cookies. There’s enough cake in this kitchen already.” He slapped your ass, following with both his hands taking tight squeezes of your flesh.

As you gasped, he rushed out. The wink he shot you from the door warned you that the tease would not be the evening’s last.

Fifteen minutes later, the cookies were out, the movie was in, and everyone was settled into their favorite pile of pillows.

Five minutes into the movie, the texting started.

Lover Boy <3: “How’s the movie?”

You rolled your eyes as you turned your phone on silent. If Okoye heard your phone again, you’d never get it back. “We’re watching Magic Mike. So… It’s going well.” You added a smiley face with its tongue sticking out for good measure.

Bucky’s messages popped up every few minutes. You kept your phone screen towards you to see the notification light up your screen without bothering the other women.

Lover Boy <3: “Should I be jealous?”

You: “Nah. Their gyrating doesn’t do it for me.”

Lover Boy <3: “Good to know.”

Lover Boy <3: “Is there anything in the movie that does ‘do’ it for you?”

You smothered a chuckle into your blanket. Each passing second that you took to come up with a teasing reply was surly wreaking havoc on your man.

You: “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

His reply was slow in coming. When it did, you almost fumbled your phone into the floor.

Lover Boy <3: *image incoming*

The picture you received was of Bucky’s hand resting on the top of his thigh. They were out to dinner somewhere, the edge of the table blocking your photo view from the rest of the guys. In the curve between his forefinger and thumb, his bulge was the center of attention. You stuck a sucker in your mouth to cover up your gasp. But the other ladies were too busy hooting for the first dance scene to notice.

You: “Just him? I must be slipping. Especially since I thought you really liked my shorts earlier.”

Lover Boy <3: “I like those shorts because I like taking them off. Girls night got in the way.”

You: “You’ve got to come home sometime.”

Lover Boy <3: “Then what do you have in mind?”

You turned off the flash for your camera and waited for the TV screen to illuminate your face. Sucker holding down your tongue, you sneaked the pic. Before any of the girls could see and tease you. While it sent, you sucked on the round sugar treat. You imagined Bucky’s cockhead on your tongue, as you knew he would too. His reply came in seconds.

Lover Boy <3: “Minx”

You: “And?”

Lover Boy <3: “When I do get home, I’m going to taste something sweeter. All night long.”

Lover Boy <3: “If you can handle it.”

Biting your lip, you smiled into your blanket.

You: “We both know what I can handle. But can you handle what I want to do to you?”

You: “Bet I can blow you so good you forget how to speak Russian before morning.”

You: “Actually, bet I can make you forget all your languages.”

Lover Boy <3: “An official bet?”

Now it was dangerous territory. Neither of you would wager anything that would show in public. Or bring attention from the team inside the tower. But Bucky’s winnings had a steep cost on your ability to walk the next day. Yours usually meant him taking a few days off to spend time together in some distant cabin.

You: “Do we have time to disappear to the Rockies when I win?”

Lover Boy <3: “We just finished a mission. I’m sure I can convince Steve to leave us alone… at least for several nights in a row when I win.”

It was on.

He played dirty by escaping to the bathroom to shoot you a picture of his cock. It was already thick for you, proud and flushed in his palm.

You also escaped. But the picture you sent didn’t require you to take your clothes off. All you did was tug down the front of his borrowed shirt, and splay your fingers wide between your breasts.

You: “Can’t wait to squeeze you between these.”

Lover Boy <3: “9hey now…”

Good. His texting was already stumbling.

You: *picture incoming*

All you did was rest your hand over your throat. But Bucky’s reply of a bunch of scrambled letters made you laugh. You returned to the movie.

You: “Can’t wait for you to get home. But we’ve got about 3 more hours of movies to watch. Think you can last that long?”

Lover Boy <3: “If I have to. Might have to take care of myself before then.”

Wanda looked over as you squirmed in your seat.

You: “You can’t wait for me? I’ll wait for you.”

When the movie lit up enough, you took a picture of the pillow between your thighs.

Lover Boy <3: “Promise?”

You: “Say please.”

His reply, despite the distance between text and actually hearing his voice, dripped with promise. You bit your lip, hearing his growl in your head.

Lover Boy <3: “Since when do get to make the demands around here?”

Lover Boy <3: “Please.”

You: “Since I’m home. Away from the consequences of mouthing off at you till later.”

Lover Boy <3: “You’re not sharing this conversation with the ladies are you? You’re not usually this… sassy.”

You: “This sass is rated E for everyone. But, no. This conversation is just between us.”

You: “I have to stop texting. Natasha is beginning to notice.”

Lover Boy <3: “Until I get my hands on you:”

It was several minutes until you checked your phone, waiting for the others to drop their questioning looks. When you did, you had to smother your moan. He sent one last picture of his tongue out between his fingers. A promise of delectable problems to come.

***

Somebody texted the guys when the movies were almost over. They arrived halfway through you girls cleaning up.

“How was the double feature?” Tony asked. He snagged a remaining hors d'oeuvres off the tray before Maria could stick it in the fridge.

You didn’t hear the reply. All you could focus on was how lust-blown Bucky’s eyes were as he stared you down from the other side of the room. You pressed your thighs together. If the way your chest heaved was any indication, you were in for a long night. Steve barely gave you a glance when you walked past him. Bucky gliding past made him give your departure a second look.

The hallway to your room was dark. The lights that illuminated the floor wouldn’t engage fully unless there was an emergency. Which meant that your shadow was faded against the wall. And it was fractured into several clusters of shadows at reach installation. You didn’t look back. It was part of the game. You couldn’t hear him, but sometimes you could have sworn your shadows had an extra layer.

When you reached for your door handle, another hand beat you to it. Bucky pressed up behind you, pushing you into the room and pinning you to the inside of the door as he locked it. He slid his knee between your legs. Fascinated, he enjoyed the show as you slid the apex of your thighs across the muscle he gave you. He stopped your movements with a hand on your hip, while the other lifted your wrists above your head.

“Did you actually wait, or was that a tease?” He reached into your shorts, groaning to find your slick there. While you trembled, he loudly sucked his middle finger into his mouth. “Oh, ангел, I am going to ruin you. For teasing me like you did.”

“You – you started it. Technically.”

He brought one of your hands down to rest over the front of his pants. “Maybe. But you laid down the gauntlet. How do you want to do this?”

With a grin, you wriggled out of his grasp. You walked backwards towards your bed. Bucky stalked slowly after you. Turning, you ran your hands down your sides, to your hips. And back to the curve of your ass. “Cake?” You smoothed your hands up from your rear to your breasts. “Or cookies?”

Bucky groaned. “The whole damn bakery if I can get my hands on it.” He guided you onto the bed, crawling over you in a way that stole your breath. When you tried to roll him onto his back to begin the challenge, he chuckled. “Nuh-uh. Challenger goes second.”

“But-“

He silenced you with a kiss. As he deepened it, hands kneading into your flesh and removing your clothes, your rebuttal died on your tongue. He barely pulled back enough to remove his own clothes. It wasn’t long before he was working his mouth down your body, kissing and sucking and nipping at your skin until he made it to your sex. 

Sometimes part of the challenge included a timer. Like that one gala when he dared you steal away with him during Tony’s speech, and cum before the ending round of applause. With his head buried under your dress, he won with enough time to participate in the applause for a speech you didn’t give a damn about. You didn’t find out till later that Steve had kept track of when you two disappeared and reappeared. Bucky wrote the time on your bathroom mirror as the time to beat. It had yet to be broken.

Tonight wasn’t one of those times. There was all the time in the world. All night to edge or overstimulate each other to your hearts’ content.

Breathing warm air over your sex, his grin between your thighs sent a ripple of goosebumps over your skin. You weren’t sure which was more disarming: his knowledge of your body and its sweet spots that he could make you cum in minutes, or that same knowledge used to bliss you out over hours till you couldn’t remember more than screaming his name. With his tongue, he began the challenge. As if you weren’t soaked already, he made a mess of you. Curling his fingers through your folds. Delving his tongue deep in search of the ability to taste you for days. When he scraped his teeth across your clit, the electricity tightened your fingers in his hair.

He wasn’t drawing this out. A man on a mission, Bucky was doing everything he could to bring you to the brink as fast as he could. The speed that you hurtled toward release stole your breath. That was his plan. Shock you while trying to beat his time so that you wouldn’t be able to speak. And then he’d win double the bragging rights.

And, damn him, it might just work.

Hungrily, he slurped up your pleasure. Adding a third finger to his onslaught, he curled them all to make you see stars. His metal arm flashed out to pin down your hips before you could arch away from him. The metal was cold, frigid, against your flushed skin. The difference in temperature was enough of an overload to your sparkling nerves that your eyes screwed shut. You babbled a series of sounds, making Bucky hum in delight.

But when he came up for air, gently stroking your folds to ease you down, you surprised him.

“Is that all you got, Barnes?”

“Fuck. Seriously?” He rested his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

You did your best to steady your breath. No point in revealing those six words were all you could manage. After another moment, you curled your own finger. You summoned him to hover over you, dangling his dog-tags in your face. Catching one between your teeth, you gripped and pushed his shoulders until he was on his back.

It was your turn to kiss down his body. Across his collar bone and pecs. Down that center chasm between his abs. From one hip bone, down his V, and up to the other side. As you took his length in hand, you had to smile. The poor man should have let you pleasure him first, instead of torturing himself and his cock with waiting. Gently, you circled your thumb around his tip. It dragged a groan out between his teeth. Good. The more vocal he was, the better you could track his ability to speak. Or lack thereof.

You set the challenge into the back of your mind and got to work in pleasing your man.

The first movements were gentle. And careful around how sensitive he was. Still, each touch and twist kept his voice active. He tried to watch you, but kept dropping his head back in pleasure as you quickened your movements. While he was laid back, you shifted your position.

His head snapped up, and he cursed loudly in Russian as his cock was enveloped between your breasts.

Darting out your tongue, you kitten licked the tip of his cock when it came into range. It gave you no small pleasure to watch your man, the Winter Soldier and former Commando, fall to pieces because of you. He cursed louder in English, Russian, and… was that German? But the more you jerked him between your breasts, the more his vocabulary scrambled together. You waited patiently. His metal hand twitched towards to before fisting the sheet. His flesh hand reached back for the pillows, sheets, headboard. Anything to ground himself. Then you struck. You let go of your breasts and dipped low enough to swallow him down. He roared as he bumped the back of your throat. Planting his feet on the bed, his thighs trembled with keeping himself from thrusting into your mouth.

That was fine. You moved enough for the both of you. And, just as his Russian was little more than the most strained of curses, you settled his balls into one hand, and slid the other up his torso. Your nails lightly caught his skin over his heaving breaths.

The high-pitched hiss from the depths of his lungs was your only warning before he filled your mouth.

Your ministrations slowed. You took every ounce of his pleasure, and smiled around his cock as you sucked your way off his length.

He dragged you up to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips trembled while trying to say something. Anything. But all he could do was pant into your skin.

You smiled. And kissed the underside of his jaw. While you both recovered, you murmured gentle reassurances between breaths.

“You cheated,” he finally managed.

“Oh? When did I manage that?”

Running his fingers through his hair, he stared you down. “Those damn shorts.”

With a laugh, you nipped at his chest. “What? You did get to take them off, like you wanted. And I can’t help it if you decided to run your hands all over me and get yourself hard. It jazzed me up too. So, in my mind, we’re even.”

“Fine.” He tilted up your face to kiss you. Mumbling against your lips, he complained, “you’re using alotta words there, ангел.”

“And you’re still capable of Russian.”

Bucky grinned. “Then I guess this challenge isn’t done.”

And it wasn’t until long into the night.

***

Ангел: angel

***

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