#catws fanfic

[theairshiphangs]

05. ЛИТАНИЯ | theairshiphangs

Summary:

in the wet field in / nowhere, no country / His low voice in / the ringing ear / could drown out any falling shell / would sweeten any / taste of smoke / in principio / et nunc / et semper.

Tags: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Poetry, poemfic, Medical Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Suicide Attempt, Hydra, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Identity Issues

[wintersoldiersoul]

Brat

A/N: Literally have a flight to catch in 4 hours and this is how I'm spending my time. Also this was inspired by a video by The Stark Internship on TikTok! I love their account so much definitely check them out.

Summary: Bucky is fed up with your attitude

Warnings: Smut, Daddy kink, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), breeding kink

Everyone has days when they just wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Today was one of those for you. You hadn't slept well in a few nights and you were irritable and on edge. Your had tons of assignments due for work, and your boss was a nightmare. Everything was pissing you off today from the slow walkers on the street, to your shoelaces coming untied. 

“Hey baby,” Bucky said, smiling and giving you a kiss when you walked through the door.

“Hi,” you deadpanned, slipping your bag off your shoulder and letting it fall to the ground.

His expression changed when he saw your mood. “Bad day?”

You nodded, strutting over to the kitchen to get the cold brew from the fridge. “Where’s the coffee?” You asked, unable to find it in the fridge.

“Oh I finished it this morning,” Bucky answered. “I was gonna grab some more tomorrow.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Why didn’t you just get more when you finished it? Now I have to go back out.”

“Sorry baby, I didn’t think you’d need coffee at 5pm,” he said apologetically. 

“Well I do because unfortunately for me, I haven’t slept all week because your body is like a fucking furnance and I have a killer headache that only caffeine can fix.” 

“I’ll go out and get you a coffee, okay?” Bucky had seen you in these moods a lot. You got irritable whenever you were stressed or tired or hungry, which was a lot. “You go relax.”

“Thanks,” you answered, slumping over to the home office. You did some more work, trying to get ahead of what you had to do tomorrow. 

“Here,” he said when he got back, placing a starbucks cup in front of you. “How can I help?”

“Just leave me alone,” you snapped. It came out harsher than you intended. “I’m sorry.”

But Bucky wasn’t offended. He just smirked at you. “That’s it,” he said sternly. “You have 30 minutes to get ready and then you and me? We’re going to dinner. And we’re gonna have a great time. And when we get back, I want you on the bed with your legs spread for me. And I’m gonna split you open on my cock and fuck that attitude right out of you, got it?” He commanded.

You swallowed harshly, already feeling your clit throbbing from his words. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he nodded his head and walked out of the room. 

You decided to play into his game while at dinner, acting extra bratty to see just how riled up you could get him. The second you walked in the door, his eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you a two minute head start. By the time I get in there, you better be naked and touching that pretty pussy, okay? Go.” 

You ran to the bedroom, completely submissive to him. You quickly discarded your clothing and laid on the bed moving a hand between your legs. You inserted two fingers inside of yourself, wetness pooling around your fingers. Bucky opened the door just as you were reaching your peak. 

“Good girl,” he smirked. “No cumming though. Not yet sweetheart.” He crawled on the bed moving his face in between your legs watching as you played with yourself. “Bet those little fingers don’t feel as good as mine. You need my thick fingers stretching you out to really feel good.” He grabbed your wrist and made you remove your fingers from yourself. “Nothing to say? No sassy little remark to fire back at me? You’ll do whatever Daddy tells you, won’t you?” His eyes darkened as he spoke.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good,” he said, running flesh fingers through your folds. “Such a perfect cunt,” he grunted as he inserted a finger, curling it slowly to torture you. “Too bad you’ve been a brat today.” He swiftly removed his finger and licked it clean. “Get on your knees. Now,” he commanded while undoing his belt and taking down his pants. Your mouth watered at the wet spot on his boxers where his tip was leaking. You reached out to take his underwear off but he shoved your hands away. “No no no, baby girl. You wait for Daddy to tell you what to do.” He smacked your ass hard and you moaned. 

“Daddy please!!” You begged like a child. “Wanna suck you.”

Bucky laughed darkly. “You need that slutty mouth filled? You want Daddy’s cock to choke on? Wan’ me to fuck your face real hard, don’t you?” You squeezed your legs together at his words, desperate for something. 

“Mhm, want it so badly. Wanna run my tongue over the slit and wrap my lips around your thick cock. Want you to stretch out my mouth.”

He inhaled sharply at your words. Bucky was dominant in bed, but he was so in awe of you that sometimes he just had to give in. “Oh fuck, Princess, the shit you say.” He slowly dragged his boxers down his legs. “Come make Daddy feel good.”

You crawled to him, immediately licking his slit, moaning at the taste of his pre-cum on your tongue. He threw his head back as you wrapped your lips around all of him and bobbed up and down. “Shit,” he gasped, grabbing your hair to move your head quicker. You brought one hand up and lightly squeezed his balls which caused him to start to move his hips, fucking your mouth just like he said we would. “Holy shit, Princess, oh-oh fuck.” He continued to mumble profanities as you moved. Bucky was always vocal in bed - something that you loved. Hearing the pleasure you brought him made everything so much better. “Gonna cum, baby. Gonna shoot a load in the back of your throat and I want you to swallow it all for me,” he said, breath growing more rapid. You continued until you felt the thick liquid hit your throat, swallowing it all with ease. “That’s a good girl,” he praised, pulling his dick out of your mouth. “Now lemme see how wet that little pussy is. Bet your clit is so swollen. Just begging to be played with,” he cood as he lifted you up onto the bed and held your legs apart. He blew cold air onto your clit, the sensation making you feral. You needed him. Your slick was running down your thighs. He brought his mouth closer and closer but never quite connecting it. He ran his hands up and down your inner thighs, making you squirm.

“D-Daddy please! I’ll be so good to you. You can do anything you want. Use me however you want just please touch me!”

He looked up at you from in between your legs and smirked. “Anything? You’d even let me fill this sweet cunt up with my cum?” He asked, causing another moan to ring out from your throat. “Oh you want that, don’t you. Dirty girl. You wanna be full of your Daddy?”

“Y-yes! Please, just-” you stopped short when he put his lips around your clit, sucking with full force. “Oh yes Daddy! Fuck!” He inserted two metal fingers inside you, the stretch sending fireworks throughout your body. His eyes connected with yours as he kept sucking your clit and fingering you. He loved watching your eyes when he pleasured you. Loved how glassy and dazed you looked. He added a third finger, stretching you to the hilt. Your orgasm was coming quick. “Can I cum, Daddy?” He moaned into your pussy signaling yes and you exploded. Your walls clenched and your clit throbbed as euphoria washed over you. 

Bucky didn’t stop his movements, though. If anything, he sucked a little harder and fingered you a little faster. You were letting out high pitched moans continuously, already on the brink of a second orgasm. “DADDY!” You yelled out as the most intense orgasm of your life washed over you, squirting onto his face and the bed. The sound of your liquid hitting the sheets made Bucky feral. He let you ride out your high on his face and his fingers before carefully removing himself.

“Oh, honey, you are too fucking much. Squirting for your Daddy, now that’s what good girls do. So proud of you angel.” He kissed you passionately, letting your taste on his tongue fill your mouth. “Gonna give you my cock now, okay? Gotta make sure all that attitude is really gone.” 

He aligned himself with your pussy and immediately thrusted all the way in. He gave you no time to adjust to his size before he snapped his hips hard, hitting your g-spot everytime. “Such a slutty little thing, look at ‘cha,” he taunted, unable to take his eyes away from his cock slipping in and out of you. “You got my cock fucking drenched, baby girl. You that desperate to be fucked? Making puddles on this bed I swear,” he said, continuing to fuck you hard. His hand reached to your clit, giving it a feather light touch just to tease you a little more. 

“Daddy, touch my clit, please! Been so good for you,” you pleaded.

He laughed. “Nothing is ever enough for you, is it? Got you stuffed full of cock and you’re asking for more?” Despite his teasing, he gave you what you wanted, connecting his fingers to your clit and applying the perfect amount of pressure. “Fuck, feel you squeezing me. You gonna cum again for me? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes, Daddy!” you screamed, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Cum with me baby girl, gonna fill you up. Gonna get you all pregnant and round. Fuck you’re gonna look so good carrying my baby,” he grunted, thrusts growing sloppy. 

“Give it to me, Daddy! Fill me up!” You moaned, feeling his cum shooting into your body and setting off your own orgasm. You screamed as you came, squirting for the second time.

When you had both finished, he removed his dick from you and got up to get a towel. He carefully cleaned you up, looking into your eyes with love.

“So, did we fix that attitude?”

“I don’t know,” you smirked. “I think there’s still some in there that needs to be fucked out of me.” 

“You’re trouble,” Bucky growled, crawling on top of you once again.

[the-lying-heavens]

"I Read About You in History Books"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Summary: You've always been fascinated by history, especially by the untold stories of people forgotten in the shadow of legends. Bucky Barnes is one of those people.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Fluff with a dash of angst, not proofread

Word Count: 1.6k

You knew The Winter Soldier. Who didn't? Everyone knew the tales of the most feared assassin in the world. How he appears and disappears like a ghost. How he struck his victims with deadly accuracy and no one could catch him. The man behind the mask intrigued you more though. It was almost laughable but to you, The Winter Soldier was older news than James 'Bucky' Barnes.

Meeting Steve Rogers was incredible. It took every professional bone in your body not to jump up and down in excitement. I mean it was the Captain America. How were you not meant to be excited?

You didn't expect to become his friend, to watch his back and have him watch yours. You had been in so many fights besides him and, of course, asked him every question you could think of about his life, the war and especially Bucky Barnes.

Why do you want to know so much about him? He had asked once.

Only the Gods knew the answer.

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky Barnes, more than what was in the history books. There was never much about him in anything, always being overshadowed by Steve or the other Howling Commandos. You'd read every account, watched every documentary, pieced together the fragments of his life as if they were a puzzle begging to be solved.

You never expected to meet him. Never expected him to be more than a name in a book or a picture in a documentary. You thought that meeting Steve was miracle enough.

You were quite wrong.

~~~

"Mind if I join you?"

Bucky frowns. "In a stairwell?"

"Well, I usually come here to get some quiet, so yeah, in a stairwell."

Bucky's posture is stiff as he leans back against the cold concrete wall, his arms crossed over his chest. You stand a few steps below him, one hand resting on the metal railing, your head tilted to the side as you study him.

“Quiet, huh?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, still hesitant to engage.

“Yep,” you reply, popping the 'p' with a small grin. “It's one of the few places in this whole compound where no one’s either training, running missions, or asking me a million questions.”

He’s guarded, that much is clear, but there’s something else too. Something underneath the surface, a complexity you’ve always suspected is buried deep within James Buchanan Barnes. You aren’t just interested in The Winter Soldier. You want to know the man beneath that, the person history has barely bothered to document.

“So, what brings you up here?” you ask casually if your presence is the most natural thing in the world.

Bucky glances away for a moment, his jaw clenching. His eyes are distant, but not in the way that screams of danger. More like he’s... lost. "Just needed some space," he finally says.

"I understand that." You slide down onto one of the steps, resting your arms on your knees, looking up at him. "It gets overwhelming, doesn’t it? Always being around people, no room to just... think."

Bucky nods in agreement, his eyes flickering to you.

You decide to take a chance. "I swear this isn’t some weird interrogation or anything, but... I've read about you, in History books. Well, about the Howling Commandos. About you and Steve during the war."

His expression tightens, the walls going back up. "You don't know me—"

"I know," you say quickly, cutting him off. "I know that what’s in those books isn’t the whole story. That’s why I want to know more."

"More?" His gaze sharpens, almost suspicious. "Why?"

You shrug. "I don’t know. Maybe because history’s never the full picture. It’s just pieces, bits of what people decide to write down. I’ve always thought there had to be more to you than just 'Steve’s best friend' or 'The Winter Soldier.' And..." you press your lips together, hesitating, but continue, “...I guess I just want to know who you really are.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, the tension between you thickening with each passing second. His blue eyes are scrutinizing you, searching for something—maybe sincerity, maybe an ulterior motive. You aren’t sure.

"You think you can figure me out?" he finally says, his tone biting, though not as cold as before.

You shake your head. "No... But I think you deserve to be known. Not just as a name in a book or a legend in a file. As, well, you."

His brow furrows, and for the first time since the conversation started, he looks truly unsettled. "What if I don't even know who that is anymore?"

The pain in his voice catches you off guard. For a moment, the Winter Soldier—the assassin, the ghost—seems to fall away, leaving only a man haunted by the weight of his past. And it breaks your heart a little.

"Then maybe I can help you figure it out," you say softly.

Bucky exhales, a sound heavy with the burden of decades he hasn’t asked to carry. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any promises, but he doesn’t leave either. Instead, he slowly lowers himself to sit a few steps above you, the silence between you shifting into something more comfortable.

"Can I be completely honest?" you ask.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"I don't come here for quiet. I lock myself in my room for that. I totally stalked you in here."

Bucky scoffs. "You're probably the nicest stalker I've encountered."

You look up at him, grinning. "Thank you!"

He raises an eyebrow at you but you swear you see a small smile grace his lips.

Maybe this is the beginning of something. Maybe not. Either way, you aren’t about to let him disappear like a ghost again.

Not if you have anything to say about it.

[jen-with-a-pen]

Cocoon

summary: A chance encounter one night at a house party sparks the hottest hookup Bucky and Steve ever have.

parings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

word count: 2.95k

warnings: BJs, hand stuff, partying, alcohol, drinking, making out in a bathroom at a houseparty, they're slightly intoxicated but it's all consensual I promise, gay gay gay gay, dirty talk, MDNI 18+

a/n: happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈 enjoy this WIP I've had brewing for a while now. also I love how i've been in another writing slump and the first thing I'm motivated to finish is some juicy gay p0rn. love that for me💅

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know! not beta'ed. any mistakes are mine.

gif by @/multiverse-sparkles | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: Cocoon by Catfish and the Bottlemen Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Bucky Barnes doesn't know which is harder.

There's Steve, who's rutting up against his leg like a puppy, whining, desperate for friction and freedom while drunk on whatever the fuck is in the communal jungle juice. Steve’s flannel is draped over the tub, thrown haphazardly aside when he felt too hot and Bucky felt it was getting in the fucking way. 

There's Bucky, who's straining every muscle in his body in an attempt to keep himself from unzipping his fly and freeing his throbbing cock that Steve is pawing at greedily. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticking strands of hair to his skin as hot breaths fan his face and neck. He realizes his ponytail came loose somehow and his leather jacket is strewn about somewhere on the tile floor. He thinks he feels it at the tip of his boot so he kicks it aside to avoid it getting stepped on. 

And then there's the goddamned door, which Steve slams Bucky up against the second Bucky’s teeth find Steve’s tender earlobe. It creaks and groans under their weight, not at all prepared for whatever the fuck is happening right now. 

Then again, neither are they. 

Neither of them expected to walk into some mutual-friend-of-a-mutual-friend’s house party itching to leave the moment they stepped foot into the isolated cloud of weed and booze that seeped into their nostrils and clothing within the first ten minutes. They hadn't expected their two very separate groups of friends to somehow miraculously know each other, using the kitchen as the location for some shoddy, un-sober family reunion. 

It wasn't until one side challenged the other to billiards did Bucky and Steve locked eyes with one another, instantaneously recognizing something in the way seafoam green meeting bright baby blue made them feel an immediate pull towards each other. Maybe it was Steve's a-little-too-big flannel, a-little-too-tight khakis, and soft blond hair shining in every shade of gold in the mixture of ever-changing LEDs and sporadically-placed table lamps. Or, maybe it was Bucky's slim, dark denim jeans hugging every muscle in the thickest thighs Steve’s ever seen, completed with a black T-shirt, leather bomber jacket, and messy ponytail with loose threads of chocolate hair that framed Bucky's face perfectly. Steve felt his Adam’s apple bob every time those strands fell perfectly into place when Bucky leaned just a little too forward onto the table to aim his pool cue, biceps fighting against leather as he lined up his shot. 

Steve about snapped his stick in half when Bucky’s eyes flicked up to his as he jerked the pool cue, sinking two solids in at once. Steve’s pants tightened on the spot.

Steve, however, sought revenge– and got it, too– when he was the one to sink a stripe, then another, and another. Bucky’s eyes darkened, a smirk ghosting his lips at the challenge and his very attractive, very worthy opponent. 

Bodies ganged up in cheers and chants as the two tangoed with their pool cues, taking riskier and riskier moves. Bucky took a shot behind his back. Steve made one over his shoulders. Each time, one would look to the other a millisecond before taking a shot as if silently seeking approval and finding it in the dragging of one’s tongue slowly along their teeth (Bucky) or in the raising of a cocky brow and biting one’s lip (Steve.) 

When the 8-ball was pocketed, shots passed from hand to hand through the crowd to quench the palpable tension in the basement air. Laughter and cheering erupted, echoing off the wood paneled walls. Downing another shot, Steve side-eyed Bucky as sour vodka dripped down his chin. His brow twitched when Bucky’s gaze flitted to the stairs then back to Steve– signaling, asking, begging. Steve’s sideways grin and reddening cheeks were all the ‘yes’ Bucky needed. 

And so, as Bucky bites down onto Steve’s swollen bottom lip and releases in a painfully slow drag of his teeth, Steve is the first to break their shared silence.

“Ah– f-fuck, oh my God,” he pants, pawing at anything his hands can reach at this point.

“Fuck is right,” Bucky hisses against Steve’s neck as he nips the tender skin. “You up for a challenge, baby?” Bucky ruts up against Steve’s palm, swallowing a moan when the friction rubs in just the right way against his cock’s swollen, covered head. Steve’s heart goes into a frenzy. The liquid courage coursing in his veins kicks in.

“Got you up against a door now, don’t I?” Steve challenges as his teeth graze Bucky’s cheek. 

“Only if y’keep me here,” Bucky breathes, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. He pauses, taking in the macroscopic details of Steve’s reddened face. “I’ll make ya a deal.”

Steve smirks. “What kinda deal, hm?” His palm pushes further into Bucky’s erection, prompting an uncontrollable twitch and rumble of a swallowed groan. He’s got what Bucky needs and he needs what Bucky’s got. 

“You–” Bucky kisses him again, desperate, “get on your knees–” another kiss, “so I–” another, “can admire th’ view.”

Steve's eyes widen. His pants feel like a goddamn tent as Bucky kisses him once more, smacking his lips upon release. He cups Steve’s face, thumb rubbing gently over the blond’s swollen lips.

“If you do a good job, I’ll pay ya back in full.”

Steve drops to his knees in an instant. 

Bucky guides him with coos and ‘good boy’s as he undoes his belt and tosses it into the tub. Face to face with the daunting zipper, Steve glances back up at Bucky, Adam’s apple bobbing. Bucky softens, hand sliding from Steve’s messy blond mop to his chin, tilting him up. 

“First time?” 

Steve’s already-red face saturates deeper. He nods reluctantly, eyes flitting away from Bucky’s in embarrassment. Bucky scoffs a laugh and forces Steve’s gaze back to him; he’s careful to be gentle, but still firm. 

“I’ll help ya, baby. I’ll coach you through it.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivers. He shifts on his knees. “Y-you sure? ‘m sorry, I–”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bucky commands, shaking Steve’s chin the tiniest bit. His smile falters as he bites down on his lip from the strain. “I’ll do anything if it means getting those pretty pink lips on my cock.”

Steve instantly sits up straighter. Bucky’s hand snakes back into Steve’s hair while the other unzips the front of his jeans ever-so-slowly. Steve can’t help but feel his fucking mouth water as he takes up the task of shakily unbuttoning the denim, releasing Bucky from the prison of his pants. Steve feels himself grow harder as he’s met with sleek, black Calvin Kleins conforming perfectly to Bucky’s hips, the front tents with tension from his throbbing cock begging for release. The branded white waistband shields a deep, carved ‘V’ leading up to the ghost of softened abs underneath the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt.

Steve swears he must be fucking dead– this must be heaven.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Steve falters as his eyes flit up to Bucky, catching a sultry, cocky wink thrown his way before focusing entirely back onto the task at hand. He wipes his clammy palms on the thighs of his khakis before sliding them up Bucky’s concrete thighs– both of which he’s very certain would crush his skull and he would be thankful– and hooking tender fingers onto the waistband. Adam’s apple bobbing, breath held, mouth watering, Steve peels the Calvins down and off Bucky, releasing the most mouth-watering, ecstasy-inducing, biggest fucking dick he’s ever seen in his entire life. 

Fuck. It’s the first dick he’s ever seen in his entire life. Aside from porn tapes and sleazy zines, that is. Bucky can’t help but puff his chest out, smirk widening, grip tightening onto the short length of Steve’s hair, prouder and hornier than he was before his pants came off.

“Told ya t’ take a picture, baby.”

Steve looks up at Bucky with hands still gripping onto his Calvins before dropping them to the floor. With a shaky sigh, he slides closer to Bucky’s leaking head glistening in the shoddy bathroom lighting. Fingers travel up Bucky’s thighs as fingernails gently dig into the oh-so-sensitive part of soft skin, sending a shiver up Bucky’s spine. His palm hits the base of his cock, wrapping around the base of it while his other hand gently takes Bucky’s sack. Stiff and at the ready, Steve leans closer and closer until the dripping wet, eagerly reddened tip hits his lips, poking through and sliding onto an awaiting tongue. Bucky groans and hits the door with a free fist. 

“F-f-fuck– oh my– fucking Christ–!” 

Curses and praises rain down on Steve as he obeys Bucky’s hips thrusting gently into his warm mouth. Steve’s tongue swirls around Bucky’s head as he starts to bob, setting the starting tempo and matching Bucky’s movements. His fist around the base tightens, sending more blood into his cock, in turn sending Bucky careening into the back of Steve’s throat. Steve sucks in, choking on Bucky’s cock and savoring every second of it. Tears brim his eyes as he slowly pulls back, drool dripping out his mouth and covering Bucky, who’s fist in Steve’s hair pulls at just the right angle, sending an uncontrollable moan up and out of Steve’s hoarse throat. 

He wipes his mouth and dives back in. 

“Fuck, Steve, I–”

The sound of his name spilling out of Bucky in a desperate call only motivates him and his own dick more than ever. Lips, tongue, and teeth graze over Bucky’s head as Steve bobs quicker this time around. Lips pucker around the shaft as he pumps and bobs simultaneously, undoing Bucky from the way his knees buckle against the back of the bathroom door. A guttural moan vibrates out from Bucky’s chest to his limbs, reaching Steve as he picks up the pace.

Steve nestles his mouth at the base of Bucky’s cock before fanning his tongue out across the girth and licking a wet stripe all the way up to the head, actively (and almost) killing Bucky. With both of Bucky’s fists raking desperately through his hair, both of Steve’s hands migrate once more, wrapping around Bucky and squeezing every ounce of precum out of his swollen red tip. Steve takes the opportunity to look up at Bucky for the first time and nearly ruins his own pants at the sight above him. 

Sweat-stuck hair frames Bucky’s panting, desperate face. His once-indigo eyes are no more, swallowed by lust-blow black pupils and fluttering eyelids; his Adam’s apple bobs hysterically, caught in a hurricane of pure pleasure and the pain of having to– needing to– restrain himself. His cheeks burn pink as shadows bury themselves in the crevices of his features. If Steve didn’t know any better, he fucking swears Bucky looks like a stolen work of art from the Louvre itself.

Bucky swallows, parting his lips ever-so-slightly. “Don’t stop– ’m so fuckin’ close, Stevie.”

The nickname snaps Steve out of his trance, the scene above him more than enough motivation to finish the job and finish it well.

Sore, puckered lips engulf Bucky’s swollen cock as Steve works at twisting both his hands in opposite directions, pumping and squeezing as he sucks and bobs to the rhythm of Bucky’s hips. His pace quickens, as does Bucky’s breathing. Neck muscles tighten and biceps strain as Steve feels his jaw beginning to lock. The back of his throat is numb from endorphins and adrenaline. He feels Bucky’s entire body freeze and instinctively removes his hands, reaching around and grabbing onto Bucky’s ass, pushing him into the deepest part of his throat just as Bucky finally releases. Hot ropes of cum shoot down Steve’s throat as he continues to gently suck, coaxing every single drop out of Bucky. His tongue laps at the excess spilling over his molars and swallows, making Bucky twitch and curse all over again.

The two of them are connected, forever a part of one another in this moment and the next; both are intertwined through body and soul, whether they might know it now, or not. Regardless, they are each other's firsts, whether they know it (Bucky) or not (Steve.) A trophy to keep in the back of their minds. A memory that makes them lie awake in bed at night with the ghost of a smirk on their lips.

Bucky, now fantastically ruined, allows his body to give out and slides down the length of the door, crumpling in a pleasure-drunken heap on the floor with his legs outstretched in front of him. His eyes don’t leave Steve’s, who is now sitting opposite of him, gagging and swallowing as he rests against the front cabinets of the bathroom vanity. His hair sticks up in different tufts, remnants of Bucky’s grabby hands. His face is the reddest Bucky’s ever seen. He feels his dick fucking twitch again. 

In echoing pants, both silently agree on two things: 1. how good the cool tile feels beneath their fingers, and 2. how they won’t acknowledge the fogged-up bathroom mirror. 

“Wow,” Bucky breathlessly utters. He cards a clammy hand through stringy hair, dropping it lazily into his lap.

Steve nods, swallowing again. “Wow.”

Bucky blinks. His eyes finally focus and follow from his own lap to his outstretched legs, to Steve’s folded knees and used, swollen face. He stares, taking everything in while he climbs down from the high. A smirk ghosts Steve's lips as he meets Bucky’s gaze. 

“What?” Bucky questions. 

“Wish I could take a picture,” Steve answers. Bucky snorts and shakes his head.

“Might as well. Hang it on the fridge or somethin’ for how good you did.”

Steve perks up. “I… did a good job?”

Bucky smiles, eyes wandering to the ceiling to avoid blushing more than he already is. He ultimately comes back to Steve before nodding. “Yeah. You did,” he smiles at Steve. “More than good.”

Steve feigns disbelief. “More than good?”

“Some would say great, even. Five star service.”

Steve scoffs a laugh. “Some?”

“Some being me, myself, and I.”

The two titter a moment more before another comfortable silence falls between them. Steve watches Bucky a second more before shifting to his knees again. Slowly, carefully, he crawls towards Bucky, closing the few feet of distance between them in seconds. Bucky sits up against the door and spreads his legs open, welcoming Steve between them, ignoring his semi-hard cock as it continues twitching. Steve stops inches from Bucky as the air shifts. Steve, still on all fours, peels his clammy hand from the tile and rests it on Bucky’s cheek, carding a couple fingers into his hair for good measure. He can hear Bucky’s heart beating, which he (correctly) assumes Bucky can probably hear his, as well, pounding against the marrow bars of his rib cage.

Seafoam green meets bright baby blue as Steve gently pulls Bucky closer. Soft lips meet one stubbled cheek, and then the other, before Steve pulls back as if to peer straight into Bucky’s soul. 

And Bucky is okay with that.

“Thank you,” Steve says.

“No, thank you.”

“You can thank me later like ya said.” Steve smirks. Bucky smiles. 

“That can be arranged.”

Finally, Steve pulls Bucky into him. Lips crash together once more, this time the hunger is replaced by lust and gratitude. It feels genuine. It feels right. Everything feels right. 

As Bucky leans more into the kiss, with his hands cupping Steve’s burning cheeks, a loud BANG BANG BANG kills any and all goodness within the bathroom that existed just second prior. The two flinch in each other’s arms as they scramble up and off the floor, frantically trying to find clothes and fix hair. 

“Yo! Buck? You in there? We’re fuckin’ leavin’, dude!” A voice calls from the other side.

Panic flashes over Bucky’s face as Steve hands him his belt. “Uh, yeah! Be right out!” 

“Well hurry the fuck up! Natasha’s getting grabby!”

Bucky and Steve listen for footsteps to recede before sharing a sigh of relief as they continue to clean up. 

“Why does Natasha get grabby?” Steve asks playfully, eliciting a louder laugh from Bucky now that they didn’t have to be totally silent any longer.

“Too much tequila. The girl can handle her booze but not without fatal consequences.”

Steve snorts at the thought. “Can’t say I blame her,” he winks. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts back. “Me neither,” he smirks. 

As Bucky goes to grab the doorknob, Steve grabs his shoulder.

“Wait, I–” he starts. His cheeks bloom into a hues of pink again as he sheepishly looks at the floor. “Can I get your number?”

Bucky smiles and feels around his pockets for something, fishing a sharpie out from his jacket pocket. “Gimme your arm.” 

Steve obeys, offering his left arm to Bucky’s awaiting hand. Bucky cradles him as the sharpie drags across his skin, leaving behind a series of numbers large– and legible– enough to read. Steve pulls his arm back and analyzes the new temporary tattoo, committing each digit to memory in case something egregious happens to his arm from now until he gets home. He notices the area code and looks curiously back up to Bucky, who caps the marker and shoves it back into another pocket. 

“Bucky! C’mon, man! No, Natasha!” the voice calls again from the living room. 

Bucky gives Steve one last peck on the cheek before turning on his heel and striding down the hallway, leaving Steve standing in the threshold of the still-steamy bathroom with messy hair, a missing flannel, and a phone number inked onto his skin. The smile plastered on his face refuses to leave.

[hail-americas-ass]

✒Dig My Grave, Both Wide and Deep

Link here

Steve takes his first step towards living in the 21st Century without Bucky by his side now that he hasn't got an alien invasion to distract him from grief. In which, Steve visits Bucky's grave and realises Bucky would have wanted him to live the life he couldn't have.

This fic was written for the @catws-anniversary under prompt '1940s', and for @stuckybingo under prompt '1930's', as a part 2 in my series A little something called 'History'.

[delicatebarness]

‘Grumpy, single dad who lives in a one bedroom apartment with his cat’ Bucky who sleeps on the floor due to the war so gives you the bedroom to help you feel safe while it’s his custody days.

&

‘Cheerful, dinner party hosting mom, who married the science teacher’ Natasha who lives her childhood dream of growing up safe in a suburban community through you on her custody days.

&

You, just trying to get through the school day without punching a jock who smiled at you for a second too long. 

-

Thoughts?

[crossthread]

I haven't read the not easily conquered series yet because I am a f r a i d

[ourghoststories]

Apologies [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

"James, seriously! We're gonna get married and you can't stop getting in harm's way, you said the Winter Sol- White Wolf thing was in your past. I'm not saying you can't do anything, save the day, go chase after who you want, but please just think about how much danger you're putting yourself in and the repercussions. The government are already monitoring you closely. I don't want them to hurt you, like that flag-smasher chick or Zemo- what if they'd decided you're next?" I rambled anxiously.

"Zemo doesn't like super soldiers Buck, I don't trust him and even though you did everything right, doesn't mean he won't decide to target you, or us. I'm much more concerned about you".

"(Printcessa) принцесса, I love you but I can't do this... I need to keep going, the nightmares only lessen when I do it. I promise I won't get into stuff that doesn't involve me but I need to work through my book, I have my demons and you have yours" he said glaringly, taking a tone of frustration and concern, before letting the signature frown plaster his features.

"I can't do this either Bucky, maybe we should have a break" I sniffled.

--

I was out driving and I couldn't stop thinking about it, Bucky and I had an argument and this time it was bad.

Leaving was the only thing I could think of doing after we had the conversation, I cared about him more than anyone knew, even Bucky.

He had gotten back after everything happened with Zemo and I had no idea what was happening, he did everything by the books, despite charging into the situation most times with impulse taking over.

I loved him but I was so unsure about this, that's why we argued, Sharon was the Power Broker and had sustained injuries and it was so close to being him.

Plus I didn't like Sharon hanging around Bucky, I knew she didn't have any intentions but she killed someone without hesitation and James really didn't like that, either did Sam.

He would be steadfast and run into situations and come back to me and I'd have to deal with the injuries, the repercussions and damage, time after time and it never stopped, it was getting exponentially worse and that's why I cared, I cared because I loved him and he didn't seem to get it... Or more like he did but was being too stubborn to realise.

Even Sam was telling him to be careful to no avail, he wasn't always this brash, when Steve passed, he didn't know what to do anymore, he was lost and therefore I too, was lost- I hated seeing Bucky this way and nothing was helping, I've been happily dealing with it but I couldn't see him hurting or getting hurt without any consideration, anymore.

I drove around for a bit aimlessly, before I decided that it had been long enough and I wasn't trying to torture him, so I headed back home, the place we owned together.

"Y/n?" He said shocked, but had a smile on his face.

"Yeah I know I've fucked up, y/n, let's talk about it inside" he said apologetically.

I followed him through the front door and into the lounge room.

"I just don't know how you can keep doing it Bucky, you know how much I love and care for you, I know it's part of you and who you are but we're an us now and I need you around... Especially if we're going to have a family" I sniffled, trying not to let tears escape my eyes.

"Y/n I know, I know baby" he said sweetly, placing his metal hand on my back and rubbing it affectionately.

"We've always gotta be prepared, I'm trying to minimise threats to us, I'm going to be more careful I promise. Everything will be okay" he sympathised.

"Okay Buck I trust you, I just get scared" I sighed as he pulled me into a big hug.

He placed a kiss on my cheek, before he took my hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I love you" he smiled gently.

"I love you too, actually i love you more" I chuckled, poking my tongue out.

"Never doll, you know that I would never let anything happen to you, and when we decide to have a family, I'm going to be more responsible because having little mini versions of you and I would be a dream " he chuckled, caressing my face gently and putting his face close to mine so he could stare straight into my eyes.

"Bucky" I smiled happily, letting out an exhale, feeling the pressure of the situation dissipate.

"Mm?" He hummed.

"I love you so much, thank you for making me feel better" I replied as he kissed my hand lovingly.

"I'll always love you and I'll always try to do better for us, never forget that y/n, you're my first priority, not Zemo or anyone else, they'll never get between us, I pinky promise" he said soothingly.

[phoenixstark1708]

bucky barnes being subby :]

smut 18+

warnings: slight BDSM, switch!reader, switch!bucky, some slapping, some degradation, desperate bucky, slight dumbification, chains (on bucky), praise, mean names, pet names, single tear, threats of orgasm denial.... lmk if i missed anything

summary: bucky is turned on by the reader (first person) being dom, and he gets a little tied up, after the reader gets the... yk... she switches to sub lol

pairings: buckyxfem!reader, sub!buckyxdom!reader, switch!buckyxswitch!reader.........

kinda shit, but that aight.

basically p0rn without pl0t

"so needy for me baby boy. you think you earned my pussy yet? hm?" I undressed, he was laying on the bed, practically begging me to make him feel good. "yes" he nearly shouted"yes what?" I smirked, climbing up.to straddle him, i slap his face "yes ma'am" he breathed "good boy"

he was basically whining, fucking desperate for me. "how?" I asked "what?" "how have you earned it?" "i-" he stuttered "exactly. lemme tell you how this is gonna go. you are gonna watch me cum on your stomach" i grabbed a viberator "and you are not going to touch me. at all." I turn on the vibe, grinding down on his lower abdomen/upper thighs, feeling him achingly hard under his clothes. he hasnt taken anything off yet. "strap in little whore. this may take a while."

I was masturbating on him, and he was watching me like a lion stalks a gizelle. it was extremely hot to be able to take control like this. i intentionally supressed my moans, and noises, just to piss him off. he gripped my thighs and ass and i ripped his hands away "did i not tell you that you werent allowed to touch me?" he threw his head back and groaned, frustrated and dissapointed that i wasnt letting him touch me. i slapped his face a little "watch me baby" he did as he was told and observed the way my body reacted to the vibrator. after a few minutes, he tried to grab at me again, causing me to grab both of his arms and shove them to be alligned with his head "you do that again, you're not cumming for a week." his eyes got wide "but-" i cut him off "no. shut up you stupid little cumslut. Don’t make me punish you baby.” he looked equally frusterated and turned on by my controlling nature. Usually, he’s the one in control, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. “you know, if you’d let me touch you, you wouldve cum by now.” I ignored his comment, feeling myself getting close.

A fimiliar heat welled up inside of me. I let out a high-pitched whine as I came, my muscles convulsing. I made sure that he had a clear view of me as I closed my eyes. When I slowly came down from the orgasm, I looked at him. His nostrils were flared, and there was an unbelievably hot fire in his eyes.

I liked the feeling of control, being able to dominate a 6’5” man. Wow. I ran my fingers through his hair, bending so that my tits were right above his face. He shot me a pleading look, almost as if to beg me to let him suck on my brests. I smiled sweetly “there you go” I cooed “so you can listen to directions.” he whined. That was one of the hottest sounds I'd ever heard.

I leaned over to kiss his neck, reaching to grab his arms. I placed his hands on my thighs, giving them a little squeeze to give him permission to grope me. He heaved a sigh of relief and started massaging my flesh as I kissed his stubbled neck.

I trailed kisses up his jaw, and to his nose, planting a small one directly on his nose. I kissed him, feeling his hands run up my back, and tangle into my hair, not pulling, just there. I did the same, and tugged on his hair, making him moan into the kiss. I slid my tounge into his mouth, taking the control he surrendered to me.

I started grinding down on him, loving the groans he was emitting. I smirked and pulled away, my hands roaming his chest “hands baby” he sighed and let his hands fall to his sides. I went further down, pulling his shirt above his head. I shamelessly admired the man before me, abs glistening with sweat.

I pulled off his pants, leaving the boxers. I went lower, so my head was above his crotch, and started palming his clothed cock. He moaned loudly, and tried to buck his hips up, desperate for more relief. I pulled my hand away and he let out a sob. “pl-please! I n-need…” he begged “what to you need, honey?” I asked, a mischevious smile making its way to my lips “you!” He cried out “mhm, you have me, don’t you?” He whimpered “I need you to touch me… please” he whispered “okay sweet boy”.

I rubbed his cock through his boxers, loving the reaction I got. He sighed, and visibly relaxed. “Feel good?” He nodded, looking into my eyes with a mixture or adoration and pleasure. I stopped my movements, “n-no! Please-” I cut him off “use your words, handsome.” “Yes! Yes it feels good ma’am” he emphasized that last word, knowing that it would encourage me to give his what he wanted. I pulled off his boxers, his huge cock springing free, dripping with precum. I groaned at the sight, leaning down to lick it off the tip.

His hands flew to my hair, trying to push my head down. I tore his hands off of me “really Bucky?! You’re asking for punishment at this point.” I sighed. His eyes welled up with tears “plea-please! I can’t take it anymore! I need something!” I crawled up his body “I was going to give it to you, bubba. But someone couldn’t wait like a good boy, and decided to break the ONE rule I gave you.”

A tear rolled down his cheek and i leaned down and kissed it off his face “tell me what you want baby. I’m not touching you, and your not touching yourself, yet. What do you want, hun?” A blush blossomed on his cheeks “can you- can you sit on my face?” His words went directly to my core, just dampening at the thought of it. But, I couldn’t. I was punishing him, not rewarding him. I knew the one thing he wanted, was to either be the one pleasuring me, or to have me pleasuring him. “Hmm…” he looked confused and worried. “No.” He nearly screamed “please!!! I-PLEASE!” I wanted so bad to give him what he wanted. “Stay here.” I walked to the closet, and dug around a bit, looking for four the sets of chains I had.

With his strength, and metal arm, he could easily break through rope or handcuffs, but he wouldn’t be able to break these chains, having been enchanted. I found them, glowing a slight blue color. I also saw something else on my way out, a blindfold. That gave me some ideas. I walked out, my new toys behind my back.

He looked at me curiously, trying to see what I had. I was grinning when I dropped them on the ground, making his eyes go wide. I tied his metal arm to a bedpost, making sure he wouldn’t escape. I tied the other hand, and his legs, having him spread out, in a starfish position. Then, I reached for the blindfold, making sure that he was looking at my ass.

He let out a strangled noise, needing a release. I climbed up, straddling him. I reached up to his head, and put the blindfold on him, not covering his eyes. He gave me a puppydog look, silently begging me to make him feel good, to not punish him any more. I slid the blindfold over his eyes, causing him to look absolutely defeated.

I began rubbing my hands down his sides, leaving hickeys down his chest. When I got lower, I licked up his abs, on my knees between his legs. I slid my hand down to my pussy, letting out a loud moan. Bucky struggled against the chains thrashing his head. I continued rubbing my clit, moaning obnoxiously, just to torture him.

I stopped touching myself, telling myself I wouldn’t cum unless he was the one to draw it out of me. I got off the bed and ghosted my hand over his inner thigh, making him shudder. At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I straddled him, and rubbed my pussy on his dick. “You wanted me to sit on your face?” He nodded “yes! Please! Please, ma’am.” I positioned myself over his face, removing the blindfold. His face lit up, looking at me for permission. I nodded, silently giving him permission. He wasted no time getting to work, craning his neck to reach me. “Please sit, mommy.” He begged “don’t hover, please just sit. Two taps of the tongue if I need a break.”

I rested my weight on his face, his mouth immediately latching onto my clit. I threw my head back in pleasure, gripping the headboard to steady myself. He lapped desperately at my pussy, bucking his hips to try and get any form of stimulation. He tapped his tongue twice, so I sat up. He looked at me in desperation, motioning with his eyes to his crotch “..please” he simpered. “Okay baby” I went to move down his body, but he protested “wait… I still wanna taste you…” I grinned, and repositioned my body, so my mouth was over his dripping cock, and my pussy over his mouth.

I ground myself against his face, mewling as he dipped his tongue into my hole. I took his weeping dick in my hand, and spread the copious amount of precum over the tip. I licked it up, and took him in my mouth. I swirled my tongue on the tip, causing him to moan, and suck even more aggressively, sending vibrations through me. I whined loudly, taking him further into my mouth. Normally, I would only be able take around four or five inches into my mouth, but I both wanted to challenge myself, and I wanted to make him feel as good as he was making me feel. So, I tried to take all of him at once, all 10.5 inches.

I got to around 7~ inches before I felt the need to gag, I held it off though, and was able to take all of him. He broke away from my pussy, and started to praise me “good job baby” he cooed. I relished his praise, but I was the dominant one right now. I popped him out of my mouth “mhm. Keep going brat.” He groaned, clearly wanted me to forfeit control, but that wasn’t gonna happen. Not yet.

I bobbed my head, moaning around his cock. I could feel myself getting dangerously close “ohgod” I whined “oohhh imgonnacum” that spurred him on even more, eating me out like I was his last meal. I gushed over his face, crying out in pleasure. He lapped up everything I offered him, groaning at the taste of my cum. “just like honey” he mumbled. I resumed my movements on his cock, but he paused “baby… ohfuck sweetheart im gettting close..” he warned, hinting at me to stop. I did, untying the chains on his legs, then I turned around so I was hovering over his dick

. He fought against the chains some more, silently praying for me to release them. I was going to, but not yet. I lined him up with my entrance, and slowly sank down. He bucked his hips, searching out pleasure. This action hurt me, because no matter how many times we’ve done this, ill never get used to his size. I gasped from the pain, causing him to get worried “shit- im sorry sweetheart, are you okay?” I nodded, and placed my hands on his chest, slowly getting used to the intrusion.

After a few moments, I stirred my hips, moaning loudly. I began riding him, slowly, bracing myself. He was tugging on the chains so hard, I thought they might break. I knew they couldn’t, but his desperation was insanely hot, telling me that he needed me just as much as I needed him. He was physically holding himself back from thrusting up into me.

I kept riding him as I laid on his chest, resting my head in the crook of his neck. “Baby… can I…?” He asked as he gently rolled his hips up, meeting mine. I whimpered and nodded. He continued his ministrations, sending sparks through me. I reached up, putting my tits into his face. He took a nipple into his mouth, and sucked, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub. I undid the chains on his hands. his hands immediately going to my waist, pushing me down further onto his cock.

He started thrusting up harder, taking some of the control that I was offering. I was still laying on his chest when he spoke up “need me to take control, baby?” I whined and nodded “hmm? To cockdrunk now?” I didn’t respond, my brain frying. “Huh baby? You’re all controlling until you get a dick in you, huh.” He slowed down a bit, and flipped us over, never fully stopping his thrusts.

He put his flesh hand around my throat, swirling his vibranum fingers around my clit. “Ya know what I’ve been thinking about this whole time?” He asked “wha-ohgod-what?” I panted “making you squirt for me. Deepthroated me so well, I’m gonna reward you sweets.” I let out a confused sort of squeak, having never squirted before, and also unable to form a coherent thought. “Oh honey, I know how to- fuck honey you’re taking me so well- I know how to make you -ughhg- squirt. Holy shit sweetheart, you’re squeezing the life out of me.” I relished in his praise, loving that I was the one causing him to feel that good.

He reached down and put two fingers inside of me, curling them a bit and pumping them in and out. It was insane, the feeling of his cock and his fingers made me see stars. “Fuckkkk Bucky I’m so close” I wailed “let go for me baby, I’m not far behind.” With that, the coil in my belly snapped, and I nearly screamed out, cumming hard. Just like he said, he made me squirt. All over his lower stomach. He removed his fingers, lifting my leg for leverage to fuck me deeper. “Ohgod hun I’m so fucking close baby. Can I cum inside you? Huh baby?” I nodded rapidly, loving the warm feeling of his cum inside of me. “YESS Ohgod Bucky cum for me” he let out a grunt as he came, legs shivering.

He continued thrusting, riding out the orgasm. He took a few more minutes before collapsing on top of me, head buried in the crook of my neck, cock still sheathed inside of me. He flipped us over so I was laying on his chest. I nuzzled my head into him, adoring the warmth coming from his body.

After a little while of him rubbing my back, I sat up, letting him slide out of me. “We gotta get cleaned up buck” I chuckled. He easily got up, carrying me to the bathroom. he sat me on the counter while he grabbed a couple of clean washcloths, running them under warm water. He handed me one, and he took the other. I cleaned myself off, and turned to see him, staring at me with affection in his eyes. “what?” I laughed.

He picked me up, and held me close to his chest as he walked back to the bed. He laid me down and snuggled in next to me, facing me. “was that okay? I was worried you were upset with me..” I tangled my hand through his hair, planting a light kiss on his forehead. “it was perfect, buck. I could never be upset with you for needing me as much as I need you.” we cuddled with each other, and fell asleep, embracing each other the whole night.

[theairshiphangs]

04. STRAW/WOOD/STONE | theairshiphangs

Summary:

and it came in the night with teeth: prehistoric fear / thing with deep hunger / you know this story. you / went into the field and gathered / straw / and built it, roof / and walls and all. stevie / drawing by the radiator, warm / your sister humming in the kitchen / listen: you know this story. or: Siberia, 1948. Bucky tries not to forget.

Tags: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers (mentioned), James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers (mentioned), Brainwashing, Medical Experimentation, Poetry, poemfic, Hydra (Marvel), Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

[wintersoldiersoul]

I should hate you

A/N: So this is kind of unintentionally becoming a series??? I'll prob make one more part to this if you guys want it! Part 2 to Tolerate It

Another night of sleep escaping you. Tossing and turning in your bed once again, as you replayed the conversation you had with Bucky, two weeks ago. 

You had seen the pain in his eyes that day. The way that he hated himself for what he had done, but he had truly believed that it was what was best. 

You were proud of yourself for how you had reacted. It would have been so easy to fall back under his spell, to instantly forgive him and just run back into his arms. But as badly as you wanted that, you knew you couldn’t. For your own sake, you needed time. 

What if it happened again? What if on another mission something went wrong and Bucky did the same thing? You couldn’t put yourself through that again. His actions had made you hate yourself. Even now, when you knew the truth there was still a little voice in the back of your head saying that it was all your fault. You wondered how Bucky could ever say those things to you, real or not. You didn’t understand how he could put you through so much pain, even if he truly believed it was for your own good. You couldn’t just take him back so easily. But you also couldn’t hate him.

To his credit, Bucky gave you space. He didn’t text or call or bombard you whenever you were in each other’s presence at the tower. He knew you well enough to know that you would come to him when you were ready.

There was one part of the conversation though, that weighed heavily on your mind. “A week before that mission, you were browsing engagement rings,” Steve had said to Bucky. Was that true? Was Bucky really planning on proposing to you? It felt like that life, the one you had built with him, existed on a completely different timeline than your current one.

You had been staying in your bedroom at the tower for the past week. Being in the apartment you used to share with Bucky hurt too much. You were too overwhelmed with pain that you couldn’t think clearly about what to do. Plus, Bucky was on a mission so you knew he wouldn’t be around for a few days at least. 

Giving up on sleep and in need of a late night snack, you headed to the kitchen. As you opened the cabinet, you spotted a box of pancake mix sitting front and center. Your mind was immediately flooded with images of Bucky cooking in your kitchen. He made you pancakes every saturday, always making it a point for the two of you to sit and have breakfast together and catch up after your insanely busy weeks.

The memories broke you. God, you missed him so much. The pain was physical, a constant tightness in your chest preventing you from breathing. You couldn’t control the sob that escaped as your knees gave out and you crumbled to the floor of the kitchen. You had gotten used to crying alone.

Time didn’t exist as you sobbed, arms wrapped around yourself. You didn’t know if it had been 3 minutes or 3 hours when the elevator opened. You didn’t even hear it. You didn’t register Bucky’s footsteps as he approached you, still in his suit from the mission he had just returned from. You didn’t even know he was there until you felt his arms around you. How ironic that the man comforting you was the reason you were crying in the first place.

He wanted to give you space but he couldn’t do it anymore. Not when you were broken and alone on the kitchen floor at 4 in the morning.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, stroking your hair. You didn’t fight him off. Didn’t tell him to leave. Just for a minute you needed to let yourself be weak. His own tears started to fall as he held you. He hated that he had caused you so much pain. That the broken state you were in was his fault. “Y/N, look at me. Please.”

You shook your head. “No. I can’t,” you answered, fighting for breath in between your sobs.

He sighed, trying to curb his tears. “I know you hate me,”

“Hate you?” You interrupted. “I wish I hated you! I should hate you! I wish more than anything in the entire world that I only felt anger towards you. I would do anything to hate you!” You finally found the strength to look in his eyes. They were so full of pain and longing.

“Can I make you some tea? C-can we just sit together for a little bit? It doesn’t have to mean anything but just,” he ran his hands through his hair. “Please. Just for a little bit.”

He was right. You could let him comfort you for a bit. Sit with him and enjoy the presence of the man you missed so dearly. Just for a little. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, you were sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a mug of tea in your hands. “I don’t know what to say to you, Bucky.”

He sat down next to you, careful to not get too close. He wanted to respect your boundaries. “I know. I have a lot to say to you but I don’t know if you wanna hear it.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times trying to work up the courage to ask your question. “Were you planning on proposing to me? Was that true, when Steve said you were looking at rings?”

“Yes.” 

The word punched the air out of your lungs. If only things had gone differently. If those fucking words hasn’t been used. If Bucky had just talked to you, the two of you would have been happily engaged right now. You would be planning your wedding, elbows deep in binders of wedding venues and colors and themes. 

“I still want to marry you. More than anything in the entire world,” he continued.

“Then why did you ruin it?” You snapped.”Everything that’s happening right now is your fault. I thought it was mine. I convinced myself it was my fault. But it’s not. I gave you everything, Bucky! Everything I could possibly give you. And you made me feel like it wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough.”

“I know,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I know.”

“But I can’t hate you!” You continued. “How am I supposed to hate you when you did that to protect me?”

“Y/N, can I show you something?” He reached into his bag and pulled out a brown leather notebook. “You don’t have to talk to me right now. But please, please just read this.” He opened to a specific page and handed you the notebook. 

Your heart stopped as your eyes scanned the page. It was a letter. He had written you a letter.

“Y/N,

I hate myself for what I have to do. I hate myself for a lot of the things i’ve done but this is easily the worst. Hurting you is worse than being tortured by Hydra. I wish I could be different. I wish our lives were different. I wish that we had met in a bar like two normal people and lived a normal life free of violence. I wish that Hydra hadn’t been there that day. I wish I had been just a little stronger and that those words hadn’t triggered the Winter Soldier. And I wish, more than anything, that I wasn’t a danger to you.

You deserve so much better. So much more than what I can ever give me. You should be with someone who’s life is free from trauma, who can shower you with the love you deserve constantly and most importantly, someone who doesn’t have the possibly to lose control and hurt you.

You are a beacon of light, Y/N. The most beautiful, kindest, intelligent person I have ever known. I am in awe of you every single day. I see the way that you’re still trying. How you want to be there for me through this. I wish you didn’t. I can’t do it. I can’t say goodbye to you. I need you to do it, okay? Because if I have to, it will break me. I hate hearing you cry like you are right now as I write this. You’re so much better than me. Please, don’t waste your tears on me. 

I hope one day you’ll understand. I hope you know this isn’t your fault. I hope you know that I still love you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop, even on my death bed I’ll still be thinking of you.

You are an angel, Y/N. Don’t let me ruin your light.”

The page was stained with your tears when you had finished reading. Reading his words that he had written in real time hurt so much. God, you just wanted to forgive him.

“Bucky…” you looked up at him. “I’m so scared. What if this happens again? I can’t deal with that. I can’t make it if you abandon me again.”

He grabbed your hands and looked directly into your eyes. “I will never abandon you again. Never.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you didn’t know if you were talking to him or yourself.

“Let me hold you,” he whispered. “Please. Just for tonight.” 

You nodded. He wrapped his arms around you tightly for the second time that night. The two of you stayed like that the whole night, falling asleep against each others bodies.

The next morning you slipped out of his arms before he was awake. That was a mistake, you tried to tell yourself. But it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt right.

You tried to avoid Bucky any time he was at the tower. He still wanted to give you space but he also just wanted to show you how much he loved you. And so every day there would be a little gift on your bed. A box of chocolate from the place that you had mentioned once was your favorite, that pair of shoes that you had said months ago that you liked, Of course he knew he wouldn’t make up for all of the hurt he had caused with material things but he just wanted to show you that he cared. That he paid attention and took note of everything you said and did.

He had a lot to make up for. A lot to pain to mend. But you missed him so much. So that day, when you ran into him in the living room, you threw him a bone.

“Dinner tonight. Just us. You can pick where.”

So that’s how you ended up sitting across fr Bucky. He had chosen your favorite restaurant in the city, of course. Anything to make you happy. He just couldn’t believe that you were actually here, sitting with him.

“I know I keep saying it but I’m sorry,” he said when you first sat down.

“No,” you stopped him. “None of that tonight, okay? Tonight I just wanna enjoy time with you. I’m not saying I forgive you and that we’re back together but I can’t ever get there if we can’t just be us.” You knew you couldn’t do this forever. Just stay in this inbetween of being mad but wanting him so badly. You’d never be able to let him go, you knew that. So you decided to just start slow. A normal dinner where the two of you could just talk like you used to.

Four glasses of wine later, you were having a great time. It was like the past few months had never even happened. Of course the alcohol had helped you along the way but mostly, you had just missed him so much.

The two of you continued to go to dinner together once a week but you had a rule. No kissing. Not yet. It felt like you had to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

You were happier than you had been in so long. Bucky continued to show you how much he cared about you but it didn’t feel like he was trying to play a game with you as the prize. It genuinely felt like he just wanted to spend time with you in any capacity that you would allow.

Things were good. Until you got the call from Steve. An emergency mission. There wasn’t even time for you to all prep. He explained to you what was happening on the jet. 

It was a hard fight, each enemy stronger than the last. Your body was so filled with adrenaline that it took a second for you to realize where all of the blood dripping onto the ground was coming from. It was coming from your body. The bullet that had just found it’s way into your body.

You dropped to your knees, the world around you alredy growing blurry. You were losing a lot of blood and fast.

“Y/N!” Bucky ran faster than you’d ever seen. “Oh my god, Y/N! We need to get you to the jet right now. We can help you there, okay?” He spoke frantically.

“B-Bucky,” you gasped for air. “J-just hold my hand, okay?” You felt so tired. You just wanted to close your eyes.

“No. No keep your eyes open baby, okay? Keep them on me.” He grabbed your body off the ground and started to take you to the jet where Bruce was waiting to help out anyone who got injured. 

“I… love…you,” you spoke slowly. Your time was running out. “T-tell me you love me.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll tell you when we’re at home, okay? I’m gonna tell you the second we get out of here.” Of course he loved you. But he couldn’t say it here. If he said it right here right now, it felt like he was accepting that you were about to die out on the field.

“P-please,” you begged, fighting harder and harder to not let your eyes close.

“You’re gonna be okay. And you and me, we’re gonna have an amazing life okay? We’re not gonna waste time anymore. No more wasting time. We’re gonna have a beautiful wedding. We’re gonna adopt a bunch of cats just like you’ve always wanted. And we’re gonna travel the world together. That life is gonna be ours so you have to stay alive, okay?”

You weakly nodded. You had to fight for that life. He was right. You had wasted so much time. You saw the jet in the distance. If you could just make it, you could get help. That life he had described could be yours. 

“Never forget I love you,” you whispered weakly before the urge to close your eyes grew impossible to resist.

Tagging people who wanted part 2: @sarah1barnes @my-obsession-spn @lets--be-honest @chloeannastarlight @missvelvetsstuff @sunset90 @diannana @thatmarvelloser @alana-32 @dyingsinglecuzimfangirl @jamesbuckybarnes1917

[lavenderpanic]

@chaos-and-ink your drawing gave me such an itch to sketch this out before I go to sleep. He's just so perfect in big, soft sweaters

[rileylastname]

remember all the Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier Ella Enchanted aus? i need more of those please

[stuckysnugglebutt]

Ok, so I just did a brief A03 search, and I didn't get any hits, so I am presuming this doesn't exist yet.

I'm gonna need someone to write a Captain America and BBC Ghost mash-up. It could be set during CATFA, and the Howling Commandos could be quartered at Button House during R&R in England or between missions for the SSR when they are reporting/coordinating with Col Phillips, et al.

This obviously needs to be a Stucky fic. They could meet the Captain while he is alive and stationed at Button House. This would open up some interesting convos/interaction among the Captain, Stucky, and Havers.

The potential for a time jump to the present day is there as well. Cap (with or without Bucky post WS) could revisit Button House on a mission or to stay at the B&B (or both). Then, he encounters the Captain as a ghost in the present day, which has the potential for a lot of great scenes.

Anywho... there you are writers....a great scenario/writing prompt for you. Go forth and write b/c I need this badly in my life!

[delicatebarness]

bring him home | chapter six

Summary: Is this healing?

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Mentions of Grief and Loss. Violence. Mental Health Themes. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 975

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-Fi

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A/N: A RACCOON ABOUT A MAN. Also, this is a day early, forgive me but I want to work on Winter's Widow. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Bring Him Home: @vampirethingz | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love | @esposadomd | @motylekrozi | @erica2024 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @mega-kittyglitter-1 | @mostlymarvelgirl | @ordelixx |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

The familiar scent of Bucky lingered, bringing a bittersweet comfort as the first light of dawn filtered through the window. Sitting you, you gathered your thoughts as you took a moment, the events from his journal replaying in your mind. 

Making your way through the village, you were greeted warmly with the smiles of the Wakandan people. Their resilience was a testament to their strength that had helped them rebuild after Thanos’ attack. 

Near the training ground, Okoye’s presence was as formidable as ever. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, a quiet understanding carried in her voice. 

You nodded, “More than I expected.” The word hung heavy in the air, the weight of Bucky’s recognition and struggle settling in your heart. 

“Good,” Okoye said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Healing comes in many forms. Sometimes, it’s about confronting the past.” 

The rest of your time was spent immersing yourself in the vibrancy of Wakanda and visiting familiar places and people. Every encounter, and every memory shared, helped you piece together the fractured parts of your heart. The marketplace bustled with life, the sounds of laughter and conversation blended with the scent of fresh spices and blooming flowers. Children played, and their joyful shouts echoed through the streets, a balm-like feeling to your soul.

Later one day, you found yourself at the edge of the city, overlooking the vast landscape of Wakanda. The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the rolling hills. Sitting on a rock, you took in the beauty and quiet of the moment, the peace of the land slowly seeping into your bones. 

It was a place of quiet reflection, where Bucky had once sought solace. With his journal in hand, you read his words once more, letting them wash over you. 

~

Reaching the riverbank, you were just in time to see a figure dragging another to the shore. You recognized his metal arm gleaming in the faint light, he lay Steve gently on the ground as you squinted, focusing your gaze on them.

“Soldat!” you called out, your voice filling with hope and desperation. 

His head snapped up, piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, his expression was etched with confusion before a flash of recognition. Yet, the walls around his mind quickly came up again. He stood, taking a step back as you approached.

“Steve…” you whispered, dropping to your knees beside him. His breathing was steady, and the rise and fall of his chest spread relief through you, but he was still unconscious. Your hands trembled slightly as checked for any serious injuries. 

Soldat watched, his eyes filling with torment. Taking another step back, you knew he was about to flee. 

“Wait!” you called out, standing up. “Soldat… Buck– please. It’s me. Remember? I can help you.” 

He hesitated, his expression flickered between the ruthless Winter Soldier, the man who trained and raised you, and the man you longed to know. He glanced down at Steve, then back at you. The internal struggle was evident. 

“You know me,” you softly continued, taking a cautious step forward. “You made me into who I am. You don’t have to run, not from me.” 

Soldat shook his head, the pain in his eyes almost unbearable to witness. Taking yet another step back, he glanced once more at Steve’s prone form. Tears welled up in your eyes, heartache washing over you. 

“Please, James,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you again.” 

His eyes softened for a brief moment, and you saw him recognize once more. The conflict in his mind tore him apart as he took a step forward before hesitating. The pain in his expression as he finally shook his head, cut you to the core. 

“I’m sorry, Spiderling,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I can’t… I can’t stay.” 

Before you could say anything, he turned and vanished into the shadows. Once again, leaving you. You knelt back down beside Steve, your hands gently brushing the wet hair from his forehead as his eyes fluttered open, giving you a weak smile. 

“Hey, Captain,” you whispered, your voice choking with emotion. “You did it, it’s over.” 

His eyes filled with relief as he glanced around. “Bucky…?”

“He saved you,” you softly assured, your heart aching. “He pulled you out.” 

Steve nodded, his eyes reflecting the determination you felt. “Find him,” he asked, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. 

With a deep breath, you nodded. 

~

“Okoye,” you called out, catching her attention. She had been in the midst of training the Dora Milage, her command sharp and unwavering. Upon seeing you, she dismissed the trainees for a break. 

She nodded, walking toward you. “What is it?” she asked, her gaze piercing. 

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” you said, your voice steady. “I have a meeting with a raccoon about a man.”

Okoye raised an eyebrow, amusement glazed in her eyes. “Rocket?” she asked, and you nodded. “Very well,” she nodded in understanding. “But remember, Wakanda will always be a home to you. And to James.” 

“Thank you, Okoye,” you said, a lump forming in your throat. “For everything.” 

Placing a hand on your shoulder, her eyes softened. “You have done much for us, and you have found family here. But, sometimes, moving forward is the best way to honor the past. Be safe, and may Bast watch over you.” 

With a lingering final glance around the landscape, Wakanda had given you so much, that you boarded the Quinjet once more. The familiar hum of its engines carries a sense of purpose. 

As you soared through the skies, the horizon stretched out before you. Bucky’s journals lay beside you, a reminder of the journeys you had embarked on and the fight to bring him home that still lay ahead.

---

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[rqgnarok]

catalogue - sam wilson

fandom: marvel, the falcon & the winter soldier

wc: 4,368

warnings: implied smut, mentions of injuries and scars, blood and bruises. neutral pronouns, no use of (y/n).

summary: you and sam don’t get to see each other often, but when you do, there’s a ritual you insist on going through to deal with your time apart. 

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

You’re a sight for Sam’s sore eyes. 

He hasn’t seen you in over six months. It’s an occupational hazard, he knows, but it’s the worst. Being the Falcon made his personal life take a step back in his list of priorities, and becoming Captain America meant setting the list on fire and declaring Sam Wilson’s downtime practically nonexistent. As far as he’s aware, Sarah and the boys are the only exceptions to the rule.

It’s not all on him. You’re an Avenger, too, even if you’re semi-retired. Semi, because the new kids still look for guidance as much as they can and you still keep a room at the Avengers compound because of it, even if scarcely decorated. 

You make your entrance by scaring the shit out of him because of course, you have to. 

“Is this what you call watching your six?”

Sam puffs out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. It’s always an interesting mix of emotions with you, Sam has never felt so safe and yet unbalanced than when he’s in your presence. It creates a sort of vacuum in his belly that has him feeling like a kid with a crush, but he’ll die before he ever admits that to anyone. Especially you.

“You know you don’t have to sneak up on me every time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you quip, raising your brows and extending a hand that Sam takes to haul himself back on his feet. You click your tongue. “Gotta say, though, it’s a little less charming now that you’re Captain America. Where does that leave national security?”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard he’s about to give himself a headache, dusting off his ass and giving you a quick once-over, taking advantage of your sudden closeness to do so freely. “Thank Jesus the world still has you, then.”

“Only half time,” you shrug, unaware that Sam knows you’ve spent more time at the Avengers compound than your own apartment lately. If he has a few eyes that check up on you when you’re there, well. It’s only cause he worries. “You and Barnes playing in the Big Leagues leaves a lot of unfinished business for little guys like us.”

“Says the little guy who’s been to space,” Sam uses the same argument he always does when you try to downplay your importance in the job you do. It’s like a script, these meetings of yours, always under the excuse of responsibility until it’s not– until the conversation flows into what Sam has been aching for since the last time he saw you. 

You roll your eyes like he knew you would. You’ve been an Avenger since before they had the name for it, so if anyone deserves the semi-retirement, Sam concedes, it’s gotta be you. He won’t pretend it won’t be a big hit when you choose to walk away completely, though. Whether that’s to the business or Sam’s life, well. That’s another conversation.

He misses you. It’s hardly a crime. 

“And they’ve still got us doing intel like we’re rookies,” you shrug, lessening your significance anyway. As if you weren’t up there in the cosmos chasing after freaking Thanos, but Sam won’t argue with you about this. You already spend so little time together to waste it building conflicts between you.

“Please,” Sam’s a professional, so he doesn’t make a bitchface and say girl with disbelief coating his tone, but judging from the amusement that glints in your eyes, you read through the lines with ease. “Like we’d let the children anywhere near this.”

“Okay, Dad,” you snort. “How are Torres and Barnes anyway?”

“The kid and his grandpa are fine,” he goes for annoyed but his grin is boyish and unrestrained. “Jealous they weren’t authorized to drop by. This is practically a vacation, you know.”

You shake your head, but all in good fun. “If your bosses have you thinking that then you desperately need some real downtime.”

“This is as close as it gets, these days.” 

Torres had flown him all the way to Switzerland just so Sam could go and spend a few weeks in a rustic, semi-abandoned town on the outskirts of the city where an old SHIELD safehouse still stood against all odds. 

Why he had to go to the other side of the world for some intel, he asked and got no answer. Now it comes to mind how he has no idea where you– his contact– have been stationed lately nor what kind of work you’ve been pulling for whoever it is you answer to these days.

You don’t tell him about it, and he’s quit on trying to ask. Whether it’s because you don’t think he’ll approve of what you’re doing or because it’s strictly classified, Sam doesn’t know. 

“Blink twice if they’re holding you hostage,” you say in all seriousness, and he peels his eyes at you without blinking, getting close to your face. You laugh, pushing him away. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re one with the nation. Let me show you these files and see what Mr. America makes of ‘em.”

The physical files you actually bring with you are minimal, and most of the data you’ve been ordered to skim through is kept in a USB you hand to Sam as soon as the coffee has kicked in. Neither of you are exactly sure what it is you’re looking for so you’re stuck in the studio of the tiny, look-at-me-wrong-and-I’ll-crumble safe house for over three whole days before you finally start gathering some worthy intel.

“I was told we’d known when we found it,” you shrug, not visibly bothered by the fact that you’ve most likely been sent on a wild goose chase. “Or if we didn’t. We might go back empty-handed after all.”

It’s not encouraging but it’s what you’ve got, even if Sam isn’t sure he’s able to be out of commission for that long. He’s realized people get antsy when Captain America isn’t seen somewhere in the world after a few days, but despite how hard he tries he’s not able to be in two places at once.

“Yet,” he tells you when you take a food break and you allow him to rant about these troubles. “Haven’t figured it out yet, but Steve kind of managed it after a few years, right?”

“Steve was superhuman,” you remind him helpfully behind your coffee cup. You’d found some old whiskey at the back of a cabinet and doused your drink with it, so you make a face when it goes down. 

“You don’t think I’m super?”

“I think you’re something, alright.”

“Aw. That was almost a compliment.”

“Can’t let it get to your head, hotshot. Ego’s already too big for your body.”

It’s so fucking domestic Sam feels the ache of it in his teeth. You, sitting at the table in your tiny kitchen while he sits on the counter, each drinking your coffee how you like it as the sun sets through the window above the sink. Talking for hours until you realize you’re practically sitting in the dark as the afternoon flew by while you were taken with each other’s company. 

But then you go back to looking at intel until your eyes are burning and you excuse yourself to pass out on the couch. You do it almost half an hour to the dot before Sam gives up himself, and he’s pretty sure you know enough of his tells to know when he’s getting tired and make an early escape so he doesn’t take the couch himself. 

“You take the bed,” he’d offered the first night, having a little trouble not making it sound like an order. By how you’d raised your eyebrow, he’d failed by a mile. “God knows where you’re sleeping these days. It’s the least I can do after dragging you all the way out here.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying he’s on vacation,” you take your bags from his hands and drop them unceremoniously on the coffee table, marking the living room territory as yours. “And I’m sure the US government will kill me if I bring you back with a fucked up back.”

He almost suggested you could share. You have before, both out of necessity and leisure, but Sam’s sure that topic’s on the list of Things Not To Talk To You About. It might be the first one up there, in all caps and underlined with bright red. 

Sam has both held you down to fuck your brains out and held your bleeding body in his hands, pressing against a gunshot wound to keep blood flow to a minimum. It’s a fucked up type of intimacy he doesn’t share with anyone else, but he’s still hesitant to bring it up. Somehow both events keep happening whether he intends for them or not. 

It’s like he’s waiting for the shoe to drop, and it finally does on the fifth day of your assignment. 

You ultimately get a lead from the USB. It guides you to search for a random code you insist it’s on a file you’d read through already. You make a noise of victory under your breath when you spot it across the table and when you shift to reach for it, your breath hitches.

It’s a quiet thing Sam wouldn’t be able to acknowledge if he weren’t good at his job, but he is. 

“What is it?” he asks, suddenly alert, fingers twitching with the urge to hover over you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. Whatever shadow of hesitance had fallen over you is pulled back into place, tucked away for Sam to blissfully ignore. 

You both know that shit won’t fly, but Sam thinks it’s cute you try anyway.

He stares at you and you avoid his eye long enough, face buried in the file, to know you know he’s noticed. It’s a silent request to let it pass. 

Tough fucking luck. Sam calls your name, admonishing.

“Sam,” you say right back at him in the same tone, still not looking at him. Sam grinds his teeth in annoyance, jaw tight. 

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. You know how it is.”

It’s not a no. 

“I do know,” Sam agrees, but his mood’s a short fuse. “Are you grounded? Is that why you’re here? Because you’re hurt?”

Fucking jackpot. You exhale through your nose and tighten your jaw at the question but refuse to answer. You’re a couple of feet apart, divided by the desk filled with files and information, but somehow this is the closest he’s felt to you since you got here. 

You’d been hiding something since the beginning; taking the couch when you could’ve been sharing the bed from the start, touching him less than usual so things wouldn’t go further, and moving around the house with rigid, calculated movements.

“Manning the desk,” he says with a little too much bite, and he can physically watch your hackles rise; the annoyance in your eyes when they finally meet his, the biting of your cheek to stop yourself from rising to his sudden passive-aggressive hostility. “Handing me files, giving me intel. You’re flying halfway across the world to keep yourself out of the field.”

“Sam,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“You’re hurt,” he replies, not a question, nodding at your torso. It’s all suddenly painstakingly clear, the past week flashing through his mind like a movie from a different point of view. “And you’re hiding it from me, for some reason.”

“Is that all, Captain?” you ask, creating distance with the use of his new title in a way he despises and you know he does. You’re good at that, finding where it hurts and pressing methodically until the skin gives. Sam’s just not used to the trick being used on him. “Or is there something else about my person that you’ve figured out and have yet to enlighten me about?”

“Let me see,” he ignores you. It's easier than trying to match your level of cruel cleverness.  He stands to cross over to your side of the desk, staring down at you expectantly with arms crossed. “Come on, show me.”

“No,” you deadpan, but the way you wrap your arms carefully around yourself shows the defensiveness underneath your nonchalance. “Sam, come on, what the hell are you doing?”

“If you’re not hurt, then show me,” he insists but doesn’t reach to touch you without your permission. It’s a line he won’t cross. 

“Is that an order, sir?” you snap.

“I’m not your superior,” he replies, even though he is, technically, but not when you’re alone. Not when you’re hurt. “I’m your friend. And right now my friend is in pain, I’d like to be able to do something about it.”

“Like what?” you ask, and it’s as exhausted as it is conflictive. Thunder rumbles outside the house and inside Sam’s chest, two storms coming in. “Huh, Sam? What are you gonna do? It’s part of the damned job. Don’t tell me you’re injury-free right now.”

Sam isn’t. Both old and newer scars put a heaviness on his body he’s not supposed to carry, but he’s not the one hiding right now. 

“I can hold you,” he offers and watches the way you look away, imagining the sting in your eyes as they glisten with sudden tears. You very visibly refuse to shed them, tightening your jaw and passing saliva like it’s gravel. “If you’d let me. Let’s not pretend we haven’t done it before.”

“It’s different now.”

“Why?” he wonders, brow furrowing. He does his best to relax his stance and reaches to touch your tight fists where they lay on your lap. With his fingertips barely there on your skin, the tension bleeds out of them like magic almost against your will. “Because I’m Captain America? Because you won’t tell me where you’re stationed half the time?”

“It’s–”

“Classified,” he finishes for you, unmoved. “But you’re still you, and I’m still me. As far as I’m aware, that doesn’t change a damned thing.”

You close your eyes like the words pain you, resolve crumbling right before Sam’s eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“Then don’t,” from Sam’s perspective, it’s as simple as that. “Let me see. Let me be with you, please. The last week has been torture.”

You let out a breath of a laugh that’s a little too miserable. “You’re telling me,” you say, and the slope of your shoulders falls from its tense, defensive curve. Sam takes it as the green light it is.   

You stand straighter as he kneels in front of you, his hands hovering over the hem of your shirt. He looks to you for permission and you give him a tight nod, staring at the wall instead of him, gulping down your anxieties.

Sam’s breath catches when he lifts your shirt and sees your torso, skin showered in black, blue, purple, and green bruises. “Jesus.”

“It’s worse than it looks,” you say automatically. Sam can’t see how that’s true. It looks like it hurts to even breathe, it’s unbelievable how you were able to hide it from him for so long. “Nothing’s broken, I swear.”

“What the hell happened?” he asks even if he knows you can’t– or won’t– answer. You sigh, and he watches blemished skin shake with the effort it takes. 

“I’m alright,” you say instead of the answer he wants, but your voice has softened and lost all fight response. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve been with him since you arrived and it has nothing to do with showing your skin. “Hey, I’m okay. That assignment’s over for good. I’m not going back there, I promise.”

The sigh of relief Sam lets out is shaky and doesn’t relinquish all the tension he’s been carrying. The possibilities of what must’ve happened are gonna haunt him long after this mission’s over. 

“I hate it,” he says, and he knows you know what he means. Not knowing where you are, spending more than half the year apart with zero contact, this unease between you that doesn’t let you be honest. 

You say, tired. “I know. Sam–”

Sam isn’t touching you– not yet. He’s careful so there’s no skin-to-skin contact, and you look at him with guarded eyes when he lowers your shirt back into place, standing up and towering over you. 

“What?”

You breathe air out of your nose, frustrated. “You know.”

A beat. “You sure?” he says, as plainly as he can with the tension that’s grown between you pulling him forward.

“Yes.”

He hums.

“Oh. You gonna let me touch you now, then?” he asks, still under the excuse of medical purposes only. But Sam can’t help the way his voice deepens, molten like honey. His eyes trail over skin that isn’t blemished: the curve of your neck, the lines of your arms, the slope of your fingers. 

You shiver under the attention, helpless to hide such a reaction to his voice. “Mmm? Honey?”

“Fuck you,” you say automatically, already opening your legs slightly for Sam to slip in between them, reaching for your jaw. You close your eyes at the touch, sighing away whatever tension remained in you. 

You’re too fucking easy, despite the fight you insisted on going through before letting yourself be touched, and something in Sam’s belly tightens at the idea of it being just for him.

Sam’s hands remain on your jaw and throat as he tilts your head up for a kiss, slow and deep, lingering. It’s not long before you open up for him, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it was always meant to be there, coaxing a whine from you while you search for steadiness and settle your hands on his belt. Not pulling, not searching for more– not yet– but keeping him close. 

The storm comes and goes and the files in the studio remain forgotten. Sam finally gets you on the bed and, better yet, with him in it. 

He’s a little too careful, hands cupping your ribs with extreme caution after finally getting rid of your shirt for good and laying you down against the sheets. You roll your eyes fondly and grab onto his wrists to direct him where you want him. 

He doesn’t complain as he takes your directions. The man will greedily take anything you give him in calloused, expert hands as he does his best to pull sounds out of you that are music to his ears. 

After it’s over, you both lay in bed, naked and breathless. You find a new scar on him and trace the ragged line of skin gently with your fingertip, touch featherlight, almost nonexistent. It’s been over half a year since you last did this, but only a couple of months since he got himself injured and stitched up by Bucky in the Brazilian jungle. “This one’s new.”

It had been a quick job, good enough considering the circumstances, which is to say Sam now has an ugly, uneven scar a couple of inches above his hipbone that saved him from bleeding out on his partner.

The memory holds no gentleness, but your fingers do. The haze of his previous orgasm leaves Sam pliant under your touch, melted against the sheets and uncaring of your scrutiny. “Barnes?”

Sam makes an affirmative noise, a valid enough question since sometimes he’s admitted to doing patchwork on himself for the sake of the mission, uncaring of how bad it hurts as long as it’s quick and efficient.

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell,” he admits, feeling safe enough to do so in the cocoon you’ve built for yourselves. Sam runs a hand up and down your naked back as if trying to soothe the brunt of the memory. “Did the job, though. Got us out alive.”

At that, you lean to kiss the skin, only slipping a bit of tongue into it. Sam sighs, ignoring the prick of discomfort that’s trying to crawl up his spine and leaning towards the softer, more tender sentiment that takes over him whenever you get like this. It’s not easy for him to accept such gentleness, to let himself be cared for and lay there, unable to give something back.

He will, in a minute. But he knows you like him like this, and that alone pins him down in his place to let you work. It’d be hypocritical of him, he thinks as his hips twitch with renowned interest, to not let you fret after him when his own worry is what got you here in the first place.

After you’re satisfied, you trail the path Sam’s grown accustomed to, the very same you follow every time you sleep together after a terribly long amount of time: 

The knife scar under his pec from when they were chasing after Bucky, still the Winter Solider, superficial enough not to have caused concern at the time. The mark from when he got his appendix out, thinking nothing of the stabbing aches to his belly until he was doubling over in his bed and waking up half his platoon as he retched in the bathroom.

The dot on his finger where Riley accidentally stabbed him with a pencil once, sleep deprived and with two shots of whiskey on him. The wound had healed with ease but the mark made a permanent home on his skin, barely visible unless you leaned in close enough to look for it.

The scab on his knee from falling off his bike when he was six. Sarah had screeched bloody murder until their parents came out of the house to see what all the fuss was about. The scar left behind by a bullet on his right shoulder during his second tour in Afghanistan. 

The cut on his lip he got shaving for the first time is always last on your list. Sam has long stopped calling you out on it, how convenient it was that the cataloging of his scars always ended with a thorough, slow kiss to his mouth that usually bloomed into a second round. 

He found that you got skittish when he did so, pulling back into yourself and laying tensely in bed for a couple more minutes before you started looking around for your clothes, called out.

Now Sam only cups your jaw, tugs a little so it opens your mouth and he can slip in his tongue and steal a taste of your sigh. He wants you like this for as long as possible; vulnerable, unguarded, desperate to touch him and be touched back. Safe enough to know that you never have to ask for something he wants to give you so willingly. 

You always forget. The second you meet again, you have to start the whole dance over. Fish for excuses to meet each other in the middle, hoping for new scars to lengthen your time together. 

Sam isn’t a masochist by any means, and he’s not an adrenaline junkie asshat who chases the danger just to have proof on his skin that he can take all the grievances life throws at him.

But. But–

“We’re alright,” you say against his mouth, body warm and seeking on top of his. He’s mindful of your injuries but can’t help himself, the urge to touch you overrules any other instinct he owns. It makes him weak, on the field, but happy off of it. “Aren’t we? We’re gonna be alright.”

“‘Course we are, honey,” his southern charm pops out and you’re both parts equally pleased and unamused, a funny expression on your face that has him laughing as he cups the back of your neck to bring you in for another kiss. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Nothin’, pumpkin,” you imitate his accent and Sam focuses his ministrations on your jaw and neck, trying to get you to break character. “We’re gonna be just fine, sugar plum. You’re sure lookin’ very pretty tonight, peach fuzz.”

Sam splutters out a laugh. “Peach fuzz?”

“That’s what you sound like!”

“See if I ever call you something nice ever again.”

“You can’t resist me,” you say seriously, though a smile keeps trying to break your facade. “You literally lasted five days before taking me to bed. That’s on being weak, Wilson.”

“Some might say it’s a world record for me, baby,” he says, poking at your face until you show teeth, happy and at ease in his arms. “The six months before that were a little bit of a stretch, too.”

Your mood dampens a little but Sam won’t let it, nudging his nose against yours to catch your attention again. “Hey. What did I just say? We’re gonna be alright. Five days, six months, five years, it’s nothing. They mean shit when I get to see you again.”

The mention of the Snap unguards you further. He’d been gone while you tried to keep your life together, ignoring the Sam-shaped void in your surroundings. The first time you got together after he came back had been tainted by the grief of losing three of the best people you’d ever known, and he’d done his own reconnaissance of your skin as he took in new scars, new hurts that had happened and healed while he was gone.

You smile again, but it’s softer, fonder, a tender tilt of the lips for the man you managed to find in this chaotic line of work that became your whole life.

In another five days, you’ll once more be on opposite ends of the world without any idea of when you’ll see each other again or what new marks you’ll have on your skin that describe your time apart. You haven’t even put a name to this– this relationship that both of you are still too hesitant to define as such, but that’s okay. 

It’s okay. It’s more than enough. The path of scars will be there to take when you meet again, permanent proof that you’ve survived to find the way to each other over and over and over again. The map that leads to you, every goddamn time.

___

hi!!!

hope you like this one! i’ve been putting this fic on the back burner for almost a month now, but i’m so glad to finally have finished it! i hope to put out the tommy miller sequel for dial drunk next week before school starts :)

thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, etc.!

<3