#fatws fanfic

[aquaticmercy]

In Another Life

Summary : Bucky is certain you only see him as a friend. It only took him travelling to a different reality to realise otherwise.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : slight cursing, very slight suggestion of sex, Yelena being a third wheel, and multiversal travel!!!

Requested by : anon

Word count : 3.9k

Note : This was really fun to write. And yes, I slipped Yelena into this because I can. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

“I’ll miss you,” you mumbled as Bucky handed you a knife to sharpen. As he sat there in your living room, the evening light reflected on your curtains, casting a soft shadow across his face. You sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, so close yet not quite close enough. He had asked if he could come over the day before his mission, claiming he needed help sharpening his knives. He has said ‘no one sharpens knives as good as you’. To some degree, you both knew it wasn’t the only reason he was here.

“Weren’t we supposed to see that new World War II exhibit at the museum tomorrow?” you asked, your voice riddled with a tinge of disappointment.

“We were,” Bucky admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. If there was one thing he hated, it was letting you down, especially over a mission he couldn’t refuse.

“Who does Strange think he is anyway— that lunatic wizard?” you quipped, with a little gossipy tone. “Showing up at your doorstep and just… demanding you drop everything last minute?”

A small smile tugged at Bucky’s lips, enjoying this sassy part of you. “It's a bit annoying, but I can’t exactly turn him down.” 

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you worked. “What’s so important that he needs you and Yelena for, anyway? This isn't one of those ‘end of the world’ things, is it?”

Strange had basically asked him to commit theft, and not just any theft— he wanted Bucky to steal something from a multiversal variant of himself in another reality.

Still, Strange had made it sound urgent. It would be most obvious to partner him with you, since you were proven to work well together, but you had just returned from another mission in Antarctica. Both Bucky and Strange knew you needed time to recover.

That left Yelena and Sam. Sam, with his unmovable sense of duty, would’ve questioned every detail and repercussion. He was growing more and more into his Captain America mantle, and that wasn’t a bad thing— it was just inconvenient sometimes. Yelena, on the other hand, would do what needed to be done and ask fewer questions, which was why Strange approached her instead.

If the mission worked out, Bucky would have earned himself a favour owed by one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. That was a card he couldn’t afford to pass up.

Bucky hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of secrets settle on his shoulders. “It’s classified,” he finally said, which was technically true. He didn’t want to trigger your anxieties with the details, especially when he didn’t fully understand the whole multiverse mess himself. 

You gave a small nod. You’d been around the hero-type for so long to know there were things you weren’t always allowed to know. Even though you were laser-focused on sharpening another knife, you could tell something was off.

“Are you okay?” you asked, watching his fingers dance along one of the blades, tension flowing through his body like a wave he cannot tame. 

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could see the conflicting spark in his eyes. He didn’t mind the danger. But the multiverse, something that was so unknown to him? That was a different kind of fear. 

He didn’t want to leave things unsaid with you. Not when there was a chance he might not come back.

He called your name softly. “Can I talk to you?”

There was something in the way your name left his lips that made your chest tighten. Bucky wasn’t the nervous type—not with you, anyway. Your hands stilled on the sharpening stone. “Of course,” you said, setting the tools aside.

He took a deep breath, glancing down at his hands, gathering the courage to speak. “You mean a lot to me,” he started, his voice low but steady. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Bucky’s hands reached out to gently clasp yours, the cool metal was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his human hand. It was such a Bucky thing to do, to find a simple, human way to connect, even as he struggled with the mechanical parts of him.

“I need to tell you—” 

A loud, insistent knock thundered the door, startling both of you. Bucky’s fingers slipped from yours as you turned towards the sound.

“Yelena!” you exclaimed, standing up. 

“Yelena?” Bucky echoed, blinking in confusion. 

“Did I not tell you?” you asked, biting your lip. “When you asked if you could come over, I asked if she needed her knives sharpened too. She did, so I invited her. I hope that’s okay?”

Bucky’s heart sank, but he forced himself an unreadable expression. Of course, You’d invited someone else. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to say what he wanted to say, if it ever was. In fact, maybe this was a sign to never tell you. 

You invited Yelena, your friend. Which probably meant he was also a friend—just a friend. It probably meant you would never see him as something more.

Before he could respond, you were already at the door, revealing the deadly assassin packed into a 5 '4 vessel of human fury. She gave you a sisterly smile in greeting before her eyes landed on Bucky.

“Hello, Bucky,” she said, her russian accent a little too cheerful as she dropped a heavy duffel bag on the wooden floor with an echoing thud. 

“Yelena,” Bucky replied, somewhat coldly. He didn’t dislike Yelena. He knew better than to make an enemy of her. Besides, they had saved each other’s life before. But at that moment, he resented her. 

He resented that she had unknowingly interrupted something he might never get the chance to finish. 

“Drink?” you offered, already heading towards the kitchen. 

“Just water,” Yelena shrugged, flopping down into the armchair with the casual confidence of someone who could kill you with both hands behind her back. As you left the room, Yelena turned her mischievous gaze to Bucky, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. 

“I’m not third-wheeling today, am I?” she teased, pulling out a couple of dull knives and placing them on the table in front of her. 

Bucky’s ears burned red. “Shut up.”

Yelena chuckled, twirling a knife like a baby would play with their dummy. “I can see the way you look at her, you know. If you put half as much effort into flirting as you do into those knives, you might actually get somewhere.”

He clenched his jaw, the frustration building. He hated the insinuation that he wasn't trying. But now? He might stop. He might just give up because clearly, he was a friend to you, the way Yelena was a friend. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it is when I’m sitting here watching you blow your chance, Barnes.” Yelena’s tone softened, just a touch, before she glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s oblivious, but she cares.”

Bucky stared down at the knife in his hands, knowing he had to deal with this teasing all day tomorrow. A constant reminder that he will always be too afraid to tell you. “It’s not that simple.”

Before Yelena could respond, you returned with glasses of water in hand, completely unaware of the exchange between the widow and the soldier in your absence. You handed Yelena the glass with a smile and settled back down beside Bucky, completely oblivious to his racing heart.

—

The multiverse… wasn’t as confusing as Bucky had expected it to be.

Sure, he didn’t understand how it functioned or what the exact mechanics were—something about a teenager named America Chavez punching a star-shaped hole through space-time. Or something like that.

But what really threw him off was how familiar this reality felt, how similar it was to his own. The streets, the neighbourhood, the people, the world around him—it was all the same, yet different in subtle, uncanny ways he couldn't quite point out.

America had opened the portal in an alley near Bucky's apartment in this different reality. After he and Yelena stepped through, America warned them: "I will open a portal again in two hours. Don’t miss the window." America was still so young, but she had a grim seriousness in her voice. Bucky wondered what her story was.

Now, Bucky and Yelena sat perched on a fire escape across from his own apartment—or, at least, a version of it. It was the same address as his was in his reality. The mission was simple: retrieve an artefact that belonged to this variant of Bucky—a blue stone embedded in a gold ring—from his apartment in this reality. Strange had briefed them on it: the ring was a powerful protection charm, and he needed it.

He just had to wait until his variant went out for his daily run, slip inside, find the ring, and get out. Yelena would be backup, keeping watch in case things went south. Maybe in case the variant of him decided to return early.

“I can’t imagine your girlfriend approves of this dangerous multiverse stuff,” Yelena quipped, resting her sniper rifle on the edge of the fire escape. “She’s very protective of you.”

Bucky’s cheeks turned bright red. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered, though the title felt strange on his lips. 

“Whatever,” Yelena grinned, clearly unconvinced.

Only thirty minutes later, variant Bucky stepped out of the apartment for his run.

“Radio silence unless it’s an emergency,” Bucky instructed before slipping his earpiece in, turning it on. He didn’t want distractions. Not today.

Sliding off the fire escape, Bucky quickly made his way to the apartment. To his surprise, his keys worked just fine. No need for breaking in. As he stepped inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being somewhere both familiar and alien.

Everything was almost identical— just almost. The couch was a lighter shade of blue, the TV a different brand, though it looked the same. It was like staring into an uncanny mirror of his own life. 

Focus. He needed to find the ring.

He began searching the usual spots—safes, drawers, anywhere he’d hide something important in his own apartment. But no luck. Think, Barnes, he thought to himself, where would you put a protection charm?

Then, something caught his eye— a framed photo on the mantle of his fireplace that wasn’t supposed to be there. A photo of him and… you.

His breath hitched. It wasn’t just any photo. You were kissing his cheek, a lake in the background. The warmth in your smile, the easy comfort between you both... It was a picture he'd never seen in his reality. 

Were you together in this one?

Suddenly, everything clicked. The extra clothes in the closet, the toiletries. In his reality, you had a drawer in his apartment, since you stayed over sometimes, as a friend. But this? This was different. Here, you shared a life.

He spotted a camera, instantly recognizing it as the same model you had back in his reality. He knew he should stay focused on finding the charm, but curiosity got the best of him. Before he could stop himself, he turned it on, eyes shifting through the photos. Image after image appeared—of him and you together. Holidays, long walks, intimate dinners. Kisses and comfortable hugs. 

His chest tightened with a hollow ache of jealousy. Was this what he could have? What he might be missing?

Before he could process the feeling, a buzz in his earpiece snapped him back to reality.

Yelena’s voice came through, saying your name urgently. 

“What?” Bucky asked. Why would Yelena say your name like that?

“She’s here. She’s entering the building.”

Panic surged through him like a thunderbolt. “Don’t shoot her,” he ordered.

“Yeah, didn’t plan to,” Yelena answered, annoyed that he thought she was thinking of it, “but what are you gonna do? She has keys.”

Of course she does, Bucky thought, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Frozen in his place, his mind raced. What now?

Suddenly, the door opened, and there you were, a version of yourself he had never met before.

“Buck?” the variant of you said, startled, eyes widening. “I thought you’d still be on your run. And why are you wearing your tactical suit?”

You closed the door behind, placing your bag on the couch.

“I—” he stammered, completely unprepared for this, unable to move. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound tangled in his throat. He glanced at your hand. There, on your finger, was the ring. The protection charm.

Of course. He should have known. He’d do anything to protect you.

His mind spun with conflicting emotions— jealousy of his own variant, longing for you back home, and guilt that he was even here.

You took a step closer, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not that I’m complaining about the tactical suit... You know I like it when you wear it to bed.” You flirted with a tender laugh, that soft sound that always made his heart stutter filling the air around him.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as you leaned in. It would be so easy to give in, to just pretend for a moment that this was his life, that this variant of you was his. To feel your lips on his. 

His hand twitched at his side, wanting to grip your waist, to pull you closer. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let this continue.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, stopping you. “I can’t,” he whispered, voice strained. “There’s nothing I want more. But I can’t.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. The variant of you pulled back, studying him more closely now, noticing the subtle changes. There was a subtle scar on his neck that wasn’t there before. “You’re not my Bucky, are you?” 

Yelena’s voice crackled in his earpiece again. She had been able to hear everything. “Bucky, I know she’s your weakness, but we need that ring. Do not tell her—”

Bucky switched the earpiece off, ignoring Yelena’s warning. He’d deal with that later. You deserved better than half-truths.

“This is Strange’s doing, isn’t it?” you asked, taking the revelation surprisingly well. “I thought he was done with all this multiverse shit.”

He nodded, guilt twisting in his chest. “Yeah. But… not your Strange. Mine.”

Silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words. The variant of you looked at him carefully, as if searching for a trace of the Bucky you knew.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean for you to get involved.”

“What does Strange want?” you asked, frowning. “And why is he sending my fiancé to do his dirty work?”

Bucky blinked. Fiancé? His heart stuttered. That ring wasn’t just a charm. It was your engagement ring.

You noticed his shock. “We are engaged in your reality, right?”

He swallowed hard. “No. I—I haven’t even told you, uh, her… how I feel.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “So, all the Buckys are like this then? Huh.”

Bucky’s heart raced, his mind still reeling from the idea that you— at least this version of you—were engaged to him in this reality. It was everything he wanted but didn’t have. 

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, guilt laced in his whimpering voice.

You tilted your head like you were trying to piece the puzzle pieces together and came to a conclusion that you were safe. As if you convinced yourself that no variant of Bucky would ever hurt any version of you.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “You’re still him. In some way.”

He wasn’t your Bucky, and yet, you spoke to him like he was. You spoke to him with the same compassion, the same love. His eyes flickered to your hand again—the ring. 

Focus on the mission, he reminded himself. But how could he? Your eyes followed his stare, and it landed on the gold band around your finger. You let out a small but heavy sigh.

“Strange wants the ring, doesn't he?” you asked. Bucky nodded, feeling his heart twist in his ribs. He didn't want to take anything away from you.

“He said it’s a powerful protection charm.” 

The variant of you stood still for a moment, “I know.” You gently slid the ring off your finger, holding it in your palm. 

You stepped closer. “If Strange wants it, I know it has to be important. I trust that lunatic wizard— and I trust you.”

You were trusting him— this version of him who wasn’t even yours— with something so personal, something tied to your bond with his variant. “But, it's your engagement ring,” he said. He knew he got what he wanted, but he can't help but wonder why you gave it away so willingly. “I—Your Bucky gave this to you to protect you.”

The variant of you smiled, taking a necklace chain from under your shirt. There it was, the same stone that was on the ring also sat on your chest.

“My Bucky asked this reality’s Strange to split the gemstone,” the variant of you said, “He knows I have this tendency of misplacing my jewellery.”

Bucky can't help but chuckle. His version of you had that quirk, too.

“I’ll explain everything to my Bucky when he gets back. I know he’ll understand.” You hesitated giving him the ring for a second. “On one condition.”

His brow furrowed. 

You gave him a knowing smile, one that was all too familiar. One that made his heart swarm. “Go back to your reality, and tell me—her how you feel.”

His heart twisted. He does not make promises he can't keep, especially not to you— any version of you. “I can’t—"

“You can,” you interjected with that stubbornness he knew and loved. “If she means anything to you, you will.”

He stared at you, and no words came out. All this time, he had kept his feelings hidden, afraid of losing you if he told the truth. But here, another version of you telling him to just suck it up.

Bucky’s voice wavered above a whisper. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

A soft laugh escaped your lungs, and you shook your head, knowing something he doesn’t. “Trust me, she does.”

He could tell that this variant of you knew him so well, even if you were from another universe. Slowly, he took the ring from your hand. It felt heavier than it should’ve, weighted with more than just its magic.

“I will tell her,” he whispered a promise, “thank you.” 

You nodded, giving him a small, encouraging smile.

Bucky clenched his jaw, putting his earpiece back on.

“There you are,” Yelena’s voice crackled back into life. “Our window’s closing. We’ve got about ten minutes before the portal opens again. Move it.”

A shaky breath left his lungs. “Ring secured. On my way.”

He gave you one last look, his heart full of a thousand swirling emotions he couldn’t even begin to put a name to. “I hope your Bucky knows how lucky he is.”

The variant of you smiled. “I think he does.”

Without another word, Bucky slipped out of the apartment, the ring safely in his pocket. 

—

Bucky had knocked on your door after the day of his mission. When he saw you, your name escaped his lips like a prayer as he hugged you. 

Now, this was you. Not another version of you.

“Are you okay, Buck?” you chuckled.

Bucky held you a little tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours as he tried to ground himself in the present— this present reality. He pulled back slightly, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he’d seen you in years. The both of you slipped into your apartment, closing the door.

“I missed you,” he admitted softly, though it had only been two days. The words now  carried more weight than they ever had before. His mind was still reeling from the alternate reality, from the life he could have had with you, and from what the variant of you had told him. He found some comfort and confidence, knowing that there was a version of him out there who had done what he was too scared to do—tell you how he felt. It was his turn now.

You smiled, but concern flickered in your eyes as you noticed something different in his touch. “You’re acting weird. Did something happen on the mission?”

Bucky hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by again.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Bucky said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but you stayed silent, giving him the space to continue. You’d known him long enough to recognize when he was on the edge of an emotional breakthrough.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped closer, his fingers brushing the side of your arm. “I’ve been afraid of losing you if I told you…”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realised where this was going. You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I care about you more than anything,” he continued, his stormy blue eyes locking with yours, vulnerable and frail. “I’m in love with you, and I’ve been too scared to say it.”

Your breath caught itself before it left your lungs. You could feel the truth of his words in the way his voice wavered, in the intensity of his gaze, in the flutter of his touch.

“I’m sorry if this is too much, too fast,” Bucky added quickly, misreading your silence for rejection. He cursed at himself, wondering if the variant of you had been wrong. “If you don’t feel the same, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was soft and tentative at first, but as soon as your lips met his,the hesitations, the doubts, the fears all fell away. 

Bucky’s metal hand settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. His soft lips moving against yours with a mix of relief and urgency, taking each other in for the first time as if it was your last. The warmth of your body against his, the way you fit perfectly in his arms— it was everything he could ever ask for.

You finally pulled back breathless, your foreheads rested against each other as you let the adrenaline settle.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I was just waiting for you to see it.”

Bucky chuckled softly. 

You playfully shook your head. “I owe Yelena ten bucks.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“She was here yesterday night, after your mission,” you said, “She bet me that we’d be together by the end of the week. I took the bet because I didn't think you’d feel the same.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as a grin spread across his face. She had been pestering him after the mission yesterday, insisting on knowing what the variant of you had told him. But he had not volunteered any information to her.  “Yelena knew before I even said anything? I’m losing my edge.” he teased himself, shaking his head.

“Please, Buck. She’s like a human lie detector,” you quipped, rolling your eyes fondly. 

“Well, ten bucks is worth it, right?” he smiled.

You kissed him once more, short, sweet, and fleeting this time. It drew a giggle out of you, “Definitely.”

Maybe one day, he’d tell you about the mission, about the variant of you. 

But for now, he only wanted to enjoy the moment.

-end

[vunblr]

What if...?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

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

Word Count: About 8.4k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taking a deep breath, he jumped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

We Fell in Love in October | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello everyone, and…

🦇🧟‍♀️👻🎃Happy October!🎃👻🧟‍♀️🦇

It is truly the most wonderful time of the year! Halloween is my favorite favorite holiday, so of course I had to write a little something. I borrowed the title from a girl in red song that I enjoy. Also, if you're a New Girl fan, parts of this plot line might be familiar to you :)

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: minor reader injury

Shrieks and laughter echoed from every direction. The smell of fresh kettle corn wafted through the crisp autumn air. And two separate groups of children in Halloween costumes almost knocked Bucky to the ground. They blew past him in a blur of candy and chaos, shouting as they ran. He was certain that a rogue kiddo had somehow smeared the sleeve of his jacket with the sticky, sugary coating of their caramel apple, but he didn’t mind.

He simply took in the sights and sounds of the Halloween carnival, smiling to himself as went out of his way to step on crunchy leaves. 

Autumn was his favorite time of year- October, specifically. It was October when he first bumped into you at his favorite coffee spot, spilling your pumpkin cold brew all over your shoes. His insistent apologies and dedicated clean-up efforts endeared him to you instantly, as did his shy smile. He graciously replaced your drink and bought you a slice of spiced pumpkin bread for good measure, which you happily shared with him.

After that, Bucky knew he was done for.

He found himself spending as much time with you as possible. The two of you frequented bookstores and museums. You introduced him to a swath of movies and tv shows that he’d missed out on over the years. And he brought you back in time with each 40’s crooner he showed you on his record player. He’d never felt so comfortable, so at ease. And you returned the feeling ten-fold. 

It was October of the following year when he showed up at your apartment with a massive bag of candy and a bottle of your favorite wine. He knew how much you loved Halloween and all it entailed: the movies, the décor, the spirit of the season. And he was determined to make it extra special. The two of you watched scary movies and laughed uproariously each time the other jumped. And both of you consumed so much candy, you feared you might be sick.

But that fear subsided when Bucky finally pressed his lips against yours for the first time. It took him all night to work up the courage. He found his focus drifting from Nightmare on Elm Street and settling on you. Your jack-o-lantern sweatshirt. Your slightly messy hair. Your bright smile. But he didn’t make his move- he couldn’t. He was far, far too nervous. 

It wasn’t until the night came to a close that he finally found his nerve. You walked him to the door and thanked him for the candy. The wine. The company. And for making the first day of October one for the books. The goodnight hug you shared lasted longer than it ever had, and you swore he held you tighter than before.

The two of you lingered by the front door, chatting about nothing of consequence. Bucky needed to buy himself some time, and you wanted to keep him in your apartment as long as possible. You figured that if he hung around long enough, maybe he’d finally make his move.

But he left. After another long hug and some more nonsensical chatting, he bid you goodnight. He intertwined his fingers with yours for a moment, sweeping his thumb across the back of your hand. He gave your hand a squeeze and swept a kiss across your knuckles, and then he slipped out the door.

But before the disappointment had a chance to settle into your chest, a metallic knocking vibrated through your front door. You opened it instantly, figuring that Bucky had forgotten his phone or his keys on your coffee table.

But he wasn’t after any forgotten personal effects. 

Breathlessly, he asked, “Can I?”

“Please.”

And that was it.

His mouth met yours in long, deep kiss full of want and adoration and Halloween candy. His hands cradled your face, yours twisted into the front of his t-shirt. And neither of you took a breath for a very, very long time. Only when your chest burned from lack of oxygen did you finally pull away- but it was only for a second. He greedily recaptured your lips before you even knew what happened, not that you’d ever complain about it. 

And when Bucky eventually broke the kiss, you knew you this was it for you- he was it for you. He brushed his lips against your cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose. And he asked you if you’d like to join him for an official date. You, of course, said yes.

Said date came only a few days later, when Bucky took you to a pumpkin patch and the two of you carved jack-o-lanterns together. You carved a rather accurate depiction of Ghost Face. And Bucky, of course, decorated his with a stick figure representation of the two of you at the coffee shop where you first met.

The night ended with a Halloween Hayride followed by a corn maze- and you swore Bucky got the two of you lost on purpose. He kept pulling you down errant pathways, insisting that they’d lead to the exit. No exit ever materialized at the end of his rogue, twisting trails. But they did provide the perfect venue for him to steal a kiss or three. And you didn’t complain once.

On October thirtieth, he asked you to be his. And you told him that you already were- you’d been his for a long time. He just didn’t know it.

It was hard for Bucky to believe that only two Octobers ago, you were a stranger. And now, you were his girl. He’d given all of himself over to you, and you accepted him with nothing but warmth and kindness and love. He couldn’t believe he’d been lucky enough to meet you, to win your affections, to call you his. 

He was never a huge fan of dark, dreary, autumn, as he always preferred the warmth of summer. But meeting you was enough to turn him into fall's biggest fan. The two of you were inextricably linked to the season, turning it instantly into his number one favorite. And as he strolled through the Halloween carnival and allowed autumn to wrap around him like a blanket, he couldn’t help but feel at home. 

At the sight of the Haunted House, Bucky hung a right and curved around the back of the structure. He listened to the screams and subsequent laughter of the patrons inside as he waited for you. He didn’t particularly love haunted houses, and probably never would’ve considered partaking in one if it hadn’t been for you.

“Buck!” your voice broke through the noise of the festival and pulled Bucky’s attention. 

But as his head perked up, he didn’t find his best girl. No, he found only a bloody, decaying zombie sprinting in his direction. He’d never been so happy to see a monster.

“Woah! You look amazing, baby!” Bucky motioned for you to do a spin for him and admired your elaborate, almost-too-realistic make up and costume. “You’re gonna scare the hell outta these people, doll.”

A wide, satisfied smile stretched across your zombified face, “That’s the idea.” 

As carefully as you could you leaned in and brushed a kiss to Bucky’s lips. Of course, you didn’t want to dirty his face with your gory make up, but you simply couldn’t resist kissing him. And you’d never want to. 

“Wait, I thought Sam was coming with you,” you scanned the area, looking for Bucky’s partner in crime. “Did he change his mind?”

Bucky let out a breathy laugh, “No, he’s here. But he saw a caramel apple stand near the front of the carnival and I lost him immediately.”

Your laughed matched Bucky’s, “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Bucky eyed the haunted house, with its flashing lights and eerie exterior. It loomed over the entirety of the carnival, promising heart-stopping terror and endless fright for anyone who dared to enter. A cold sweat dampened the palm of his right hand; he swiped it on his pantleg without a word.

“So, how’s it been going, doll? Are you having a good time?”

At first, you thought it might be strange to volunteer as a scare actor. You didn’t have any experience, and didn’t think of yourself as much of a performer. But the second you saw the listing for volunteers online, the idea wormed its way into your brain and refused to leave. You always loved Halloween, always loved all things creepy. And working as a scarer for a few nights a week sounded like fun.

But it was Bucky who gave you the final push you needed. He knew you were second-guessing yourself, knew you’d talk yourself out of it if he didn’t step in. And you were grateful he’d been there to encourage you.

“I’m having the best time! It’s been a blast so far,” the excitement radiating off of you was almost palpable. “Everyone’s so nice and we’re having so much fun. I’m really glad I decided to go through with it.”

“See? I told you,” Bucky shot you a wink. “I only wish I could’ve been here on opening night of the festival-”

“Buck, you were literally saving the world. I understand,” you told him. “There’s no hard feelings.”

“Well, I’m really happy for you sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re having a good time.” He gently placed his metallic hand on the least bloody part of your face, “And I’m so excited to see you in action.”

You gave him a strange look, “What do you mean?”

“I just mean that I can’t wait to see you doing your thing in there!” He gestured toward the haunt, “Can’t wait for you to scare me to death, baby.”

“Oh, Buck- no. I don’t-” you cut a glance toward the haunted house, knowing full well what lurked inside the walls. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What? But I want to support you, doll-”

“You’re supporting me just by being here,” you leaned into his touch. “But I don’t think you should go in there, babe.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t looking forward to his trip through the haunt. Of course, he was excited to see you in your element- he just wished your element wasn't a terrifying, immersive experience.

“It’s a dark, enclosed space with blood and gore and people screaming,” you cautioned him. “And there’s actors who jump out at you from the dark. I swear, there’s one of us popping out around like, every corner.”

Bucky’s lips twisted into an uncomfortable, tense expression. He thought about what that experience might be like for him. How it might affect him. Once again, he found himself wiping his palm against his thigh.

“I just don’t want it to trigger anything for you, you know?” And you meant it. A trip through your stupid haunted house wasn’t worth his mental health.

He forced the tension out of his face and blanketed his features with a manufactured calm. You were always so supportive of him, always did your best to be there for him. And it was his turn to be there for you. What kind of boyfriend was he if he couldn’t even see you perform? Sure, going inside the haunt wasn’t his idea of a perfect evening, but he owed it to you.

“Yeah, but I’ve been through way worse, sweetheart. I can- I can handle a haunted house.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince- you or himself. “As long as there isn’t a Hydra torture chamber scene, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Well, I assure you there is not a Hydra torture chamber in there, but I still think you should think it over before you go inside. Okay?” You knew Bucky too well. Knew he’d do anything to make you happy- even if it meant sacrificing his peace. But he’d worked so hard to find that peace, and you couldn’t let him shatter it just for you. “I won’t be disappointed or get my feelings hurt if you decide not to go inside, I promise. I just want you to have a fun night without any pain or flashbacks or panic attacks.”

Bucky found nothing but authenticity in your voice. You weren’t just saying these things, or secretly hoping that he’d still venture into the haunt. No, you meant everything you said; you just wanted what was best for him. Wanted him to enjoy himself. And he was endlessly grateful for your understanding. For your kindness.

“Shit. Alright, I-” you looked down at your phone and sighed at the new text illuminating your screen, “I have to get back inside, my break’s over. Sorry, baby.”

“No, doll, don’t worry about it. Sorry I monopolized your entire break.”

“Are you kidding me?” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, “this was exactly how I wanted to spend it.”

He pulled you in for deep- yet careful- kiss. He didn’t want to mess up the makeup you’d worked so hard on but couldn’t let you go back inside without a kiss. 

“Just promise me you’ll think it over before you actually go inside the haunt, okay?” You eyed him with a serious, almost grave expression. “There won’t be any hard feelings if you sit this one out.”

“I promise,” he said. “And to tell you the truth, I’m- I’m thinking I might just stick to carnival games and funnel cake.”

A massive sigh of relief left your chest. The worry you’d been holding onto dissipated into the chilly autumnal air. And suddenly, nothing sounded better than cheap, rigged carnival games. 

“See, now that sounds like fun.” You left one more kiss to Bucky’s lips before heading toward your next shift. “Have a good time tonight, Buck.”

Bucky watched your bloody form receded toward the haunt. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought about your warnings, your cautionary words. You really did care about him. You loved him more than anyone ever had. And you always, always put him first. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to express how grateful he was to have you. And as he observed the way you went out of your path just to step on the crunchiest leaves you could find, he knew the two of you were perfectly suited.

“Baby!” Bucky called after you as you reached the back door of the haunt.

You turned.

“Do you still wanna come over later?” he shouted over the noise of the festival.

Your “DUH!” echoed across the distance. And then you disappeared inside.

“Aw, man. Did I miss her?” Sam appeared just behind Bucky, two caramel apples in hand.

“Yeah, she had to get back to work. Oh-” Bucky reached for the apple in Sam’s right hand, the one that hadn’t yet been marred by Sam’s teeth. “Is this for me? Thanks, I-”

“Um, no,” Sam yanked the treat out of Bucky’s reach. “These are both mine.”

Bucky scoffed, “You’re joking, right?” 

“Nope.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “You’re actually double-fisting caramel apples right now?”

Sam gave a confident nod and took a bite out of one of the treats. “Leave me alone, man. I’m just participating in the spirit of Halloween.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s antics. “Okay, well then, I’m gonna go get one of my own. Are you coming?”

Sam tilted his head to the side and gestured toward the haunt with one of his apples. “Aren’t we going inside now that she’s back on shift?”

Bucky gave the unsettling building a long look. He really did want to support you- but he just couldn’t bring himself to willingly venture into that environment. He thought back on what you said: Dark. Enclosed space. Blood. Gore. People jumping out of the darkness. It was the perfect recipe for a flashback. He could practically feel his PTSD crawling out of the darkest corners of his mind, waiting to pounce.

“Um, no, actually. I’m not- I’m not gonna go in,” Bucky said. “I was cautioned against it by a very sweet, very beautiful zombie.” 

It didn’t quite make sense to Sam. “She doesn’t want you to go inside?”

“She said it’s just not the best idea. The way she described it, I know it’s not gonna be a good experience for me,” a sad smile pulled at Bucky’s features. “Plus, I don’t know how I’m gonna react to bloody people popping out of the shadows and screaming at me. I feel like my training- or my PTSD- is gonna kick in and I might hit first and ask questions later,” he shrugged. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone.”

Sam didn’t suspect that Bucky would actually harm any of the actors; he trusted Bucky more than Bucky trusted himself. But he wasn’t going to push. If there was any possibility that the things inside the haunt might send Bucky into a spiral, he was happy to steer clear.

“Alright, yeah, we can- we can go play some games instead,” Sam suggested. “And you can win your girl a prize. Come on.”

Sam pointed Bucky in the direction of the carnival games- but not before he granted Bucky his second apple. 

“Wilson… I’m touched,” Bucky took a huge bite of the tart, sticky treat. “This is real friendship.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you’re getting the next round.” 

The two of them set off in the direction of the large array of carnival booths, both happily gnawing on a caramel apple. Bucky was grateful to have two people in his life who truly cared about his mental health. Two people who never forced him into situations that had the potential to rip open his old wounds. 

And though Bucky wished he could visit you inside the haunt, he knew it was better this way. If he chose to experience the haunted house and ended up having a violent flashback or a panic attack, he knew it would ruin your night. You’d spend the entire evening taking care of him, looking after him, worrying about him- you’d completely abandon your post inside the haunted house, and he couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t take away your Halloween fun, especially not when you’d just told him what a blast it all was.

No, he’d instead spend the evening playing shitty carnival games, drinking pumpkin beer, and betting Sam that he couldn’t eat another caramel apple. And later, after you’d finished your night of scaring, he’d welcome you into his apartment and spend the rest of his evening snuggled up with you on the couch. He’d make a batch of spiced apple cider and curl up with you under a blanket. And the two of you would fall asleep while Scream played in the background.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Around ten-thirty, a quiet knock pulled Bucky from his book. He dropped it on the coffee table- taking no care to mark his page- and dashed toward the front door. He couldn’t wait to ask you a million questions. To hear your stories from the night. But when he threw open the door, he didn’t find the smiling zombie he’d seen just a few hours ago.

Something about you seemed off. Almost hollow. But Bucky couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was certain you had to be tired- exhausted, really. You’d spent hours chasing after your victims and screaming at the top of your lungs. Surely, you were just worn out.

“Hey, Buck,” you did your best to force a smile, but it wasn’t at all convincing. 

“Hey, baby,” Bucky pulled you into his body without caring that you were still covered in a thick layer of fake blood and zombie make up. “You good?”

You nodded against his chest, “Yeah. Just tired.”

Bucky felt his worry recede a bit- but it didn’t vanish completely. He took you by the hand and brought you inside, but didn’t pepper you with questions like he’d planned. All of his wonderings could wait until after you got a well-deserved night of rest. 

“I was thinking I could make us some spiced apple cider,” Bucky offered, “But if you’d rather just go to sleep, I can save that for tomorrow. What do you think, doll?”

“Um, whatever you wanna do, babe,” you rummaged through your overnight bag and unearthed your toiletry bag and pajamas. “I’m gonna go shower and take off my make up.”

Without another word, you retreated down the hall and disappeared into the bathroom. Something about your demeanor didn’t sit right with Bucky. This wasn’t just exhaustion; something darker lurked beneath your still waters. But he opted to give you your space. He didn’t want to delay your shower; surely, you wanted to shed your grime and get comfortable. And once you’d emerged from your clean up, he’d once again ask about your well-being. But not a moment before.

He quickly changed shirts, shedding the one that he’d willingly dirtied by hugging you, and went to work on the cider. Even if you only wanted a sip or two before bed, that was enough for him. He didn’t mind putting in the effort if there was even a chance it might make you smile- he’d do anything to see that smile. To make you happy.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said as you padded down the hall half an hour later. “Getting all of the blood and make up off is kind of a process.” 

At the sound of your voice, Bucky rose from his seat in the kitchen and met you in the hall with a mug of hot cider, which you accepted.

“Don’t worry about it, doll. I was just-” a smiled flashed across his face, “Oh, sweetheart, it looks like you missed some.”

Some of the blueish purple make up still stained your cheek and tainted the skin around your eye. A bit of fake blood ran through your brow. And clearly, you’d forgotten to remove one of your bloody contacts. 

“Here, let me.” He raised his hand to your cheek and tried to swipe the remaining make up from your skin with his thumb, but you yanked your head away.

Pain burned in Bucky’s chest. You’d never flinched like that around him. Never once did you dodge his touch or fear that he might hurt you. You always said you didn’t see him as a threat, didn’t think of him as a monster. What had happened in the last few hours that changed the way you saw him? 

He felt himself teetering on the edge of heartbreak, but the puzzle pieces fell together before he had the chance to fall apart. He didn’t recall you wearing bloody special effects contacts earlier tonight. And your zombie make up hadn’t been that shade of indigo. 

Bucky flipped on the hall light, bathing your face in a warm glow. He carefully raised his palms in a wordless promise that he wouldn’t hurt you. And once you gave him a small nod, he gently cradled your face in his hands. He carefully turned your head toward the light, allowing him a good, clear look at the marks on your face. 

And what he found ripped open a pit in his stomach. You didn’t flinch because you feared him- no, you flinched because you were hurt.

A large, dark blue bruise bloomed under the skin of your cheekbone. And another bruise stained your orbital purple. The area was already swelling, and Bucky couldn’t help but think about how much pain you were in. A gash sliced through your eyebrow, just above your blackened eye. And unfortunately, the blood staining the white of your eye wasn’t part of a creepy contact lens- it was real. It was all real.

“Shit. Baby, what happened?” 

“I’m fine,” you lied.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky insisted. 

A few tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You spent your entire ride to Bucky’s telling yourself that you were fine. That you were okay. That it was just some bruising. That crying wouldn’t fix anything. You told yourself that people go through way worse every day- that Bucky had been through way, way worse for almost a century. You told yourself that it wasn’t a big deal. That getting emotional over something so small was unnecessarily dramatic. 

But Bucky automatically validated you- without even knowing it.

“What happened, sweetheart?”

You cut a glance to the side- which only made your eye throb. “Um, there was this guy who came through the haunt. And when I jumped out at him, he um,” you shrugged. “He hit me.”

A hurricane of emotion ripped through Bucky. He was horrified. Concerned. Wrathful. Heartbroken. All at once. 

“He hit me twice, actually…” You knew it would only make Bucky more upset. But what was the point of hiding the truth? He was going to be distraught either way. “He hit me here first,” you pointed at your cheek. “And then the second time, he got me in the eye. He had one of those big, collegiate class rings on- that’s what sliced my eyebrow open.”

“Jesus. Okay, um, you hang tight right here. I’m gonna grab my keys and some shoes- I need to get you to the emergency room,” Bucky threw his attention down the hall, searching for his keys.

“I don’t need to go to the ER-”

“Then I’m at least taking you to a minor emergency clinic,” Bucky insisted. “You need to be seen by-”

“The medic at the carnival already gave me a once over,” you rested a hand against his chest, calming him. “She said I’m fine. The cut doesn’t need stitches. I just have a minor concussion.”

Bucky stared at you for a long moment while a war raged inside his head. He knew you were okay, that your life wasn’t in danger. And he could tell you were too tired for an unnecessary trip to the hospital. But he’d feel more comfortable if a doctor took a look at you. If he had a guarantee that you’d be alright.

“I promise I’m okay,” you told him. “I really just wanna rest.”

And after another long moment of internally weighing the pros and cons, Bucky conceded.

“Okay. Here, I’ll take that,” he took your mug of cider and placed it on the hall table. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Bucky took you by the hand and led you to the living room. He got you situated on the couch and draped a blanket over your lap.

“He actually tried to hit me a third time,” you said. “I was already on the ground at that point. But he still went for it.”

You didn’t mean to sound so wounded. So pathetic. But part of you was still in shock. And the other part was heartbroken that one person had ruined your entire experience. 

“Thankfully, a few of the other actors got to him before he had the chance to actually make contact again.”

Bucky thought he might be sick. “What the fuck?”

You shrugged, “I’m not… I don’t know.”

“Um, do you need- I’m gonna get you some ice, okay?” He didn’t want to leave your side, but he could practically feel the throbbing, pounding pain hammering inside your head. And when he returned from the kitchen with an ice pack, some Tylenol, and a glass of water, he took a seat next to you.

“Why would he- he knew he was going into a haunted house. Why would he hit you?” Bucky couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He knew it was possible that the trauma from his Hydra days could make him lash out inside the haunt, so he chose to abstain. Why your assailant hadn’t done the same baffled him. 

“And why would he hit you multiple times?”

You shook your head and instantly regretted it as pain surged through your face. “I mean, they say ‘fight or flight.’ He clearly chose fight.”

“But after the initial hit, the shock and fear would’ve worn off,” Bucky reasoned. “He would’ve been able to recognize that he wasn’t actually in danger. That you were an actor, not a threat.” He sighed, “At least, he should’ve been able to figure that out.”

With a swig of water, you downed the pain relievers and sunk back into the couch cushions. The ice stung against your tender, pulsing wounds and you hissed at the sensation. But as the cold rendered your face completely numb, you recanted your initial, ungrateful thoughts.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he’d been drinking,” you rolled your eyes. It sent pain rocketing through your skull. “One of the guys that pulled him off of me said the guy was slurring his words pretty badly and absolutely reeked of beer.”

“Oh, perfect,” Bucky clenched his hands into tight fists. “Did anything happen to him? Is he gonna face any consequences?”

You offered him a downtrodden half-shrug. “I’m not sure. There were some security guards who escorted him out, but that’s all I know.”

Bucky leaned over and brushed a light kiss to your cheek- the one that hadn’t been marred by stranger’s fist. A razor-sharp feeling of helplessness carved deep into his flesh until it struck bone. He had a duty to you, and felt as though he’d failed. He couldn’t save you. Couldn’t protect you. Couldn’t even take you to the emergency room. 

All he could do at this point was try his best make you feel comfortable. Safe. And above all, he had to take care of you. 

Alarm struck him in the chest as he noticed what appeared to be a fresh drop of scarlet oozing from your brow. He stood from the couch with worry pulsing through his veins. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna go get some supplies to tend to your cut. Okay? You stay here, I’ll be-”

“No, that’s okay, Buck. It’s not that bad,” you shook your head, rejecting his offer; the throbbing inside your skull multiplied.  

“Baby, you’re bleeding…”

“What?” you removed the ice pack from your face and used your free hand to swipe a finger across your brow- only to find a warm, sticky sensation. “Oh, I didn’t even notice. My face is numb,” you brandished the ice pack at him. 

Bucky’s soft laugh filled the room, “I guess that’s a good thing?”

You gave him a careful nod. “Definitely.”

“Sit tight, doll. It’ll only take me a second.”

And he was right. He was only gone a few moments at the most; anything more than that felt unjustifiable. 

“Alright, let me see,” Bucky took a seat on the coffee table and placed his first aid supplies down next to him. As carefully as he could, he took your face in his hands and appraised your wound. He used gentle pressure to hold a piece of clean gauze against the bloody ooze. And though the cut wasn’t severe, it didn’t stop the dread from circling him like a vulture.

“I should’ve stuck around longer,” he lamented. “I should’ve stayed at the festival. Maybe I could’ve helped you somehow. Maybe I could’ve-”

Your hands found his forearms and wrapped gently around his wrists. “No, Buck. I didn’t want you going inside the haunt, regardless. Even if it was only to be my knight in shining armor.”

He stroked along your jaw with his cold, metallic thumb. “You always put me first, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you swept your thumbs over his skin, “I’d never dream of having it any other way.”

If there was one thing Bucky could count on, it was being your first priority. He’d never imagined he’d meet anyone who valued him. Who saw his worth. But you did- you always did. And you placed him proudly on a pedestal as your number one. Nothing came before him; nothing could take his place. He mattered more to you than anything or anyone ever had.

You were the kindest, most understanding person he’d ever met. You saw the good in everyone, even if they couldn’t see it themselves. And knowing that someone hurt you, that you were shown anything other than gentleness, killed him.

“Baby, I’m- I’m so sorry this happened. You didn’t deserve it.”

You poked at the ice pack resting in your lap, “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not ideal. But I’m not dying, or anything.” Your gaze dropped to the floor, “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Hey, look at me,” Bucky waited for your eyes to meet his, but had no luck. “Sweetheart, can you look at me? Please?”

After another long moment, you finally dragged your eyes upward. Bucky instantly clocked the tears gathering along your lash line.

“I know you’re not dying; I know this isn’t life threatening- but it’s still a big deal,” he said. “What happened is not okay. And you don’t have to pretend like it is.”

You rolled your eyes, sending a tear trailing down your cheek. “But you’ve been through a lot worse. I got punched- so what?” You scoffed, “You were abused for close to a hundred years. What happened to me isn’t-”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be upset,” he said. “You don’t have to compare your life to mine, sweetheart. No one should’ve laid a hand on you- tonight or ever.” He searched your face for a long moment, “Okay?”

It took a while for his words to sink in. For you to believe them. Rebuttals formed on your tongue every few seconds, but the concern in Bucky’s eyes banished them.

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief left his chest, and he delivered a long kiss to your forehead. He didn’t want you to diminish the events of the evening all because of him. Didn’t want you constantly using his suffering as a litmus test for your own. He knew you’d never consider your trauma as worthwhile if it always had to stand up to his.

With a fresh piece of gauze, he swiped the tears from your eyes. “Good. I love you.”

This wasn’t what you expected out of life. You were the last of your friends to find something real. To find someone worthwhile. And you assumed you’d missed your window. All of your exes treated you like you barely existed. Like you weren’t worth their time. None of them were ever concerned about your happiness or your well-being. And after dating more assholes than you could count, you resigned yourself to a life without romantic love.

And then Bucky spilled coffee all over your shoes, and you’d never been happier to have stained sneakers.

Bucky used a butterfly bandage to carefully close your cut and fetched you a fresh cup of cider. He took care of you in a way you’d never experienced. In a way you’d never thought possible. And after the night you had, all you wanted was to curl up on the couch with him. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms and forget all about what happened. 

But just as Bucky took his rightful place next to you on the couch, he was gone.

“Buck, where are you-”

“I almost forgot!” he called from down the hall. And just as quickly as he vanished, he reappeared with his hands behind his back. “Those carnival games are really hard- I mean, really fucking hard. And it took me all night, but I won this for you.”

With a quiet “Ta-da!” he revealed his prize and held it out for you. 

“I know he’s kind of ugly,” Bucky laughed, “But-”

“He’s not ugly!” You snatched the prize and held it close to your chest.

It was a little black teddy bear with orange spots- and upon further inspection, the orange spots appeared to be jack-o-lanterns. An orange and black plaid bow sat perched around the bear’s neck, and a tiny witch’s hat rested atop his head.

“Buck, he’s perfect,” you reached for him, pulling him down for a long, deep kiss before he even had the chance to sit. “I love him!”

“I’m so glad, it took me longer to win him than I’d like to admit,” Bucky laughed. “I’m sure Sam will happily tell you all about it.”

Once again, you captured Bucky’s lips with yours. Sure, you were exhausted. And hurting. And sad. But as Bucky’s hand cradled your face, and the prize he’d worked so hard to win for you rested against your chest, the pain of the evening melted away.

“Thank you, Buck.”

He shot you a wink, “Anytime, I-”

 “I mean it,” you abandoned your new teddy bear for only a second and took one of Bucky’s hands in both of yours. It took most of your strength, but you finally got him to take his spot next to you on the couch, “Thank you.”

His arm snaked around you and pulled you tightly into his side. “I’ve always got your back, baby.”

With your new teddy bear resting in your lap, you snuggled as close to Bucky as you possibly could. He brought you a sense of peace, a sense of safety that you’d never experienced before. All he ever wanted to do was take care of you, and you thanked the universe every day for granting you someone so gentle and kind and sweet.

Bucky put on a classic Halloween movie from your childhood, Halloweentown, to help you feel a little more at ease. And it came as no surprise to him that you were asleep less than fifteen minutes in, but he didn’t mind. He simply pulled you into his chest and carefully carried you to bed- along with your new stuffed animal. 

And as he climbed in next to you, he couldn’t have been more grateful for your cautionary words about the haunt. He thought about how different the night could’ve been, how much worse things might’ve gone had he stepped foot inside the dark, scary environment. What if he had a bad reaction and hurt one of your coworkers? What if he hurt you? If he’d been the one to strike you in the dark, you absolutely would’ve required an ambulance and a hospital stay. 

Just thinking about his metal fist connecting with your face made him nauseous. With a shake of his head, he forced the thoughts away. You were okay, you were right there next to him, sleeping soundly with your teddy bear tucked safely in your arms. He eyed you in the light of the moon, and thanked any deity who would listen for keeping him out of the haunt.

Just as he considered allowing his eyes to close, you moved. You loosened your grip on your bear and let him fall to the side as your sleepy hands searched for Bucky. He moved closer to you and watched with a smile as you draped your body over his. A tired, contented sigh fell from your lips, and Bucky thought his heart might melt.

He knew he didn’t deserve you. Knew he’d done so much wrong in his life. But now that you were his, he’d spend every day trying to protect you. Trying to make you happy. 

He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. He was already planning to offer you a ring next October- doing so during any other month felt like sacrilege. 

————————————-

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers, emotional aftermath.

Summary: An exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. When the dust finally settles, will you be able to move past this stranger encounter or will your own emotions cause you to burn out?

A/N: Special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby

Part 1 - September 5, 2024

Part 2 - November 7, 2024

Part 3 - November 17, 2024

Part 4

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction  and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[klecrone]

The incredible @elkleggs (https://twitter.com/elkleggs) created a gorgeous piece of artwork of Barnes reading which was originally meant to connect with Chapter 79: Tattered Pages, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this felt like a different, more private moment where the contents of the journals weren’t so fresh, and where they had some added context he could grasp.

While the contents of the journals are often grim, I’d like to imagine that between Nomble’s book and the notes he’s jotted down by hand, that Barnes occasionally finds entries that spark moments of levity. Perhaps it’s an update about whatever hijinks Sam got up to way back, an observation about Steve, or some fluff concerning one of those many stray cats he tended to. Whatever it is: I love the idea that it reminds him that he’s not as truly alone as he sometimes feels.

I deeply appreciate this gorgeous painting Elkleggs created to accompany this chapter. I love all of the careful thought and intention she put into it. She completed this piece over a year and a half ago, and it feels cathartic to not only finally work our way to this scene, but to be able to share the associated art with you. Once again: A *huge* to her for bringing this impactful story moment to life, and for all of you wonderful readers for keeping the story alive.

Please check out her social media accounts to see more of her incredible art! (Only 18+, please!)

Chapter 92: "The Gravity of Ink" - (Read my story on Ao3 and FFnet) "Winter of the White Wolf" MCU FanFic

[delicatebarness]

i cant read your mind | chapter one

Summary: It has been six months since half the universe came back, six months since Steve left, six months since you lost Natasha, and three months since finding out the man you were sleeping with wanted to end it.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers throughout.

Word Count: 1600

Spotify Playlist | Tips

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: I have watched TFATWS at least 6 times this week so I am prepared for this.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff

As Sam addressed the crowd at the Smithsonian, you listened to his every word by Rhodey’s side. You let yourself laugh at the appropriate moments and fought back tears as your friend paid tribute to another. Your heart ached as you watched him pass on the shield, the symbol that guided you to become the best agent you could and more.

“I can’t do this,” you murmured almost inaudibly as you slipped away from the crowd, retreating to the quiet street. You steadied your thoughts, taking a few deep breaths. Retrieving your phone from your purse, you hesitated before dialing a number. “Come on,” you urged as the ringing persisted. 

Disappointment washes over you as you realize there’s no answer on the other end, you stand there for a moment. Staring at your call lost, feeling the loneliness creep in as you see that none of your calls have been picked up. Taking another deep breath, you put your phone back and start walking. Each step is a deliberate effort to move forward. 

While navigating the streets of Washington, your thoughts are focused on the events at the Smithsonian. The passing of the shield symbolized the end of an era for you. An era that had taken over your entire adult life. 

~

You enter your quiet apartment and sink onto the couch. The weight of the day, flight, and lack of food were starting to seem heavier, you couldn’t bring yourself to get changed out of the formal black dress you had been wearing since half four that morning. You retrieved your phone from your purse once again, your fingers hovering over the screen as you debated whether to try calling again. 

You knew it was getting late but you dialed the number again, heart pounding with anticipation. As the phone rang, you tried not getting your hopes up, but they were crushed when it went to voicemail. 

Sighing deeply, you set your phone down as you got back up from the couch and made your way back out into the street. You were proud of yourself for not letting the tears spill down your cheeks. 

The streets were quiet, and the soft glow of the streetlights offered a semblance of solace. With no destination in your mind, you wandered as the hunger gnawed at your stomach. Searching for a nearby restaurant for a late-night bite, you approached the diner you knew as Izzy. 

Your heart lurched in your chest as you recognized the figure through the window, sitting opposite a woman, she seemed to be laughing at whatever it was he was telling her. Playing a game of Battleship and drinking. “Not like that’s going to affect him,” you thought as you took in the sight. For a moment, you stood frozen in place, the tears you previously held back now beginning to spill. 

~

Once you were home and washed the day off of you, a hint of optimism rose from within you. Deciding to open yourself up to a new experience, you downloaded a popular dating app and uploaded all the photos of you in dresses that hugged your body just the way you loved. The way he once said should be for his eyes only. Swiping through profiles, it didn’t take long for you to come across someone who caught your eye, and match with them. 

You exchanged messages for the rest of the night, at some point agreeing to meet for brunch the next morning.

~

Your date was waiting for you when you arrived at the cafe, a friendly smile lighting up his face. Exchanging greetings, he pulled out a chair for you and helped with your coat and bag. You thanked him, finding yourself relaxed in his company. 

Settling into conversation, you shared stories, laughed, and began feeling a genuine connection. You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly feel this happy in three months, letting yourself let go of the weight that had been pressed into your chest for so long.

“Is that? Is that The Winter Soldier?” your date asked, his focus moving away from you and instead toward the entrance of the cafe. Turning your gaze over to where your date had been looking, it felt like time stopped as you looked into the eyes of a furrowing James Buchanan Barnes. His fist clenched under his leather gloves. 

“Here we go,” you mumbled under your breath as you noticed him making his way over to you. With trembling hands, you reached for the glass of champagne that sat on the table in front of you. Tilting the glass back, you swallowed every last drop of it in an attempt to calm yourself down. 

“I need to speak to you,” Bucky growled, his voice low and commanding as he towered over you. As much as you’ve wanted nothing more than to be around him for the last three months, you kept your gaze fixed on your date. “Now.” 

“I’m on a date,” your tone even with a hint of defiance as you responded to the super soldier. You watched as the eyes of your date filled with fear and amazement. 

“I can see that,” he replied dryly, sarcasm dripping in his tone as he gave your date a pointed look. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sensing the tension between you and Bucky. 

“Whatever you have to say, it can wait,” your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I’m here with someone else,” you added emphasis on ‘someone else’ as you sensed him tense up beside you. 

Your date cleared his throat, shooting a hesitant glance between you and Bucky. He spoke up, his tone polite but uneasy. “Perhaps I should… give you two some privacy?” He began to stand from the table, making his way over to the restrooms. Bucky quickly sat in the seat he had previously occupied. 

Your gaze was ablaze with a mixture of hurt and frustration as you finally made eye contact with Bucky. “What do you want?” your voice trembled slightly. 

Bucky couldn’t suppress the sarcasm that came from his tone as he looked over toward the restrooms. “Well, he seems like a real charmer,” his tone full of irony. 

You shot him a disapproving look, eyebrows knitting together in a silent warning. “Again, what do you want?” Bucky looked back at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Rolling your eyes, you defended the man you had known for less than 12 hours. “He’s a nice guy,” 

Leaning back in his seat, Bucky folded his arms across his chest as he sent you a knowing look. “If you say so,” he remarked. If it wasn’t for the dry and snarky tone, you’d have thought he was backing down. “And, I’m sure he can handle a doll such as you,” he continued while sending you a wink. 

“Can’t you just go back to ignoring me like you have done for the last three months?” you sighed, picking up your fork and using it to move food around your plate.

“I saw the pictures you used for your little dating profile,” he glared at you when he noticed a smirk now taking place over your lips.

You shrugged nonchalantly and replied with a calm tone. “Yeah, and?”

His jaw tightened at your response, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Thought they were only for me?” he pressed.

Your expression softened, remorse flickering over your features as you looked back at him. “Things change,” you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. “I waited five years for you to come back, five years of not even knowing if you were coming back,” your voice quivered with emotion.

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he straightened his posture. “I know-” he began to speak but you cut him off before he could finish.

“No, Bucky, you don’t” you shot back at him, your voice rising with each word. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it was like, not know where you went, or if you were alive or dead, or if you’d even come back,” 

His jaw once again clenched, “I waited over 90 years for you to come into my life,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion and vulnerability. 

Your eyes widened at his admission, you were both surprised and in disbelief, “But yet, you only waited three months before jumping into bed with someone else,” you accused, voice thick with bitterness. “How was your night of Battleship, by the way?”

His hands balled into fists on top of the table, his voice raised to match yours. “Firstly, I didn’t sleep with her,” he retorted. “And secondly, what the fuck is this?” he gestures toward your date as he started to make his way back out of the restroom.

“I’m sorry,” your date now interrupts your conversation with Bucky as he makes his way back over to you. “I didn’t know you two are exes,” 

“He’s not my ex!” 

“She’s not my ex!”

~

Alone in the dimly lit apartment, you allowed yourself to have a moment to rest, closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths. The weight of your date pressing down on your shoulders. Surprisingly, he asked for a second date. Once Bucky had left, he offered to take you out again another time. You happily agreed.

As you began to drift into a state of relaxation, the sound of the television caught your attention. “... it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.” 

“What the fuck?!”

---

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 17

Prompt: Bewitched

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader

tags/warnings: Love at first sight, mutual pining, confessions, kiss, FLUFF

Although Reader's gender is not specified the translations below (specifically Vrăjitore) are feminine!

Summary: Bucky and Sam come your apartment for a few days to hide out and a certain Sokovian Baron is enamoured by you.

Word Count: 2.6k

Translations:

Draga - dear

Vrăjitore - Enchantress/witch (in the context below - it's enchantress)

A/N: I've said it before and I'll say it again - I'm a hopeless romantic. - Love, Grem x

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Zemo hadn’t known what to expect when the door to your apartment opened but it certainly wasn’t instantaneous infatuation. You were a friend of Sam and Bucky’s and somehow, somehow, got roped into helping them hide him. Despite the initial feelings of scepticism and meticulously planning his escape from the dingy apartment building, when you opened the door it all changed.

You were stood in your pajamas, rubbing your eyes, speaking in a soft sleepy voice that alluded to you either just about ready to fall asleep or you had just woken up. Zemo was staring and he knew it. Even though you hadn’t looked at him yet, you were the picture of perfection with your slightly tousled hair and the disgruntled expression you were giving Sam as he explained what was going on. When your e/c eyes finally flickered over to him, finally meeting his eyes, he felt his breathing stop.

“You better come in,” you sighed, stepping aside and allowing them inside your small apartment.

You immediately headed to the small kitchen-cum-living room, turning on your kettle and grabbing mugs.

“Tea? Coffee? Food?” You fire off questions in rapid succession but Sam nor James pay attention to you. They’d began a hushed conversation about ideas and plans in your living room. Zemo looked over to you and was surprised to see you were looking directly at him. He felt like a deer in headlights. He was at a loss for words. For once.

You raised an eyebrow at him curiously. “You... want anything?”

Zemo clears his throat and stiffly approaches the counter top that seperates the two of you. “Tea will do. Thank you.”

“I have earl grey and English breakfast,” You say, holding up the two boxes. “What would you prefer?”

Zemo blinks, his throat dry. “Earl grey, please.”

“Sugar and milk?”

Zemo only nods and watches as you turn away to prepare the tea. Surely, you knew he was dangerous? Surely, you had seen the news from years before? Surely, you knew you shouldn’t turn your back to him?

But you had. And Zemo was helplessly lost in you whilst the hushed conversation of Bucky and Sam drifted around the apartment. He couldn’t remember when he had last felt this way. It had been a long time, that’s for sure.

After five minutes you turn around with two mugs in your hand and slide one to Zemo. He carefully lifts the mug to his mouth and sips, relishing the sleepy warmth of the lavender drink. His tongue darts across his lips, something else is in the drink, making it ever so slightly sweeter. You register his expression and offer him a small, sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I think I’ve given you mine. I always add a dash of vanilla syrup.”

Vanilla. Zemo’s eyes widen but he smiles and nods. “An excellent combination.”

Your smile brightens. Zemo thinks his knees might give out; that smile lights up your entire living room and you’re not even trying. He should be trying to manipulate you, make you uncomfortable; not nervously running sweaty palms on his slacks or being tongue tied. And you should be cold and harsh, threatening to maim him like Bucky or Sharon not warm, friendly and inviting.

“Have you ever tried an Edinburgh Mist?” You ask, eyes brightening with each passing second. Zemo briefly wonders if it's because your friends, the ones who have barely spoken with you, the ones who have landed a fugitive terrorist into your hands, have never bothered to indulge in the beauty that was you. He shakes his head gently, watching you speak.

“It’s like the cocktail London Fog but an actual hot drink.” You explain. “it’s earl grey with vanilla, with foamed milk and dusted with cinnamon. I loved it so much I had to start making it at home.”

Zemo finds himself smiling  over the rim of his mug at you. He hums in response, nodding a little before adding, “I may have to trouble you for one when you have the chance.”

You scoff a little, suppressing what looks to be a blush and Zemo’s heart does a flip. Unfortunately, you’re both torn away by Sam and Bucky wanting to talk strategy.

The next few days feel like a dream.

Zemo practically follows you around like a love sick puppy, offering to help with everything he can. Laundry. Cooking. Cleaning. Each time you dismiss him, citing that he is a guest in your home and will be treated as such. Your mother didn’t raise you to be unwelcoming.

When it’s clear he doesn’t really know what to do with himself, you roll your eyes and pretend you’re so hard done by with the lack of help you recieve from Bucky and Sam, that you’ll gladly take Zemo’s company instead. Which he humbly (albeit very enthusiastically) accepts.

As you do chores, you chat about anything and everything. His favourite books, your favourite shows, his music taste, your favourite foods. Whilst you cook he watches eagerly, asking inquisitive questions and occasionally teasing gently to make you laugh. Part of your brain believes it to be a ploy, as does Sam and Bucky. Some grand manipulation that they had warned you he was capable of. But somehow you doubted it. There was something about how he made you laugh, how he always acted the gentleman and offered his help, something about the softness in his eyes that you knew he meant every word he spoke and action he did.

Perhaps that was what caused the argument between you and Sam.

“He’s a terrorist,” Sam snapped at you on the fifth day. Bucky was out and Zemo was in the shower, making it an opportune time to discuss the behaviour Sam had witnessed over the last few days. “And a master manipulator. You should not trust him.”

“God forbid men have hobbies.” You quip. Then seeing Sam's frown you sigh.

"On a technicality, you are too." You point out, scrubbing at a dish violently. Anger had bubbled inside you at the subtle accusation that you were falling for a manipulation, especially when said terror had been placed in your lap. “You brought him here as well.” You huff with agitation.

It was Sam’s turn to huff. “You don’t get it. He’s dangerous.”

You slam the scourer down and glare at Sam. “No, you’re not getting it. You brought him here. Hell, yesterday you and Bucky went out and left me with him for hours.”

Sam opens his mouth and closes it again, at a loss for words. He knows he can’t argue against that and he knows damn well better than to try.

“Just... be careful. Okay?” He grumbles, heading to the spare room. “That’s all I ask.”

Once the door is closed you roll your eyes and turn back to the sink, haughtily mimicking Sam’s words. You startle when you hear Zemo chuckle from behind you.

“Apologies,” He murmurs, looking over  at you with a smug smile. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Whether or not it was his intention, you know that he isn’t sorry about it at all and it makes you smirk back. As with everything the last few days, you can’t seem to find yourself to be genuinely upset with him.

“It’s alright,” you sigh, drying your hands. “Tea?”

“Please, dragă.”  

You blush at the use of the nickname, but turn away quickly. This was another ritual that had formed in the last few days, and you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy the sweet nickname he’d given you and the way his honeyed eyes followed your movements. You didn’t want to tell him you knew the meaning. That you’d briefly dabbled in learning Sokovian. Something about him using his native tongue to compliment you, believing you had no idea what he was saying as  he looked  at you,  made your heart beat faster and your fondness for him grow. Again, this only made arguments of him manipulating you weaker; why say things to you that you couldn’t understand? Quick compliments or praise in a foreign language he thought only he could speak, muttered under his breath that made your resolve crumble apart like a cookie dipped in hot  tea. You couldn’t deny that he had charm but something else drew you to him. It was like you were under a spell and the thought that he may have to leave soon was too much to bare.

“You know,” Zemo started, voice quiet. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. “I’ve noticed that they don’t appreciate you, dragă.”

You turn, eyebrows high, mid-stir of the teas. “What?”

Zemo’s eyes drop to his hands. “Perhaps I am out of line,” he says carefully. “But you are correct in that all of us being here was sprang on you. Yet you welcomed us, even me, into your home without hesitation. You have cooked meals, offered your shower, home and did laundry... and only once or twice I have heard a thank you.” He looks up, meeting your eyes with his. His expression is soft, almost apologetic. “So, thank you, dragă.”

You blink at him, slightly shocked. So, he’d overheard your argument with Sam. He could’ve taken a different route; planting seeds of doubt about your friendship with the heroes, allowing tendrils of resentment to grow and blossom into anger. However, he hadn’t. Zemo had only pointed out the truth of the current situation; you had accepted the bizarre situation to help your friends and hopefully the betterment of the world without question and without thanks. Your mouth opened to defend Sam and Bucky, but your mind faltered trying to find an example from the last few days.

In fact, Bucky had grumbled his thanks of a coffee once and Sam for his food once. Zemo had been trying to help you for the past five days and somehow always managed to thank you and compliment you. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you snapped your mouth closed. You shrug half heartedly and remove the teabags.

“Thank you.” You murmur and then realise it sounds like a very stupid thing to say back. “For saying thank you? Sorry. Um.”

You turn back, handing him his tea but not meeting his gaze. You’d already learned to make it how he liked. That was probably not a good sign. You clear your throat.

“I appreciate it.”

There’s a beat of silence and you look back at him. He smiles. You smile back.

Your heart beats a little faster than before and you shift on your feet. You’re being drawn in again.

“Anytime.” Zemo bows his head to you, still smiling, his tone utterly sincere; like he would never tire of thanking you. His gaze meets yours again and he exhales gently. “You... are something else. Do you know that?”

You tilt your head at him, smile widening to a lopsided grin. “No? How do you mean?”

Zemo huffs through his nose, chuckling slightly. “You have bewitched me, dragă. From the moment I saw you.” He takes a sip from his mug watching you with a mesmerised expression. In a low rumbling voice he adds, “Vrăjitore.”

Your breathing stalls for a moment. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you like how Zemo is looking at you; like you’re almost too good to be true. Your stomach twists into knots and your heart and mind race to try to come up with a quip or statement as equally romantic and poetic as he’d uttered but you can’t.

When you don’t respond, Zemo steps away, looking at the floor. “Forgive me. I’ve said too much.”

“No!” you blurt suddenly, and cover your hand with your mouth. You cringe slightly and smile sheepishly at Zemo, whose tilting his head curiously at you now. “I thought it was just me.” You say lamely.

Zemo’s eyes widen and a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth but he says nothing as you rake a nervous hand through your hair.

“So....” You start awkwardly, wetting your lips and dropping your hand from your nape limply.

“So.” Zemo repeats back to you, his eyes sparkling. You can feel your heart thunder at the sight and you open your mouth to continue  but Sam erupts into the room.

“We need to go,” He says hurriedly to Zemo, throwing on his jacket. “Bucky and Sharon have ran into some trouble.”  

Zemo nods, setting his mug down and striding to the coat rack for his purple fur coat. Sam shoots you an apologetic glance when you ask if they’d be back.

“We may have to find another safe house. We’ve stayed here for too long, you might get caught being with us.” He shrugs. “But thanks for everything. I owe you one.” Sam grins over at you cheekily and adds, “and so does Bucky.”

“As do I.” Zemo adds, smiling softly over at you as he straightens the  collar of his coat. Sam looks like he’s about to shush Zemo when his phone rings. Sam’s expression turns serious and he stalks for the front door muttering instructions to either Bucky or Sharon.  He points at Zemo before he opens it. “Parking garage in five minutes. Make sure you’re not followed.”

The door closes behind Sam before  he sees Zemo nod and make his way back over to you.

Zemo stands before you, looking down at you with the same wondrous expression he had before. He’s close but not too close; a polite distance even after  everything tonight.

“So....” You start again, smiling wryly at him. “I guess this is goodbye?”

“For now, vrăjatore.” Zemo says with a gentle smile. A gloved hand reaches up hesitantly to cup your cheek. You can feel the heat of his palm through the leather, and you lean into it; searching for his warmth. Your eyes flutter ever so slightly and you heave a sigh. Just your luck.

“I’ll find you once the dust settles.”

You raide an eyebrow at him and chuckle. “And I’ll be waiting.”

Your own hand encompasses his on your cheek and it feels like an eternity passes as you both stand in silence gazing at eachother before Zemo leans down and places a chaste, tender kiss to your lips. Your heart stutters and you move to follow his lips as he pulls back, making him chuckle.

“I’ll find you,” he repeats, firmer this time. “And then you may kiss me for as long as you wish. Until then, duty calls.”

He grins at you again, adoring the flushed expression you’re wearing, but pulls further away from you. Your arm stretches out, still holding his hand and with one last, small squeeze you release him; watching him stride out of the front door and follow Sam. The silence in your apartment is palpable, and when you remember to draw a breath, the air is stale and dry. You sigh to yourself and finish your tea while replaying the events of the last hour.

 You hadn’t seen Zemo in two months.

That hadn’t meant his presence was missing.

The mission had finished a month ago, however, Zemo was still currently on the run. Bucky and Sam had attempted to find him but from what they had told you, they had assumed he was long gone in some faraway island, living it up. But you had known better.

Lavish gifts from expensive chocolates to tea had appeared at your apartment. The latest was the newest, beautiful bouquet that you had centred perfectly on your coffee table, somewhere you could look upon it everyday, and a pack of cherry blossom tea. You took photos of all of your gifts and added little notes of them into your phone – as you had no way of contacting the Baron, you ensured you could thank him for each and every gift he’d bought for you when you saw him in person. Bouquets came every ten days like clockwork – as soon as one bouquet wilted, the next would appear to take its place. The gifts would be every two weeks. Maybe, you joked with yourself, so it didn’t seem like it was excessive to send two gifts every week.

The only indication that it was Zemo sending you these items was because each gift came with a small 6-by-4 card with one word written in plum-purple cursive.

Vrăjitore.

[lokiswifeduh]

can’t help but drown

pairings: Bucky x fem!reader

summary: the past few months you think you have a handle on your anxiety. but after a silent panic attack in the bathtub, Bucky is there to pull you out.

warnings: panic attack, anxiety, feeling helpless, feelings of suffocation, ANGST!!!

The water moved in soft ruffles around you. Not quite making waves, however, moving from how your anxious legs swayed the water.

Shallow breaths and water hitting the porcelain tub softly were all you could hear. Your body was too overheated, your mind was racing and you could feel your heartbeat in your hands.

You didn't know where this sudden burst of anxiety and panic had risen from. Just that you couldn't get out of the water. Something was keeping you down. Making your body drown.

"Doll?" A sudden tap on the door knocked you out of your trance. You swallowed, your throat feeling like sandpaper against your tongue. "Y-yeah?" Your voice cracked, and you silently cursed knowing Bucky would notice. That super soldier hearing never lets you live anything down.

"You've been in there for a while." You heard him lean against the door, "Is everything alright?" You nodded, remembering as much as Bucky could hear you better than most, he definitely can't see through walls.

"Y-yes. I'm alright, just...uh." You tried to think. Any excuse would work. Bucky might not believe you but he would let the topic go. "Just needed some extra alone time tonight."

"Oh," Bucky mumbled through the door. "Okay, doll." You could feel the hurt in his voice. You didn't need alone time from him. You didn't need to be alone at all right now but he couldn't see you like this.

A sweaty, anxious, mess.

You didn't know how much time had passed. Your nails attempt to dig into the porcelain of the tub, but to no avail, you're only yourself in the process. "Sweetheart?" Bucky taps on the door once more, "Please talk to me." You try to speak, but only a mumble comes out. The bubbles in the bath are gone. Only leaving a white film on top of the now room-temperature water.

"Doll, I'm coming in." You attempt to refuse but nothing comes out as Bucky breaks the lock on the door, softly opening it. You can't look at him. You won't.

You keep your head forward, staring into the wall as you feel Bucky kneel beside you.

He can see how hard your nails are clutching onto the side of the tub, softly lifting your hand as you ball your fist. Your nails now digging into the skin of your palm; drawing blood.

"Hey, hey." Bucky unclenches your fist, letting your nails hurt his metal hand instead.

Using his flesh hand, he softly places a palm on your cheek, bringing your eyes to his. "Doll, what's going on? Talk to me." You shake your head, eyes falling closed as more tears adorn your already-flushed cheeks.

"Okay, that's okay." Bucky whispers, "But I need to get you out of this tub sweetheart." He doesn't need to feel the water to know you've been in the bath for far too long.

"Can I get you out, doll?" You slowly nod, your chin shaking with the sobs you so badly don't want to release.

Bucky mumbles an alright. Moving one of his arms under your legs, the other holding your back as you clutch onto his shirt.

He lifts you up, the water rolling off of your body and soaking his once-dry clothes. "I'm so sorry." You mumble, repeating it over and over as your body starts to shiver from the temperature difference. "Shhh, you're okay, sweetheart."

Bucky wraps a towel around the exposed side of your body, attempting to keep you warm as he brings you into your shared bedroom. "I'm gonna lay you down, doll."

You shake your head violently, clutching onto his henley even harder. "Please, please don't leave me."

Bucky sits down with you still in his arms on the bed, your legs now lying over his as he holds you. "I won't. I promise, sweetheart I'm not leaving."

You both sit there for a moment, tears falling from your eyes, him rocking you back and forth as an old record played from the living room.

You start to feel a weight lift off your chest, your heartbeat calming slightly at the touch of Bucky's arms on yours. You start to speak, wanting to explain yourself when Bucky shushes you. "You don't have to explain sweetheart." He kisses the crown of your head, your hair still wet. "You can talk when you're ready." You nod, continuously wondering how you found someone so caring and endearing. "I just..." You looked up at Bucky, his blue eyes shining down at you with such love. "I felt like I was drowning." He nods, "Sometimes we can't help but drown, doll."

Kissing your forehead once again, he squeezes your body tighter to his. "But I'll be there every time to pull you from the water.

[happy74827]

I will never forgive Disney for censoring this episode 🤚

Song: Here — Alessia Cara

Show: Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Character: Bucky Barnes

[duckybarnes1917]

Forbidden Fruit (DBF! Bucky x F!Reader)

18+ ONLY.

Summary: Bucky knows he shouldn't want this, but he can't resist taking a bite.

Warnings: plot what plot? smut, age gap (undefined), unprotected sex, daddy kink, Bucky's dirty mouth. The only physical description is the reader having a small tattoo, if you don't have one, pretend it's fake.

Word count: 4900

A/N: NO ONE LOOK AT ME. I am that Paul Rudd meme. Who woulda thought?

Guilt. That’s what Bucky felt every time he looked at you. His neighbor’s daughter that he had only found out about two weeks ago. Everything had been going so well. His new house in the suburbs was shaping up nicely, thanks to Sam and Clint’s help. He had made the move to help himself find some inner peace. It was working; he slept better; he ate better, he even got a cat and started doing yoga every morning. He made friends with his neighbors. Ms. Rose was an elderly (though still technically younger than him) widow who lived across the street. She brought him muffins every Sunday morning. Mark and Angela lived to the left of him. They were newlyweds and spent most of their evenings in the backyard getting high and laughing at everything the other said. Bucky thought they were sweet. And to his right, that’s where your dad lived. A single man who appeared to be about the same age as Bucky. He did something in finance and had to take a train to the city every day. He was nice enough and since they were both alone in their big houses, they became friends. Shared beers and sports games, Bucky would come over to meet his work friends now and then. But all of this, all of Bucky’s hard work, washed down the drain the second he saw you running down his sidewalk.

He had just finished his morning yoga and was about to sit down for a nice muffin and some coffee when he heard a scream. He dashed to his front window and saw a big black dog charging down the sidewalk, it’s leash flopping along behind it. And then there was you, sweaty and bleeding, and chasing this beast like your life depended on it.

Bucky opened the door and called to the dog in German. It immediately stopped and dropped its head, slowly walking up Bucky’s driveway to sit at his feet.

“How—how did you do that?!” You huffed, your hand holding your side.

“This is Bert, he belongs to Greta a few houses down… he only understands German.”

You sent an annoyed glare toward Greta’s house. “Well, that would have been nice to know before I took him on a walk.”

Bucky chuckled, “dog sitter?”

“Not really. I’m just helping her out for a few weeks while I’m in town.”

Bucky deflated a bit. You were temporary. But even so, you were standing in his driveway with a nasty cut on your knee.

“I can fix that–if you want.”

You looked down as if you hadn’t realized you were bleeding and quickly nodded. “Please.”

“I’m James, but you can call me Bucky.”

When you introduced yourself as you walked past him into the house, your name tickled something in his brain. He wanted you.

“The bathroom is right around the corner.”

Bucky followed, keeping his distance, as not to breathe down your neck. And also to check you out. It had been a while–he had needs. That’s what he told himself as he struggled to tear his eyes away from the backs of your thighs.

You walked into the small bathroom and turned to him. The sudden hesitancy on your face made him take a step back.

“You can just show me where your first aid kit is…”

Bucky nodded and stepped into the bathroom with you; you stumbled back a bit when he knelt in front of the cabinet. “Here you go. Are you sure you don’t need a helping hand?”

Bucky remained on his knees, offering the first aid kit to you. But you didn’t take it. You stared into his impossibly blue eyes and squeaked out an intelligible answer.

“Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t quite catch that.” Bucky stood up to his full height and enjoyed the way your head tilted back to maintain eye contact with him.

“Help. Please.”

Bucky smiled and patted the counter. You understood and jumped up onto it.

“Let’s see here…” Bucky cradled your calf as he lifted your leg. He rested your foot on his thigh as he got to work on your bloodied knee.

It was just a scrape, but he took his time, enjoying the way the bend of your knee offered him a lovely view. He was so lost in looking at your legs in your short shorts he didn’t notice the way your demeanor had changed.

The look of desperation in his eyes bolstered your confidence. Yes, you had been nervous. He was hot, incredibly hot. And intense. His presence had overwhelmed you, made you so desperate for him you couldn’t think straight. But now–as you watched him unabashedly stare at the bit of white lace you knew he could see up your shorts–you knew you could take him.

As he reluctantly moved on to the scrape on your elbow, you admired his weathered face. He was talking about something, but you weren’t paying attention. You noticed the cute crinkles around his eyes when he laughed, though. The salt and pepper beard, the smoothness of his pink lips, and he smelled good too. Like sandalwood and something spicy. As your eyes moved lower, you noticed the bob of his adam’s apple as he spoke, the little freckles on his neck that you wanted to bite, and lower, the muscles under his shirt… and it was only then that you noticed his arm.

“Holy shit… you’re… you’re Bucky, Bucky?!” 

Bucky straightened up, looking a little worried. “Is that a problem?”

“No! I just can’t believe I didn’t recognize you until now. Fuck, you’re even hotter in person.”

Bucky’s smirk made your cheeks blaze. You hadn’t intended for that thought to come out of your mouth. But he was moving to stand between your legs, his lips inching nearer, so you weren’t about to beat yourself up over it.

“So you’re saying you weren’t driving me crazy because you knew who I was? Just because you think I’m hot?”

“Driving you crazy?” You whispered, trying your best to remain still while his nose grazed over your cheek on its path to your ear.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing to me, sweetheart.” His voice was gravel in your ear, a chill shooting down your spine. “Besides, I can smell you.”

“Fuck me,” you breathed out and his lips instantly attached to your pulse point.

“With pleasure, kitten.”

“That was–” you were trying to explain to him you hadn’t meant it literally, but his tongue was very distracting, as were his hands, which were sliding up your little shorts to grasp your ass. “Oh god, I don’t even know you.” Your hands tangled in his hair and you brought his lips to yours.

Just as a pathetic moan was leaving your throat, your ringtone blared through the bathroom, making you both jump.

“Sorry, sorry, just let me turn it off.” You scrambled for your phone, accidentally dropping it on the floor.

“Got it, sweetheart.” Bucky bent down to pick up your phone and froze when he saw the picture on the screen.

It was a photo of you and his friend, his neighbor… and the name on the phone said ‘dad.’

“This–he’s your–fuck.” Bucky handed you the phone and stalked out of the bathroom, nearly tripping over Bert, who had fallen asleep outside the door.

“Wait! I’m not answering it. Where are you going?!”

You scrambled after Bucky, trying to keep up with his long strides and not get distracted by the way his ass looked in his gray joggers.

“You gotta go,” Bucky said emotionlessly as he opened the front door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“Fuck, how old are you?”

Your brows furrowed, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. “Old enough to fuck a stranger in their bathroom. What the fuck, Bucky?”

“I’m friends with your dad, okay? We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, before shrugging and walking past him. “Your loss, Buck. Come on, Bert, let’s go. I have some energy to work off now.”

As you and Bert walked down the sidewalk toward the park, you felt Bucky’s eyes glued to you the entire way.

The guilt only lasted so long. The universe forbid you from him. Made you off limits. So fucking young. He should have never touched you. Not because it was wrong, but because now the feel of you had burned into his memory. It came to him every goddamn night when he tried to sleep. And every goddamn morning when he inevitably woke up hard from his increasingly filthy dreams.

Avoiding you proved to be impossible. As hard as Bucky tried, you were always just there. He tried to relax in his backyard and there you were, swimming lazily in your dad’s pool. When he tried to go to the park, you were laying in the sun or running laps. The day he was across the street, helping Ms. Rose in her garden, was when he realized you were fucking with him.

He was minding his own business, having a lovely conversation with his elderly neighbor, when suddenly you appeared in your dad’s driveway. A little white bikini top and cutoff denim shorts were the only thing you wore. Bucky swallowed hard. The beads of sweat running down his neck were no longer just from the scorching sun. He thought maybe you were going to lie out. But no, it was worse. So much worse. You walked to the side of the house and bent over as you turned on the water house.

“No,” Bucky whispered to himself, his eyes wide as he watched you spray the hood of your little sports car.

Ms. Rose was oblivious, talking even though Bucky was clearly not paying attention anymore. His eyes watched every move you made. He swore he was dreaming. There was no way you just squeezed your sponge over yourself, but you must have, because Bucky was watching the soapy water seep through your now sheer top, and trail down your legs. When you bent over on your tiptoes to cleanse the back window of your car, he knew he hadn’t imagined the flirty looks you had been giving him throughout the week. You still wanted him. And goddamn, he wanted you more than anything. Just as his cock was urging him to get up and go do something about the way you were displaying yourself for him, your dad pulled up in the driveway.

“Fucking shit,” Bucky muttered, spinning away from you and focusing on the garden he was supposed to be attending to.

What worried him now was the complete absence of guilt he felt. He should be ashamed. Horrified at his behavior and thoughts. But the more he tried to tell himself that you were forbidden fruit, the more he wanted to take a damn bite.

**

He stayed confined to his house for the next two days. Curtains shut to avoid the temptation of peeking into your backyard. Your dad–his friend, kept texting, asking him to hangout and Bucky felt horrible ignoring the messages. But he couldn’t do it, not until you were gone. He thought about going to visit Sam and Clint in the city for the next week, just until you went back to wherever you had come from. But that would be too pathetic. He just needed a distraction, something to help him stop thinking about your ass in those little shorts, the water dripping between your breasts…

Bucky’s ringtone brought him back to the present, and he yanked his hand out of his shorts, cursing himself for losing control yet again. It was your dad. He sighed, pulling his large hand down his face as he answered the phone, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Buck! I was worried you wouldn’t answer!”

“Yeah, sorry, been busy.”

“Are you coming tonight?”

Bucky was silent, trying to remember what he could be referencing.

“The game is tonight; my daughter went out with some friends, so I invited the usual gang over. Thought you’d bring that beer we all like.”

Bucky’s heart sank a little at the news that you wouldn’t be there, but maybe that was a good thing. “Sure, sure, I’ll come over soon.”

Bucky hung up the phone and looked down at his lap… first a cold shower, then the party.

**

The night air was crisp, and cool as you wandered through your large backyard. You were still a little tipsy from the night out with your friends, but your vision was clear enough to spot Bucky leaning against the fence talking to some of your dad’s friends. He was a vision in his French blue t-shirt and pants; his beard was scruffy with spots of gray, his hair fluffy and just untamed enough to make you imagine your fingers in it. When he laughed, his nose scrunched, and his head tossed back just a little. Was he a god? Apollo himself, here to bring you the sun? You didn’t even realize your feet were carrying you in his direction until he caught your eye. The look of panic on his face made you stop where you were, a few feet away. He mumbled excuses and avoided your eye as he made a quick exit, heading for the gate on the side of the house.

Determined to get what you knew you both wanted, you took a deep breath for courage and chased after him, glad everyone appeared too drunk to pay attention to you.

Once in the dark shadows and hidden on the side of the house, you called his name. He froze, his hand on the gate, likely debating if he would run or answer your call.

“You’re being very rude, you know.”

He still didn’t move.

“Can I at least thank you for your help the other day?”

His shoulders tensed. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

“Well, I am.”

Bucky turned around then, inhaling sharply as his eyes roved over you. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“Oh, but I have so many ways I could say thank you.”

He took a step closer, and you pressed your back against the brick of the house. Heat prickled over your skin as he advanced on you, nearly touching you now.

“Don’t you wanna hear your options?” You whispered, eyes flicking between his pretty lips and his even prettier eyes.

“We can’t,” Bucky swallowed.

“But I’ll be real good for you, I promise. Let you do whatever you want.”

“Christ,” Bucky muttered, inching even closer, his thigh slotting between your legs.

“Touch me,” you whispered, afraid you’d scare him away.

His fingers trailed up your thigh so lightly you barely felt them. Bucky stopped at the hem of your dress and you were about to complain when he pressed his hips against you, his prominent erection digging into your hip.

“Oh god, I wanna suck your cock so bad, daddy. Please, please let me.”

Bucky closed his eyes, just barely rutting against you. The veins in his neck were strained as he tried to remain in control.

“God dammit, we can’t. It’s wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” Your hands skimmed up his broad chest and over his shoulders. “I think it turns you on.”

Bucky shook his head, and you pulled him closer so you could whisper in his ear. “I think your cock gets hard every time you think about how you’re not supposed to fuck me.”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Bucky breathed against your neck, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You’re all I think about. I want to ruin you, claim every piece of you with my fingers, and my tongue, god I wanna taste you so bad.”

“Please, daddy.”

His cock throbbed against you. “Stop, you gotta stop calling me that, kitten.” Bucky pushed away from you, still caging you in against the brick. “I’m serious. We can’t do this. I’m trying to be a decent guy here.”

You weren’t listening, and Bucky’s eyes trailed down your body to where your hand had slipped under your dress. Before he could say anything, you held two glistening fingers in his face, taunting.

“Just a taste.” You gently swiped your fingers over his plush bottom lip and his eyes went so dark you were almost afraid.

And then he was gone; disappearing so quickly that he was a blur in the night.

**

Bucky couldn’t breathe. He literally held his breath for as long as he could to avoid inhaling your sweet scent. He nearly broke his backdoor down trying to hurry and get inside.

“Fuck!” He shouted as finally got the door to open and he stumbled inside, drunk with lust.

His cock was so hard, he was already unbuttoning his pants and yanking the zipper down as he hurried through his kitchen. He just had to make it upstairs, but the temptation on his lips was too much, his clothes were suffocating, he need to fucking come. He braced himself on the wall by the stairs, his right hand quickly pulling his heavy cock out and pumping it with speed and efficiency. He was already so close; it was not a time for teasing. He got off on the smell of you on his lips, the feel of you pressed against him earlier that night, the dirty things you had promised–god he was an idiot, he could have you on your knees right now. He could hardly remember the last time he had a hot little mouth wrapped around him.

He cursed under his breath, fumbling for a tissue as his balls tightened and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, coming hard as the taste of you exploded in his mouth.

**

Bucky had reached his limit. He was done. Today was the day he was going to ruin you. He decided this as he watched you over his fence. You were lounging by your pool, completely nude, and posed to tease the fuck out of him. One leg was bent at the knee, blocking his view of your cunt. His eyes trailed up the length of your body, only to be disappointed that your book was blocking his view of your tits. But he zeroed in on the bit of side boob he could see, licking his lips as he imagined kissing the little heart tattoo he didn’t know you had there.

He cleared his throat, and you lifted your gaze to smile at him.

“Oh hello, looking for my dad?”

Bucky’s gaze darkened. “Over here. Now.”

You froze, and Bucky wondered if you really thought he could resist you forever.

“Now, kitten.”

You nodded, turning to grab your sundress before quickly making your way to his side of the fence.

“You didn’t need to bother with the dress.” Bucky grabbed the back of your neck and pulled your lips to his.

Finally.

Fucking finally.

His tongue invaded your mouth aggressively, making up for lost time. You gasped when he nipped at your bottom lip, his frustrations spilling out. He pulled back enough to look you in the eye, both of your breaths ragged.

You opened your mouth, probably to say something cocky. But Bucky silenced you by pushing softly but firmly on your shoulders. You dropped to your knees so fast that Bucky chuckled.

“Eager?”

You already had his fly open, your tongue pressed against the wet spot his cock had made in his underwear, and he shuddered.

“And you aren’t?”

“No teasing.”

You answered by pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was thick and curved, his pink tip begging to be sucked.

“Holy–fuck,” Bucky dragged out the last word, reaching for the fence for support as you took him into your throat.

It had been so long since he had experienced this. While he longed for your pussy, this was different… looking down at you on your knees for him–lips wrapped tight and your tongue moving so perfectly–he wouldn’t last.

He should have taken you inside. Now he had to be quiet, had to contain the moans and gasps he wanted to let out every time you took him deeper.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky groaned as your nose pressed against his pelvis. “Wanna fuck your face, sweetheart.”

You moaned, and his dick throbbed in tune with his rapid heartbeat. But as he wrapped his vibranium hand in your hair, prepping himself to come down your throat, your backdoor opened and shut loudly.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed as your dad stepped out onto the patio and waved at him. He nudged your shoulder, and you pulled back, keeping his tip in your mouth.

Bucky gave you a warning look as your dad approached the fence.

He should have known better. As soon as he started talking to your dad, trying to get rid of him, your hot mouth slid down his cock again, slowly, but it still made him stutter. You froze once your nose was pressed against him again, and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief, until you swallowed and he nearly groaned out loud. Somehow your dad was still clueless, rambling on about-well, Bucky didn’t know what he was talking about anymore. He bit his lip hard as your tongue lapped at his balls, the tip of his cock still in your throat. A curse slipped through his lips. He was sure he looked like he was in pain–he was about to come and you wouldn’t stop–he didn’t want you to stop.

Your dad frowned. “You, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky choked out, annoyed now that you had completely pulled back, licking his tip teasingly. “Just playing with my kitten. She’s being a bad girl.”

Bucky smirked as you clenched your thighs together.

“But I think she just needs attention. I’ll see you later.”

With that, your dad finally left and as soon as he was safely inside your house, Bucky tucked himself back into his pants and squatted down to look you in the eye.

“What happened to being a good girl for daddy, huh?”

“Couldn’t help it.”

Bucky kissed you fiercely, before bringing you to your feet. “Inside.”

You didn’t hesitate, running to his backdoor as he slowly stalked behind you.

**

Bucky’s tongue held power. You were sure of it. It tortured, teased, and pleased all in one firm, wet swipe. And he did it for what seemed like hours. Not letting you go until you begged for a break. When he finally lifted his head from between your trembling thighs, you groaned at the sight. His handsome beard glistened with your arousal, and his blue eyes were dark with need. Your legs spread further for him and he smirked as he climbed over your body to reach your lips.

“Good girl; gonna take my cock, kitten?”

“Yes daddy, give it to me,” you nearly whined as you felt him press the tip against your entrance.

He was quiet as he slid in, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders. You gripped them tight as he split you open slowly, every throbbing vein rubbing you in just the right way.

“Oh god, you’re so big,” you whimpered once he was fully inside you.

His breath was ragged against your neck, and even your feet pressing into his firm ass wasn’t enough to get him to move yet.

“Please,” you begged, and finally he pulled out. Bucky fucked slow but deep, making sure you felt everything he gave you. Every drag was heaven, every thrust euphoria. His vibranium hand was cradling the back of your head, tangled in your hair, his other gripping your hip to keep you in place. You climbed quickly, but you needed more.

“Faster, please, I can take it.”

Bucky’s head dropped against yours for a second before he obliged. He moved his hand from your hair to the headboard, slowly building up the speed of his thrusts.

You could feel his control slipping, his thrusts felt more frantic, the muscles in his arms bulged, and his breaths grew even more ragged.

Yet you still needed more.

“Talk to me,” you finally whispered, almost embarrassed to ask.

Bucky froze, and you feared maybe you had ruined the moment. But then he gave you that ridiculously hot, lopsided smirk and pressed his lips to your ear.

“You want me to tell you how good you feel?”

You nodded, swallowing thickly as he resumed his pace.

“Want to hear how badly I wanna ignore your pleasure and fuck you hard and fast?”

“Yes!” You groaned, lifting your hips to urge him to move faster.

 “Want me to tell you how I have to masturbate every fucking day thinking about your lips, your cunt, your ass?”

“You touch yourself, wishing your cock was up my ass?”

“Fuck yes.” Bucky sounded truly broken, and you lifted his head to see the desire in his eyes.

“Next time,” you managed to speak before his pace turned even more punishing.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me. Tell me what else you like, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come.”

“Suck my tits, daddy, I’m so close.”

“With pleasure,” Bucky immediately moved his lips to the little tattoo on the side of your breast. Swiping his tongue over it a few times while his big hands squeezed your tits. His pace slowed slightly as he lost himself in worshiping your breasts. His tongue teased until you were nearly frantic with desire. With one last slow lick over your nipple, his warm mouth wrapped around it. Your back arched, and you came almost instantly, drawing a deep groan from him as he continued to suck hungrily.

You knew he had to be close. He was putting off his own release to draw more and more from you.

“Wanna ride you, daddy.”

He didn’t argue, flipping the two of you over so you were on top of him, your hands planted on his muscular chest.

You didn’t think he could get any better, but this angle made your eyes roll to the back of your head. Yeah, there would definitely be a next time, and a time after that. As many times as he’d allow.

His fingers gripped your hips hard, and you fluttered around him at the thought of the bruises he would leave behind.

“I’m close,” Bucky said, almost reluctantly. “Gotta stop.”

“Can’t,” you said breathlessly, moving your hips faster.

He groaned, arguing with you even as his hand moved from your hip to your breast and his hips jerked off the bed.

“Come inside me, daddy, need it.”

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky’s head dipped back. “You can’t–can’t say shit like that.”

“Why?” You questioned, leaning down to his ear. “Because you’re not supposed to be fucking me? Because you’re not supposed to want to fuck me?”

“Stop,” Bucky groaned, thrusting faster.

“Because you’re not supposed to have your fat cock balls deep in my little pussy?”

A strangled noise left Bucky’s throat, and he threw you onto your back. You were disappointed, expecting him to finish himself over your stomach, but before you could even pout his was back inside you. If you thought he was needy before, this was frantic. He hugged your body tight to his, his feet scrambled against the sheets, looking for purchase so he could fuck you deeper. 

He couldn’t string together a sentence anymore, but you no longer needed him to tell you how good he felt. You could feel it with each throb of his cock deep inside you.

“Can’t stop–” he gasped, and you grabbed his ass, pushing him deeper.

A hungry, desperate sound left his mouth, and you knew you had him.

“Give it to me,” you whispered in his ear. “Fuck my little pussy, daddy, it’s yours.”

Bucky’s hand gripped your ass hard as he shoved his cock as deep as it would go. His teeth bit your neck as he came. You yelped at the pain, but tangled your hand in his hair to keep him there.

His thrusts became more frantic at first as he fucked himself through his orgasm, but eventually he slowed, the static in his brain clearing just enough to speak again. You were both keenly aware that he’s still coming, fucking you slowly as he does.

“Fuck, such a good girl, taking it so well.”

All you could was whimper, entirely spent.

“Shh, it’s okay. You did so well for me.” Bucky kissed you gently, distracting you from the loss of his cock.

“Should have done it sooner,” you mumbled, and Bucky nipped your bottom lip.

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. Promise.”

You were about to give a sarcastic answer when he deliberately pressed himself against your hip and your eyes went wide.

Bucky nodded, a cocky smile on his lips.

You lifted your head, looking down to confirm with your own eyes before flopping down onto the bed. “God, you’re a fucking wet dream.”

“You’re one to talk, kitten. Now let me take care of you so you can be good and ready for that round two you promised.”

Bucky squeezed your ass before leaving the bed, leading you to the shower.

His guilt was no longer present, completely replaced by fiery lust.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Dancing in the Dark (Helmut Zemo)

Summary: you're tired of the responsibilities of the royal family. Tonight, you just want a night to yourself.

WC: 900ish

Warnings: None, fluff, maybe a smidge of self cdoubt?

Read on AO3!

---

The ballroom glittered under a sea of chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of roses and the sound of laughter and music from the band playing in the corner of the room, out of the way of the main floor. You moved through the throng of elegantly dressed guests, a soft smile on your lips as you greeted some of them. Tonight was the annual royal gala, an occasion that filled the palace with nobles and dignitaries from across the realm. Waiters and maids filtered through the floor, in between dancing couples and people enjoying the food served.

You were supposed to be enjoying yourself, but your mind wandered, even as you smiled through conversations and greetings. Beneath the layers of silk and satin, you felt a sense of confinement, a weight of expectation. As the daughter of the king, you were expected to make a perfect match tonight. But you could hardly keep the forced smile on your face.

Across the room, you spotted him. Helmut Zemo—charming, enigmatic, with an air of confidence that drew you in like a moth to a flame. He wore a tailored suit that accentuated his sharp features and exuded a magnetic presence that was hard to ignore. But you knew him to be a lowly nobleman.

With a determined breath, you weaved your way through the crowd until you stood before him. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he offered you a knowing smile.

"Princess," he greeted, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "There’s no way you know I could be the princess from a first glance."

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “Oh, but I do. I’m just surprised that your father allows you to roam so freely among us common folk.”

A playful smirk danced on your lips. “You think I’m just another noblewoman, don’t you?”

“I know you’re more than that,” he replied, his voice low. “You’re not just a title; you’re full of life, a spirit that can’t be contained.”

Your heart raced. No one had ever seen beyond the crown. “And you? You’re just a man with a past, a shadow among the light. You're not exactly a charmer, Helmut.”

Zemo chuckled softly, his expression shifting to one of sincerity. “Perhaps I am. But tonight, I’m simply a man captivated by a woman who defies expectations.”

In that moment, the music faded into the background. The world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of understanding. You felt an irresistible urge to break free from the confines of your title, to embrace the connection you felt with him.

“Would you care to dance?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took your hand, leading you to the dance floor. As the music swelled, you moved together, lost in the rhythm. Zemo’s hand rested at the small of your back, grounding you as your heart soared.

“Tell me,” he said, leaning closer, “what is it like to wear a crown? To be a symbol of power and responsibility? To have the townsfolk adore you, watch over your every move?”

You hesitated, the weight of your answer heavy in the air. “It’s isolating. Everyone sees the princess, not the person underneath. They see me as a spoiled brat because of what I was born into. I long for freedom, for the chance to be… just me.”

He paused, studying your face. “Then why not take it? Defy the expectations. Be who you truly are, not who they want you to be.. Why not take the chance to run away?”

His words resonated deep within you. You had spent so long being what was expected, but with Zemo, you felt the pull of possibility, even if only for a moment. The music slowed, and the moment hung between you like a secret waiting to be shared.

“I could never abandon my responsibilities,” you finally replied, though uncertainty tinged your voice.

Zemo leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine. “Responsibilities can be shared. You don’t have to carry the weight alone.”

With a sudden spark of courage, you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. “And what would you know of responsibility, Helmut?”

A shadow flickered across his face, but he quickly masked it with a charming smile. “Perhaps more than you think. I’ve learned that sometimes, letting go is the greatest act of courage.”

In that moment, you saw a glimpse of his own burden—a life lived in shadows, shaped by loss and ambition. You realized that beneath the facade of the charming man was a man who understood the complexities of life in a way that few others did.

As the music faded and the dance came to an end, you took a step back, breathless. “Maybe there’s a part of me that wants to let go, even if just for tonight. I don't want to worry about hiding away from responsibilities, or which parliament I have to meet with... Tonight, I just want to be me.”

His gaze softened, and he brushed a thumb across your knuckles. “Then let’s make this evening unforgettable.”

You felt a thrill of excitement mixed with fear. Could you truly embrace the freedom Zemo offered, even if just for a night? With a nod, you took his hand, ready to step into the unknown.

[aquaticmercy]

Hot Chocolate?

Summary: Bucky wakes up from a nightmare and can’t find you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : PTSD, nightmares, panic. very slight cursing. hurt/comfort. Very much an angsty fic.

Requested by : myself again 

Word count : 1.4k

Note : As someone who has struggled with sleep disorders, writing this helped me reach a strange catharsis. Since today is World Mental Health day, please check up on your friends, my loves! Oh and I am still accepting requests, I just have enough prompts for the rest of this week and will be replying to your asks at the start of next week! Also, do Americans use electric kettles? Sincerely, someone who lives in England.

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

Bucky shot awake. He shuddered, trying to bat away the lingering visions of his nightmare that clung to him like a drenched blanket.

He found his lungs grasping for air with panic gasps as his eyes darted around the bedroom. The shadows casted by the starlight filtered through the curtains took shapes that made his heart race. For a split second, he thought he wasn’t in his apartment anymore. He was back in the Siberian Hydra lab, cold metal restraints nipping into his skin. He heard his handler’s voice speaking Russian, echoing the room with his old trigger words.

He forced himself out of this terrified state, grounding himself in reality. His chest was heaving, his eyes were bleary. Instinctively, his hand reached for the space next to him. 

It was empty.

You weren’t there.

A wave of panic crashed over him, and this was far more constricting than the terror of his nightmares. His heart started pounding more violently in his chest. His fingers grazed the sheets where you should have been. You had at least been gone long enough for the pillows to grow cold.

He could feel his pulse in his veins, each beat hammering the insides of his skull. His mind spiralled uncontrollably, thoughts feeding off the remains of the nightmare and twisting them into something much worse.

Had you left him? 

What did he do? 

Had he driven you away?

Was this it?

Bucky hastily threw off the covers, sprawling it all on your bedroom floor. He stumbled out of bed, mind clouded with fear and panic. The apartment was eerily quiet— too quiet for him to handle on his own. Too quiet for his overwhelmingly loud thoughts.

He waded through the hall as if he was four feet deep in muddy waters, his bare feet softly thudding against the floorboards. The faint sound of water boiling reached his ears. His breath hitched, his heart racing.

Emerging into the open space, his eyes darted around the dark living room, his gaze finally landing on the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He walked towards the kitchen.

There you were.

You were standing by the kitchen counter, a mug in one hand, the other resting on the kettle. You were so beautiful. So perfect, compared to him.

You looked lost in thought, your posture relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him, though you were unaware.

Bucky’s feet stayed where he was for a moment, as if ice had frozen over him. Relief washed over him so fast that it nearly knocked all the air out of his lungs. 

You were here. You hadn’t left. 

The relief was quickly replaced by the gnawing ache of guilt, the kind that made his chest feel tight and his head swim feel like it was underwater. He’d thought you were gone, and the mere thought of it had sent him into a spiralling depth. How pathetic.

He couldn’t help it. He constantly felt like teetering on the edge of losing you. Like every day with you was borrowed time. Like he had already stayed his welcome. Like he wasn’t worthy of holding you in his arms.

Perhaps the reason he was so jaded sometimes, was that he was sure you’d wake up and realise he was too broken, too damaged. 

When he played this scenario in his head, you’d walk out the door, leaving him a shell of the man he is now. He thought about it more that he’d care to admit.

His heart was still pounding in his chest as he moved closer to you. His footsteps were slow and uncertain. Your eyes lifted to meet his stormy blue ones as he entered the kitchen, your brow furrowing in concern when you saw his pale, shaking face.

"Bucky?" your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. 

He shivered a bit, unable to form words for just a second. The ache in his stomach and the ball in his throat made it impossible to speak. His eyes dropped to the floor, shame curling a painful knot in his core. 

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” he finally muttered, struggling to get every word out, as if he was swallowing glass. “I thought…” He trailed off, the rest of the sentence too painful to say out loud. Instead, small sobs escaped his lips.

You set the mug down on the counter and closed the distance between the two. Your hand found his arm, your fingers warm against the cool vibranium. 

“Hey,” you said gently, willing your voice to be as soothing as can be, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky’s gaze stayed fixed on nothingness. You could hear his jaw clicking nervously, like a man terrified for his life. 

“I thought you’d left,” he admitted in a cracked whisper, sounding as fragile as he felt. “Thought I’d… driven you away.”

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice. He sounded like a whimpering puppy, begging to be held.

He had such a raw, vulnerable nature that he tried his best to keep hidden all the damn time. You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as he allowed you to. You needed him to know you were never letting him go.

At first, his body was frozen like a petrified statue— he wasn’t sure he deserved the comfort. But slowly, his muscles relaxed under your touch.

“I’m right here, darling,” You whispered. Your words were firm but gentle. “I’m always right here.”

He let out a shaky breath. His forehead dropped to rest against the top of your head, breathing on your scent— the scent that always brought him a sense of calm. “I don’t… I don’t know why I keep thinking you’ll leave.”

“I’m not.” You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m not,” you repeated again, hoping that if you said it enough times, he’d finally believe it.

The sincerity of those two simple words made his throat tighten, his chest constricting under the weight of emotions he had always struggled to fully process. He had never ever wrapped his head around how you could stand here, looking at him—someone so broken and damaged—with such gentle desire. He had never believed he deserved it.

But he wanted to believe, to trust that maybe he wasn’t as alone as he always feared. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t going to leave him behind like he feared you would.

The faint shimmer of tears fractured the soft kitchen light. He was at a loss of words at how you were holding him together, when he couldn't even do it for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I keep putting you through this.”

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining with his. Your grip was warm, It was reassuring and steady. “Don’t be,” you said softly. You could tell that he had a nightmare. You learned the signs— the shaking, the sweating. The look of restlessness despite being asleep for the last several hours. “You just had a rough night.”

Bucky trembled against you, feeling him unravelling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was short and it came in shaky bursts. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and heavy, soaking into your skin. They started quietly, a gentle release, but soon turned into shuddering sobs that echoed against the kitchen counter, the walls, the floors.

His grip tightened, fingers twirling into the fabric of your shirt as if you were his anchor in this reality. Each sob was raw, steeped in guilt and in the fear of losing you.

No matter how vulnerable he felt, he knew that in your embrace, there was no judgement. You held him tighter, whispering soft reassurances and sweet nothings— promises that you’d stay with him forever and ever. Until the end of time. Until your heart gave out.

“Do you want hot chocolate, too?” you asked softly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a small laugh, your words a shocking catharsis, bringing him out of the spiral. 

Oh, you always knew how to say the right thing at the right time.

He nodded, squeezing your hand one more time, just to reassure himself that you were real, that you weren’t slipping away.

You smiled gently at his quiet laugh, slightly reaching out to turn the electric kettle back on again without letting your grip on him falter.

As the kettle hummed in the background, Bucky held you close, finally convincing himself that no matter how dark the nightmares were, you would always be there when he woke up.

-end

[vunblr]

The Weight of Choices

Pairing: Ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.

Word Count: About 8.9k.

He was late. If Y/n didn’t know better, she’d think he was doing it on purpose. Bucky had agreed to watch their son tonight so she could go on a date, the third one since their divorce two years ago. The last couple of times, she’d managed to find a friend to babysit, but Saturday nights were always tough. So in the end, she had no choice but to come clean and ask Bucky.

She could still hear his voice from that awkward phone call, his tone edged with surprise when she’d told him she had plans.

“A date?” he repeated, the edge of disbelief hard to miss.

"Yeah," she’d replied casually, but Bucky’s silence lingered longer than usual. He hated texting, so phone calls had become their norm, even for the smallest of things.

“With who?” His attempt to sound nonchalant fell flat, the tension threading through every word.

“Chris,” she said, keeping her tone light, “You know, the music teacher at the kindergarten where I work? Blonde, easy smile... we walked past him once when he was out with his dog, Dodger.”

Bucky scoffed, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. “I knew it. I knew he had a thing for you.”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Oh, please.”

“Every time I’d drop by the kindergarten, he’d just… linger. His eyes followed you the whole time like he couldn’t look away. People don’t stare like that unless they’re thinking something. And the way he’d smile, all soft and attentive, he was trying too hard to be just a ‘friendly co-worker.” His voice had dropped a notch, irritation creeping in.

“Are you serious?” she shot back, incredulous. But Bucky wasn’t done.

“How long’s this been going on?” The question came out more like an accusation.

“It’s our first date. You know I only recently started dating again,” she replied, her patience wearing thin.

He paused, clearly unsatisfied. “So what, he’s just been waiting for his chance, ready to pounce-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, James,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “You’re not entitled to know anything about my love life the moment you decided you wanted the divorce.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. She could hear him breathing, the tension stretching between them, until finally, he sighed.

“You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I’ll take care of Benjamin on Saturday night.”

The recall of the conversation was interrupted by Ben, who wanted to show her what he did with his Legos.

Bucky had been sitting in front of the house for half an hour now. Sometimes, like tonight, he regretted what he’d done, but deep down, he knew it had been necessary. After the terrifying incident when Hydra agents attempted to kidnap their son, hoping to test if any of the serum’s powers had been passed down genetically, he realized that his past would eventually catch up with them. He had to make sure they were safe, even if it meant tearing apart everything they’d built.

He knew she wouldn’t understand if he told her the truth. If he had laid out his fears and his guilt and spiraled into a self-deprecating parade like he always did, she would have fought him and convinced him to stay. So he waited.

He knew the only way to make her believe it, was to weave in just enough truth to his argument, so, slowly he began pulling away, setting the stage for what would be his ultimate break. Late nights, distant conversations, an almost non-existent sexual life and missed moments with their son, all led to this. He needed her to see that the life they had wasn’t something he could carry anymore.

When the moment came, he didn’t hesitate. He told her he felt suffocated by their life together. That the roles of husband and father were more than he could bear after everything he had been through. She didn’t believe him at first, and he could see the determination in her eyes, the will to fight for what they had.

So, he played the card he knew would make her stop fighting him. He spoke of the years he’d spent as a puppet, how he had never truly known freedom, never had control over his life. He appreciated everything she had done for him, all the love and support she had given, but it wasn’t enough. He needed air, space to figure out who he was beyond the roles he had been forced into. He made it sound like staying with her, staying in the family they’d built, was just another form of captivity.

It crushed her. Bucky could see the moment her resistance faded. She believed him, not because she wanted to, but because he made it seem so real. So she stood there, heartbroken, but unable to argue against the logic he’d presented.

The first months after the divorce were hard on both parts. For her, that time was the hardest, filled with sleepless nights and the nagging feeling that Bucky had simply abandoned her, walked away from their life, their love, without a second thought. She wrestled with the confusion and the heartbreak, trying to piece together where things had gone wrong. For Bucky, it was a different kind of suffering. He bore the weight of his decision in silence, knowing he had walked away to protect them, but that didn’t ease the sting of loneliness or the guilt that gnawed at him.

Their lives moved on separately. They saw each other only in passing, and even that was rare. Bucky would pick up Benjamin directly from daycare once a week, dropping him off the next morning before heading back to his life, careful to avoid lingering long enough for awkward conversations. Sometimes he didn’t make it at all, missing his time with his son when missions pulled him away. Immersing himself in his work was easier than facing what he had left behind, the family he still wanted but couldn’t allow himself to have. Meanwhile, she did her best to create some normalcy for Benjamin, even as the space Bucky left behind echoed through their small home.

Even though their lives had drifted apart, Bucky never truly let go. He kept his distance, but never far enough to lose sight of them. Unbeknownst to her, he knew everything that went on in the household, the daily rhythms of their life, the way she struggled and adapted to her new normal without him. From the shadows, Bucky lurked unnoticed in the neighborhood, always keeping an eye on them. She never noticed, never had a clue that even when he was away on missions, he somehow knew when Benjamin caught a cold or when she had a rough day at work.

It was a secret vigil that gave him a twisted sense of comfort, knowing they were safe even if they no longer shared the same home. He would catch fleeting glimpses of her tucking their son into bed or hear his faint laughter playing in the yard. It was enough to remind him of what he’d lost, but not enough to bring him back to the life he believed he couldn’t have.

That was why Bucky was caught off guard when she mentioned her date with that guy, the music teacher. He never saw that coming. He had always known the man had a soft spot for her, could see it in the way he acted whenever she was around, how he lingered a little longer during pick-ups at the kindergarten, helping to manage the children even if it wasn’t his job, always with an excuse to retain her and talk. His body language was an open book. But back then, Bucky had dismissed him as harmless, barely giving him a second thought. To him, Chris had always been like a friendly Labrador: approachable, with no bite. A non-threat.

But now, that harmless Labrador had grown fangs. The guy wasn’t just hanging around the edges anymore; he was stepping in, taking her to dinner, moving into a space Bucky had once occupied. And he had no choice but to suck it up and watch it happen, watch her walk out the door with him. He could handle the distance, the brief moments of tension when they had to interact, but this? The idea of Chris sitting across from her at a candlelit table, making her laugh, holding her gaze... it twisted his guts.

And God knows what else would happen after dinner. Would Chris try to kiss her goodnight? Would she let him? Or worse, would they end up back at his place? His mind ran wild with the possibility of them taking things further, crossing a line he never wanted to imagine. Would she let him touch her in ways Bucky used to, let him see sides of her only he had known? He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the thoughts from torturing him.

Eventually, he glanced at the clock and sighed, raking a hand through his hair. There was no point in torturing himself any further, he couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer.

Reaching the front porch, Bucky hesitated for a moment. He straightened his posture adjusting his clothes, then knocked on the door. As he waited, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the tension.

When the door finally swung open, for a split second, neither of them spoke. Her eyes widened just a little, her lips parting as she took him in. It had been a long time since she’d seen him. His hair had grown back to shoulder length, a few strands falling loose across his forehead. A three-day stubble sharpened his jawline, in a way that made him look rugged and effortlessly handsome. And was he wearing that shirt? The red and black lumberjack one that used to drive her wild?

Bucky caught her reaction and hit him like a shot of adrenaline. When he exited the bathroom that night and picked what to wear, he told himself it was just practical, something comfortable to wear while watching and playing with Ben. The cologne? Just a habit. But deep down, a part of him knew the truth: he wanted her to notice, and that split-second when her eyes widened, scanning him from head to toe, told him everything. She noticed. She definitely noticed. And something about that felt like a victory, even though he wasn’t supposed to be playing that game anymore.

He stared at her longer than necessary, his blue gaze drifting over the black dress she wore. New, he realized. It hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating her curves in a way that was impossible to ignore. The hemline? Too short for his liking. He clenched his jaw slightly, knowing full well Chris would be thrilled to see her like this.

Forcing himself to snap out of it, Bucky cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and calm, though the tension still simmered beneath the surface. “You look... good.” He meant it, but the words tasted bitter.

"Thanks," she said, her tone polite but distant, deliberately choosing not to compliment him back. She lingered for a moment, then added, “You’re late.”

Bucky flinched inwardly at the remark, though he kept his expression neutral. "Traffic," he muttered, stepping inside as she moved aside to let him in. An awkward silence settled between them, the air thick with things left unsaid.

Her fingers toyed with the edge of her dress as she cleared her throat, trying to fill the silence. “Ben is in the bathroom,” she said, her voice casual, but there was a tension beneath it. “You can wait for him in the living room.”

“Right,” Bucky replied, nodding stiffly. He walked past her and into the living room, the space feeling both familiar and foreign at the same time. He took a seat, trying to shake off the strange energy between them, but his mind kept wandering back to the fact that she was dressed for someone else.

A moment later, the doorbell rang, and she turned toward the sound, visibly relieved. She opened the door, and Bucky heard Chris’s voice, a cheerful greeting that she surely responded to with a soft, warm smile. Bucky didn’t need to see it, her tone was different with him, softer, more open.

“Hey,” Chris said, his voice bright, though there was a subtle shift when he paused. There was a beat of silence before he added, “You look amazing.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. Something pulled him from the couch, and before he knew it, he was standing in the hall, watching the interaction from a few feet away. His eyes narrowed as he observed Chris, sizing him up instinctively. Chris was taller than he remembered, clean-cut in a casual but neat button-down shirt, his easy smile faltering just a fraction when his eyes darted past her, catching sight of Bucky standing there.

Chris’s brows furrowed, but he quickly masked his reaction, giving Bucky a curt nod. “Uh, hey,” he greeted awkwardly, glancing between them.

It was her turn to narrow her eyes. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw him. Bucky stood at the edge of the hallway, staring directly at Chris, his expression unreadable. His eyes locked onto the man without blinking. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t saying anything, just staring.

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. Really? A display of male dominance, here and now? After everything he’d put her through, the mess he’d made of their lives, he suddenly decided he had the right to act territorial? What exactly did he think he was entitled to? The nerve of it sent a wave of irritation through her, tightening her grip on her coat.

But what frustrated her even more -what really troubled her- was that a part of her didn’t mind. Beneath her annoyance, something stirred, deep and undeniable, lurking just beneath the surface. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but his presence still had a hold on her. Maybe it didn’t bother her as much as she wanted to believe. Maybe, despite everything, there was still a part of her that reacted to him, to the way he watched her, the way he used to make her feel like the center of his world.

Before those feelings could rise any further, before she could let herself dwell on what they meant, she quickly turned back to Chris. She forced a bright smile, pushing away the conflicted thoughts swirling in her mind.

“We should get going,” she said, her voice light, pretending not to notice the tension still hanging in the air. She stepped closer to Chris, signaling it was time to leave, hoping to put some distance between her and the weight of Bucky’s gaze.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky stood frozen in place for a moment, the tension that had gripped him not easing, even with their absence. The quiet of the house felt heavier now, pressing down on him. His chest tightened as he stared at the closed door, half-expecting her to walk back in. Of course, she didn’t.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he replayed the scene in his head: her standing there, beautiful and confident, and Chris… that guy was so normal, so easygoing. Exactly what she deserved. Exactly what Bucky could never be. He raked a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. What was he even doing? He had no right, he was the one who walked away. He was the one who made her believe she wasn’t enough to keep him, that he wanted out. And now, here he was, silently raging because she was moving on, exactly like he supposedly wanted.

Stupid. That was the only word he could come up with to describe how he felt. Stupid for showing up looking the way he did, stupid for thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could still affect her. But what for? His job was to protect her and their son from the shadows, not to stand in the doorway, playing the part of some jealous lover. But God, it hurt more than he expected.

He crossed the living room, his steps heavy against the floor, and slumped into the couch. The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the TV in the background. Ben was still in the bathroom, probably playing with the liquid soap and making a mess, unaware of the tangled web of emotions his father was caught in.

The hours slipped by, though Bucky barely noticed at first. Benjamin was beyond excited to have his dad all to himself for the evening. They played, joked, and built elaborate lego fortresses, the boy’s laughter filling the house with a warmth Bucky hadn’t realized he missed so much. For a little while, he was able to shove everything else to the back of his mind. Being a dad, just a dad, felt like a relief. But every now and then, his gaze would drift to the clock on the wall. He couldn’t help it. As much as he tried to stay in the moment with his son, there was a lingering pull, a constant, nagging thought of where she was.

After he’d put Ben to bed, Bucky’s mind wandered back to the date. The image of her in that black dress haunted him, the way Chris had looked at her, the possibility of what might have happened after dinner. His thoughts spiraled, even though he knew it was none of his business anymore. He poured himself a scotch, the amber liquid swirling in his glass as he tried -and failed- to push the thoughts aside.

Eventually, the sound of the front door opening cut through the quiet. The familiar click of her shoes against the entryway tile echoed through the house, sharp and distinct. She was home.

Bucky didn’t move. He stayed where he was, seated at the old teakwood table, nursing his scotch. The only light on in the house was the dim glow above the kitchen, so she’d find him.

The sound of her footsteps grew closer, and he listened intently, his heart beating just a little faster despite his best efforts to keep calm.

She entered the kitchen, her steps a little less steady than usual, mumbling a soft “Hi” as she made her way inside. Bucky glanced up, immediately sensing that she was a little tipsy. She didn’t meet his eyes, just plopped down in the chair next to him with a tired sigh. “God, my feet are killing me,” she muttered, kicking off her heels and wincing.

For a while, the silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the fridge. She sighed absentmindedly, then reached for his glass of scotch, taking a sip without asking. He was taken aback by the casual intimacy of the gesture, but he said nothing, just watched her as she leaned back in her chair.

Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “Want me to rub your feet?” He froze. He couldn’t believe he’d said it, half-expecting her to snap at him or give him one of her sharp retorts.

But instead, she surprised him. She looked over at him, her eyes tired but soft, and then shrugged. “Yeah...” she said, her voice a little more relaxed than he expected.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by her response. His heart thudded against his ribcage as he moved toward her, kneeling down in front of her chair. His fingers hovered hesitantly over her ankle before gently wrapping around it, lifting her foot onto his knee.

As he began to knead his thumbs into her sore muscles, the tension that had been brewing in him all night seemed to ease, just a little. Her head lolled back against the chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this, touching her again in this way, after everything. He shouldn’t, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to relax more as the seconds passed, letting her guard down in a way that felt dangerously familiar.

“So... how was the date?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost too casual as he broke the silence.

Her eyes fluttered open at the question, and for a moment, he thought she might brush him off or remind him that it wasn’t his business. But instead, she gave a small shrug, her tone indifferent. “It was fine.”

Bucky frowned slightly, pressing his thumbs a little harder into the arch of her foot. He wasn’t sure if it was frustration or something else pushing his hands. “Fine?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice even.

“Yeah,” she murmured, closing her eyes. Her voice was soft, almost distracted. “Just... fine.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that. He couldn’t help himself, he pressed, his tone still light but with a thread of tension beneath it. “Only... fine?”

She sighed, her eyes still closed as if trying to keep the conversation from getting deeper. “What do you want me to say, Bucky?” Her voice wasn’t sharp, but there was a subtle edge in her words. “That it was amazing? That he swept me off my feet? Some dirty little details?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled for a moment, resting against her foot as he met her gaze. He didn’t respond right away, unsure if he even wanted to hear the truth, whatever it might be. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice a little more vulnerable than he intended.

“It was just fine, nothing more, nothing less”

A silence settled between them, but he wasn’t ready to let it drop. “Are you going to see each other again outside work?” he ventured, his hands slowly moving up her shin, his touch hesitant but growing bolder. The fact that she didn’t push him away emboldened him further. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Bucky’s hands continued their slow ascent, fingers brushing over her calf and then her knee, his touch firm but careful. When she didn’t pull away, he felt his pulse quicken. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of things unsaid.

“In a way,” she finally answered, her voice elusive, a touch distant. She shifted slightly in her chair, subtly parting her thighs as his hands wandered higher. The movement was small, but enough for him to catch it. His breath hitched, and his gaze flicked down to her legs before rising back up to her face, darkening with lust.

"Care to... elaborate?" he pressed again, his voice lower now, rougher. His fingers slid up to her inner thigh, lingering there with a possessive grip as if testing her reaction. Her legs instinctively spread wider beneath his touch, and that simple motion sent a rush of heat through him.

She shifted slightly, as if searching for the right words. "He’s... nice," she finally said, her voice a bit breathless under his touch. "He’s thoughtful, considerate, makes me laugh…” Her lips twitched in a small smile, but it quickly faded as she looked down at his hand resting on her thigh. “He’s... good.”

Bucky’s thumb paused, pressing a little harder, as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a murmur. “…And?”

She sighed, her eyes opening again to meet his intense gaze. “And… he’s not you.”

His grip on her thigh tightened involuntarily, his breath catching in his throat. He’d pushed her away, done everything he could to sever the ties between them, convinced himself it was for her protection. But now, hearing her admit that, it sent his head spinning.

“He’s not you.”

The room seemed smaller, the air heavier, as the tension between them crackled like electricity. His hand inched higher, dangerously close to where he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Every instinct in him screamed to close the distance, to take what he wanted, to forget everything that had led them to this point. But he forced himself to stop, his gaze locking onto hers, searching her face for any sign that she would tell him to stop.

She didn’t. Instead, she held his gaze, her breathing shallow as if waiting to see what he would do next.

Bucky’s grip tightened again. Fuck it. He leaned forward, pressing his face against her other inner thigh, his stubble grazing her skin as he inhaled her scent deeply, a growl rumbling in his chest. She tensed, feeling him nip gently at her sensitive flesh, and then a slow, deliberate lick followed, sending a shiver through her.

"Did he behave, or..." he paused, his tongue teasing the same spot before he looked up at her, his lips brushing her thigh as he continued, "...things got handsy?"

A gasp escaped her when she felt his mouth so dangerously close to where she wanted it most. Her head tilted back just slightly, her body betraying her as desire pooled in her belly. His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, their blue depths darkened with lust, and something more. His lips remained pressed against her skin, refusing to budge until he had his answer.

"You let him touch you?" His voice was a husky whisper, laced with jealousy.

She exhaled slowly, her breath shaky as the memory flickered through her mind. "Yes," she admitted, her voice low, reluctant. "But just briefly, when we ki—"

Before she could finish, Bucky’s hand shifted, moving up to cup her mound, his fingers pressing firmly against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her words died in her throat, a sharp intake of breath replacing them as his touch ignited a fire that spread through her veins. His hand was deliberate, unapologetic in the way it claimed her, the heel of his palm pressing against her pussy as if he had every right to be there.

"And then?" His question hung in the air, but she couldn’t find the words immediately.

Her lips parted as she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to feel something... but I didn’t. I just didn’t."

Her confession landed between them like a spark to dry wood, setting the tension ablaze. Bucky’s hand remained where it was, but his thumb stroked over the wet fabric, teasing her, testing her resolve as his gaze bore into hers. She had said what he needed to hear, what he craved to know, and now, there was no turning back.

Bucky’s thumb slid the fabric of her underwear aside, his fingers unhesitating as they slipped between her folds, finding her slick with need. He brushed upward, just barely grazing her clit, watching with dark, heavy-lidded eyes as she gasped at the contact. Her body arched involuntarily, but he didn’t relent, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, teasing her just enough to drive her crazy but not enough to give her what she craved.

“And…” his voice was low, rasping against the tension between them, “how long did it take you to realize you’d had enough? That it wasn’t going to work?”

His thumb circled lazily, making her hips shift forward, chasing the friction he barely offered. The question hung in the air, laced with his possessiveness, through every word. He didn’t wait for an answer, his fingers delving deeper inside her, coating themselves in her arousal before they moved back up, brushing over her clit again, this time with more pressure.

"One kiss?" His lips curled in a half-smirk as he watched her face contort with pleasure. He dipped his fingers inside her again, slow, dragging them out just as leisurely. "Two?"

She trembled, unable to form a coherent response, the sensation of his touch overwhelming her senses after so long. Her breath hitched as his fingers increased their pace, every stroke purposeful, designed to unravel her. Bucky leaned upward, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “How long, doll?” The way he said it, like a dare, made her heart race even faster.

Her head fell back, her body betraying any attempt at control as she whispered breathlessly, “One…”

A satisfied growl rumbled from him, his fingers rewarding her honesty with a firmer stroke, sending her spiraling closer to the edge.

It wasn’t fair. He had cast her aside, almost without looking back, tearing her world apart with his cold departure. And now here she was, grinding her pussy against his fingers like some desperate, needy whore, begging for more. A part of her wanted to slap him, to shove him away and scream at him for every sleepless night she spent wondering why she wasn’t enough, why he had thrown their life away so easily. She wanted to tell him how much she hated him for walking out on them.

But then, there was that traitorous side of her. The part that had never stopped hoping. The part that had always waited, held out some foolish, silent hope that he’d come back. That she’d see that flicker of warmth in his eyes again, the one that told her she was his entire world. And it wasn’t just her heart that longed for him, her body had missed him, too. She hated herself for it. For still thinking about him late at night when she touched herself, fingers slipping between her thighs as his name slipped from her lips in the darkness.

And that same traitorous side of her had ruined her date with Chris. She’d tried to be present, to laugh, to be charmed by his warm smile and thoughtful gestures. But all night, all she could think about was Bucky.

The way he’d looked at him, cold and assessing, as if he didn’t belong there, his presence filling the hallway like he still had some claim to it, to her. What was he trying to prove, anyway? That he was still the man of the house?

She hated how, even while Chris was talking, her mind drifted back to the feeling of Bucky’s fingers tracing his stupid shirt, her memory filling in the rough, familiar feel of his hands on her skin. And she knew, even if she couldn’t admit it aloud, that some part of her had wanted him to see her dressed up, to feel in some small way the longing and ache she’d carried in his absence.

And maybe that’s why she’d felt nothing when Chris had leaned in for a kiss, why his gentle smile and soft touches had felt hollow. Even his laugh, light and kind, hadn’t stirred her because it wasn't Bucky’s rough, rumbling chuckle or his stupidly confident grin. Bucky, in all his infuriating ways, still occupied every corner of her mind.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as his fingers worked her closer to the edge. She wanted to be angry, to let that rage consume her, but every time she opened her mouth to say something hurtful, to lash out at him, her body betrayed her. Every roll of her hips against his hand, every needy whimper that slipped from her throat, reminded her of just how much she had missed this.

It wasn’t fair. But she couldn’t stop.

With a light pinch on her swollen clit, the tension snapped, and she came hard on his fingers. Her mouth fell open, a moan escaping as her body convulsed, riding the wave of pleasure that coursed through her. The world blurred around her as her climax took over, her hips grinding against his hand, chasing every last second of the release.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, a mix of the overwhelming pleasure and the emotional storm swirling inside her. A few finally escaped, rolling silently down her cheeks, but before she could turn away, Bucky was there, his lips brushing them away with surprising tenderness. His breath ghosted over her skin as he whispered soft, comforting words she could barely make out, something about how beautiful she was, how good she had been for him, as if they hadn’t been tangled up in all this pain and heartache.

His touch was almost reverent as he slowly withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening from her release. Their gazes met, and he didn’t break eye contact as he brought those same fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with deliberate, agonizing slowness. He stood up in one fluid motion, effortlessly lifting her from the chair by the waist as if she weighed nothing, and in a swift, controlled movement, he placed her on top of the table, positioning himself between her legs.

Before she could even process it, his arms were around her, pulling her into a bear hug that was both tight and needy. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin as he inhaled deeply, taking her in.

He held her as if letting go was not an option, his grip firm yet strangely vulnerable. The way he clung to her felt like both a claim and an apology, urgent -almost broken- like he was holding onto her not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll leave,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough and low, the words vibrating against her neck. He didn’t dare look at her, not yet, because if he did, if he saw doubt or rejection in her eyes, it would break him.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Each second felt like an eternity. His breath was uneven, ragged, as he waited for her to say something, anything. Another moment passed, tension coiling tighter in his chest until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, bracing himself for the worst. But instead of the words that would send him away, he saw her eyes flicker downward to his lips. It was brief, a split-second decision, but it was enough.

So he leaned in, cautiously at first, like he was testing the waters after years of distance. His lips brushed against hers softly, almost hesitant, as if afraid this fragile moment would break apart. But the second she responded, it was like a dam broke. His hands cradled her face, deepening the kiss with desperation. It was messy, all-consuming, there was no gentleness, no tenderness. This was not the careful, delicate dance of two people testing the waters. This was hunger, a ravenous need to reclaim what had been lost. His lips moved down to her jaw, her neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, and she moaned softly, her fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked on the sensitive skin below her ear.

His hands gripped her waist, strong and possessive, pulling her closer until her body was flush against his. The need to feel her, to claim her, was overwhelming. It was like two years of silence, longing, and frustration had ignited in an instant, everything that had been pushed down now surging forward, unstoppable.

“I’ll ask you again, babydoll. Are you sure you want this?” Bucky’s voice was thick with restraint, the tension in his muscles barely contained as he hovered over her, his breath hot against her neck. He was giving her one last chance to stop this, to pull away, even though every fiber of his being was screaming for her. But instead of words, her answer was a quiet, deliberate motion. Her hand slid between them, deftly unbuttoning his jeans, her fingers brushing against the outline of his erection.

A low growl escaped him, and his hand shot down to catch her wrist, halting her movements. His gaze met hers, dark and intense, his chest heaving with barely restrained desire. “I need you to say it,” he murmured, voice rough, on the edge of control.

“Yes,” she whispered.

That was all he needed.

Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, not bothering with the buttons, his muscles flexing as the fabric slid off. The moment his skin was free, he didn’t give himself time to think. His eyes locked on hers as he grabbed the neckline of her dress. With a sharp tug, the fabric tore easily under his grip, the sound of it ripping filling the air. The dress fell to her waist, exposing her bare breasts to his gaze.

“Hey! It was brand new, you know?” she protested.

“I noticed,” he replied, his fingers grazing the tattered edge of her dress. “But you didn’t buy it to wear it for me, did you?” His voice dropped, thick with jealousy as he alluded to her date with Chris. He dipped his head, his lips hovering just above her exposed skin, his breath warm against her chest. “I don’t want it on you”. He latched his lips onto her nipple, his tongue swirling with a hungry need, while his vibranium fingers pinched and teased her other breast. His breath was hot against her chest as he whispered between kisses, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this... missed you.” His words came out rough, full of longing that he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Every night... thinking about touching you again. Tasting you. Making you come over my cock.”

Her body responded, arching into him. She bit her lip, trying to stifle a moan, afraid that maybe Ben could hear her, but it slipped out anyway.

His hands moved to her thighs, gripping them firmly as he let out a low growl. “I thought about this, over and over... how you’d feel under me, how you’d sound when I made you scream my name again.” His voice was thick, hoarse, as he tugged at her dress, tearing the fabric completely until it was nothing but rags on the floor. He didn’t stop there, his thumbs slipping under the waistband of her flimsy panties. With a swift tug, the seams gave way, tearing effortlessly in his hands. He brought the soaked cloth to his nose, inhaling deeply, groaning as if the scent alone was enough to drive him insane. “God, I’ve missed this,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving hers. He flicked his tongue against the ruined cloth, savoring the taste with a low, hungry growl.

Without warning, he tossed the panties aside. His hands moved quickly, unbuttoning what remained of his jeans and kicking off his shoes before sliding the denim and underwear down in one fluid motion. They hit the floor with a soft thud as he stepped toward her. “Tell me how much you missed me,” he demanded softly.

She stared at him, drinking him in. He looked leaner, his body sculpted in sharp lines of muscle. He’d lost weight, surely by going mission after mission mixed with his poor eating habits. He was never good at taking care of himself. She almost missed the small paunch he used to have these last years, the one he hated, but she’d loved to bite. There was something comforting about that softness, but now he was the embodiment of raw strength.

Her gaze drifted lower, lingering on the sight of his cock, standing at full attention. She swallowed. Apparently, her memories failed to measure up to reality. He was big, sure, she’d always known that, but this big? Her core tightened with need, clenching in raw anticipation.

"I missed you,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, laced with longing as her eyes lifted to meet his. “So much… you have no idea. God, you’ve ruined me.”

Her words shattered whatever restraint he had left. He’d imagined, countless times, that if this moment ever came, he’d take his time, savor her, and make it last. But now, faced with her beneath him, so close and so ready, patience was a luxury he no longer possessed.

Without a second thought, he gripped her thighs and spread her wide on the table, lining himself up as he dragged the head of his cock along her entrance, coating himself in her slick heat. In a swift, desperate thrust, he drove into her, hard and deep, filling her completely as a ragged groan escaped his lips.

She cried out, her body responding immediately, arching into him as he slammed into her again. His hands gripped her hips with bruising force, and his own moved in a relentless rhythm, every thrust driving him deeper. He couldn’t stop. Her moans spurred him on, her words circling in his head like a drug.

“Ruined you, huh?” His breath was ragged as he pulled almost all the way out, teasing her with the loss, before slamming back in. “Let me remind you how much.” With a raw hunger that had been bottled up far too long, Bucky's thrusts became brutal, each one driving her back along the table, her nails scraping against the wood as he took her over and over. The grip on her hips was iron-hard, pinning her down so she could do nothing but take everything he gave her. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “Think anyone else could ever do this?” he murmured, his voice dark and rough, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. His lips ghosted along her jaw, and he pushed her to answer, knowing the effect he was having on her. “Tell me,” he demanded softly “Could anyone else make you feel like this?” He wanted her to say it, to make her admit that no one else would ever satisfy her the way he could.

She whimpered, clutching at his shoulders as he pounded into her, her nails digging into his skin as he pushed her higher and higher. “No… no one else.” Her words were broken, barely audible over her moans, but it was all he needed to hear.

“That’s right” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he breathed, each word laced with raw possession as he thrust deeper. “Only me,” he rasped. “Only I get to make you feel this way.”

He growled, one hand leaving her hip to slide between them, his fingers pressing down on her clit in quick, merciless circles. “This is mine,” he hissed, metal fingers working just enough to bring her close before pulling away, only to return just as she thought she couldn’t take any more.

She cried out, her body writhing beneath him as he drove her to the edge. His pace never faltered, his hips grinding against hers with a relentless rhythm, and his grip on her only tightened as she arched off the table, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with lust and something darker, something possessive. His hands slid down the back of her thighs, pushing her legs up against her torso as he plunged deeper, she could barely breathe every time he bottomed out. The way he hit her, the pressure at her cervix, sent shockwaves of pleasure-pain coursing through her, each one making her mewl helplessly. Her thighs shook against his chest, her hands desperately clutching at his forearms, fingers digging into his skin.

He leaned in closer again, his face inches from hers, his lips brushing her ears as he growled, “Tell me you’re mine.”

"I’m yours… fuck, Bucky!" she complied, her voice breaking between her panting breaths.

"Again," he ordered, his hips slamming into hers, the table creaking under the force of his movements. He could feel her walls clenching around him, so tight, so wet, he almost lost control then and there.

“I’m yours,” she whimpered again, her voice shaky, breathless.

“Chris will be so disappointed to hear that” he growled. “Let’s make sure you stay ruined, just in case.” He was relentless now, fucking her hard, deep, his body pressing hers further into the table as he pushed her thighs harder against her body giving him even better access, hitting that sensitive spot that left her gasping, his grip and the relentless pace leaving no room for anything but the sensation of him filling her completely, over and over.

She whimpered in response, too overwhelmed to speak, her entire body tensing as the pleasure became almost unbearable. His thumb moved between them again pressing against her clit, rubbing circles that sent sparks of heat shooting through her. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as her orgasm built rapidly, her body teetering on the edge.

“Milk my cock.” he ordered, his voice harsh, primal. His words pushed her over the edge and then she was gone, her body shivering violently as she clenched around him, her thighs tightening around him as her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. The sound of his name fell from her lips, half-whisper, half-cry as the climax gripped her, intense and all-consuming, leaving her a trembling, breathless mess.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into hers with bruising force. “And then some more,” he rasped, his voice thick with raw need. “You won’t even be able to keep it all in, babydoll.”

With a final thrust, Bucky’s head fell back, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he reached his climax. His body trembled, muscles tensing as he spilled himself inside her, a heated wave of release filling her completely. He held her there, his cock kept pulsing until his release overflowed, warm and thick, beginning to trickle down, pooling beneath them.

Still buried inside her, Bucky loosened his grip on her thighs, hands sliding down to cradle her waist as he leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against her shoulder. He nuzzled into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent, grounding himself as the heat of their union slowly ebbed, replaced by a quiet intimacy that neither of them seemed prepared for.

After a moment, he gently eased himself away, untangling their bodies but letting his hands linger at her hips, as though afraid to lose the connection. He took a step back, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting to meet hers, hoping she’d break the silence but she didn’t look at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

Bucky’s chest tightened, a familiar pang surfacing as he watched her withdraw inward, her mind elsewhere despite the intimacy they’d just shared. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, tentative. “So… what now, Bucky?”

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I don’t… I didn’t plan for this to happen,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I know I shouldn’t have done this. Not after…” He hesitated, but the truth slipped out anyway. “Not after what I put you through.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding her expression, old wounds resurfacing. “Then why did you put me through this, Bucky?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with pain. “You said you couldn’t do this. That you needed space, that we were holding you back.” Her words hung heavy in the air, each one a quiet accusation tinged with vulnerability. “And now, you’re here, acting like…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…acting like you never left.”

He hesitated, knowing this was his chance to finally tell her the truth or let her keep believing the lie he’d used to protect them. He rubbed a hand over his face, then lowered it, meeting her gaze with raw honesty. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I left because I was afraid that my past... everything I tried to bury might come back to hurt you. Hurt him.” His voice softened. “I thought if you believed I didn’t want this life, it would keep you safe.”

He glanced down, his hand twitching at his side before he looked up again, his voice hushed but resolute. "But… I want to come back,” he admitted, the words raw, like they’d been buried deep for too long. “To the house. To you, and Benjamin.”

A chill lingered in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself, gaze flicking over their scattered clothes still strewn across the kitchen floor. She looked away, her shoulders tense as she rubbed her temples. "So, what’s changed, Bucky? The risks are still there, the same threats, the same fears..."

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver, his hand reaching out as though to touch her, but he stopped short, fingers brushing the edge of the table instead. "What’s different is me. I’ve had time to face what I couldn’t before. Stepping aside didn’t keep you safer; it just kept me away. I don’t want Ben growing up with a dad who keeps him and his mom at arm’s length. Almost a stranger.” His voice softened, the vulnerability seeping through. “Being apart from you doesn’t make things better. I miss you, doll. I miss us.”

“You can’t just leave and come back like nothing happened, Bucky.” Her voice was softer this time, almost breaking. “I wanted you here… every day, every night. Not just for me, but for Benjamin.” Her voice trembled with raw vulnerability.

He took a step closer, his hand hovering near hers, unsure if she’d pull away. “I know, and I hate that I ever thought leaving was the answer.” His tone was low, his gaze steady on her.

She looked down, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, emotions tightening her expression. “If you come back, I need to know you’re here to stay,” she whispered, the words more for herself than for him. “Because I don’t think I can go through this again… and I won’t let him either.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her hands gripping the table harder as if to keep herself grounded.

Her words shattered the last remnants of his restraint. Without another thought, Bucky dropped to his knees in front of her, the hard tile digging into him as he pressed his forehead against her thigh. She sucked in a breath, her hand instinctively moving to his hair, fingers trembling as they brushed against him. He could feel her hesitation, the walls she’d built so carefully to guard herself from the ache he’d left behind.

“Say yes,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with the vulnerability he could no longer hide. “Say yes, doll. I know I don’t deserve it.” His hands gripped her hips, anchoring him as if she were the only thing keeping him steady. “But I swear,” His voice cracked, raw and pleading. “I swear, I’ll never walk away again. Not from you, not from Benjamin.”

She looked down, a mix of shock and pain written on her face as she saw him there, broken, open, begging her for something she’d once offered so freely. Her hand gently settled on his cheek, and he leaned into the warmth of her touch, feeling the softness of her fingers against the rough stubble of his jaw. The ache in her eyes nearly undid him, but he stayed there, his forehead still pressed to her thigh, his breath heavy, waiting.

Her eyes searched his, and slowly, her resolve began to waver, the smallest flicker of trust finding its way back into her gaze. "Then prove it," she whispered, barely trusting herself as her hand lingered against his cheek, the warmth of her palm seeping into him. "Show me you’re here to stay."

After her words hung in the air, a fragile silence between them, Bucky’s gaze dropped. He swallowed, his hand reaching for something inside the scattered clothes on the floor.

From his back pocket, he drew out a small, well-worn leather charm, a little star-shaped pendant, its edges smoothened from years of handling. She recognized it immediately. It was something she’d passed on to him when he left for his first mission after they married, a symbol she hoped would keep him safe. She thought it had been lost long ago, like so many pieces of them.

He held it out to her, and the look on his face was raw, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen since the early days. “I never stopped carrying this,” he murmured, his voice rough and thick. “Even when I tried to convince myself I was doing the right thing by staying away. I couldn’t let go of you…of us. I kept it close, hoping… hoping someday I could come back and give it back to you. I know it doesn’t make up for the time I lost, but…” His voice faltered, the sincerity there unmistakable.

She stared at the pendant, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out, fingers grazing the familiar leather. All the memories it held, the late-night goodbyes, the whispered promises, the hope she’d once tied to it, all of it rushed back, filling the space between them.

She looked down at him, seeing in his eyes the weight of the years, the regrets, but also the glimmer of the man she’d fallen in love with.

Taking a shaky breath, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “This… this was supposed to keep you safe, Bucky. Keep us safe.”

“And it did,” he replied softly, his hand covering hers over the charm. “It kept you here.” He paused, his voice barely a murmur. “And maybe now… it can bring me back home.”

The last of her defenses wavered, and she felt herself letting go of the anger, the hurt, all the pieces that had kept them apart. “Maybe… maybe it was always meant to guide you back here,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his with a warmth he hadn’t seen in years. “So if you’re really here to stay… then welcome home, Bucky.”

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Trick or Treat | Bucky Barnes x Reader

This is my second Halloween fic this year because I have no self control!

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: anxiety

Sam’s Halloween bash launched into full swing, and seemed as though it would last till sunrise. Music pulsed through a set of massive speakers. Alcohol flowed. And throngs of people danced the night away.

Just as Sam instructed, everyone arrived decked out in costume. And as you scanned the crowd, you found Ghost Face doing shots with Barbie. Michael Myers grinding on Freddy Kreuger. Pennywise flirting with Beetlejuice. It was a picture perfect Halloween party- save for one thing. 

Bucky hadn’t arrived yet.

All of the partygoers formed a large, pulsating mass as they danced and celebrated, but you remained off to the side. In an empty, isolated corner, you checked and rechecked your texts. You’d already shot Bucky a few messages asking when he’d show. Asking if he was alright. And he swore he was fine. He said he’d be there soon, but that was as specific as he’d get. 

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute!” Wanda yelled over the music. She swayed to the beat, swishing the skirt of her dress back and forth. Every few seconds, she stole a glance at the dance floor with want in her eyes. “Come on, let’s go dance!”

“I’m with Mary,” Nat downed the last of her drink and draped her arm over Wanda’s shoulders. “The Sanderson Sisters are the life of the party, we have a reputation to uphold!”

When the three of you decided to coordinate your costumes, Hocus Pocus had been the obvious choice. In the weeks leading up to Sam’s party, you helped one another piece together flawless renditions of each Sanderson Sister. Wanda decided on Mary, and Nat dressed up as Sarah, leaving you to adopt Winifred’s famous ensemble. 

And you had to admit, the three of you looked amazing. 

But you couldn’t run to the dance floor and party with abandon- not yet, anyway. Bucky said he’d be there. He swore to you that he’d make an appearance. And while a loud, overcrowded party wasn’t his favorite way to spend an evening, he knew he had to challenge himself. To expand his comfort zone. 

He wanted so badly to be “normal”. To function like a “regular” person. But he struggled. He had flashbacks. Panic attacks. Long depression spirals. And his anxiety always had the reigns. 

But he’d fought tooth and nail to vanquish his demons, and now that he was making progress and healing bit by bit, he wanted to join the ranks of "ordinary" society. 

And Sam’s party was the perfect opportunity. It was a safe, controlled environment where Bucky could stretch his comfort zone. Sure, it was loud and packed with people, but that was the whole point. If he was going to be “normal”, he had to be okay with noise and crowds; Sam’s party had both. But there was nothing for him to worry about, nothing to fear. He would perfectly and totally safe here. At least half of the attendees were fellow special agents, and you and Sam promised to stick with him all night. 

But the party started over an hour ago, and he still hadn’t shown. Worry creased your brow; it wasn’t like him to be late. 

“I think I’m just gonna hang out here for now,” you leaned against the wall and brandished your phone at them, “So I can make sure I don’t miss a call or anything.”

“You do you, sister,” Nat brushed a kiss against your cheek, “Mary and I are gonna command the dance floor.”

The two of them ran off, arm in arm, in the direction of the crowd. 

“Is he on his way?” Sam came around the corner, two drinks in hand. He extended one in your direction and sipped on the other. “I haven’t heard back.”

“I don’t know.” You took a long pull of your drink, “I asked if he was coming and he said yes, but he didn’t give me a specific ETA, or anything.”

Sam shrugged, “I think he might flake.”

That same sneaking suspicion had crossed your mind a few times over the last hour, but you refused to accept it. Surely, Bucky just needed a little extra time to prepare himself. To get in the right headspace. 

“I’m gonna- would you take this for a sec?” You handed your drink back to Sam, who swore to keep a watchful eye on it while you stepped outside to call Bucky. 

The phone rang and rang. And you feared it might go to voicemail. But at the last possible second, Bucky picked up. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Something was off. He sounded almost nervous, like he’d been caught red-handed.

“Hey, Buck.” You kept your tone light. “Are you gonna be here soon?”

A long silence permeated the line.

“Um, yes. Yeah, I’m on my way right now,” he assured you. “Shouldn’t be much longer. I’ll see you in a bit. Okay?”

“Great." You didn't buy it for a second. "See you soon.”

For an ex-assassin with decades of stealth training and countless kills on his hands, Bucky was a terrible liar. But only when it came to you. He just couldn’t deceive his best friend, couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes. He simply didn’t have it in him; his brain and body rejected even the concept of swindling you. 

You knew for a fact that he was still at his apartment. Knew that his anxiety had won. You could practically see him sitting at home all alone, hating himself for flaking on yet another get-together. And while his closest friends danced the night away, he’d spend the entire evening berating himself. Chastising himself.

But you wouldn’t allow it. With a determined huff, you ditched the party, and set off in the direction of Bucky's apartment.

Bucky stared at the costume you’d carefully helped him assemble. It sat neatly folded on his kitchen table, all he had to do was put it on and head out the door. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. And it infuriated him. 

He spent weeks mentally preparing himself for this. He meditated, journaled, and even sought out extra therapy sessions. But none of it worked. He was still a slave to his anxiety, bending to every whim of the monsters in his head.

The whole thing was so stupid- it was just a party. He knew, logically, that there was nothing to fear. But part of his brain, the part that hated him, told him it would be too much. That he’d immediately get overwhelmed by the noise and the people and the lights. That it was a panic attack waiting to happen. 

He feared what onlookers might think, what they might say, if he broke down in the middle of the festivities. And he didn’t want to chance ruining Sam’s party.

And so, he’d lied to you. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was for the best. He just wanted you to have a good time. Wanted you to spend the night dancing with Nat and Wanda instead of worrying about him. It was better this way. 

A sharp knock jolted him from his seat on the couch. He crossed to the front door and pulled it open, expecting to see a group of candy-obsessed kids in costumes. But he found something else, entirely.

“Trick or treat!” You held a bottle of whiskey and a bag of candy proudly in the air, “Happy Halloween, Buck.”

Bucky took on a deer in the headlights kind of look. He was shocked, completely frozen. And as the surprise melted away, he found himself awash in strange mix of anxiety and guilt. You’d caught him in his lie; you’d found him out. And with you standing on his doorstep, he had nowhere to run. 

“Sweetheart, hey. Hi. Um, Happy- Yeah, Happy Halloween.” He tripped over himself again and again, his heart racing. “I was just about to call you and-”

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re not in trouble,” you shot him a wink. “I know parties aren’t really your thing.”

He gestured for you to come in and you happily accepted, sweeping past him in your elaborate costume. But he was so bewildered, so overwhelmed, that he left the door wide open.

“What are you doing here?” Quickly, he clarified, “Not that I don’t want you here. I just mean- why aren’t you at the party?”

“Cause I came to hang out with you!” You shrugged, “Plus, there’s no point in me going if you’re not there.”

Bucky appreciated your loyalty, your dedication to him. But he couldn’t let you sit on the sidelines with him.

“That’s sweet of you, and I’m more than happy to have you here, but I know you’ve been looking forward to the party and your costume and everything. And I don’t want to ruin your Halloween.” He leaned against his open door, “So, it won’t hurt my feelings if you-”

“My Halloween will only be ruined if we don’t hang out. So, come on,” once again, you held up the candy and alcohol, “trick or treat, Buck.”

With a stubborn smile, Bucky shut the door. He watched you struggle with the bag of candy and laughed as you used your teeth to tear through the plastic.

“You know, I think you’re doing the whole ‘trick or treat’ thing backwards,” he said as he fished a Twix out of the bag. “Cause you brought candy instead of taking some from me.”

“Or maybe I’m a Halloween pioneer, and I’m inventing new traditions,” you offered. “Now, let’s crack this open.”

Bucky gladly took the bottle of whiskey from you and led you to the kitchen. He crafted old fashioneds for the both of you and clinked his glass with yours. His night had taken a very sharp, very sudden upswing, and he was more than grateful.

“I saw some kiddos trick or treating down the hall, and at least four of them were dressed up like Sam,” you laughed. “Have they been here yet?”

You eyed the large bowl of candy sitting by the front door. It was still full, nearly overflowing with sugary treats. And you realized: it was completely untouched. No greedy little hands had dug through it yet. No mischievous kids had snatched a handful or two. It just sat there, waiting. 

It was sweet of Bucky to be prepared, to buy treats for the kids in the area. He was trying so hard to connect with people. To be a member of society. He wanted so badly to be seen as a person. But the world only saw him for his past. 

“Um, no, I haven’t had any trick or treaters,” Bucky said, “Well, except for you.”

You shot him a wink a took a drag of your drink.

“But I’ve heard them- they’ve been running up and down my hall all night. I just don’t think…” He clinked his metal fingers against his glass, “I don’t think any of the parents in my building want their kids knocking on my door.”

His shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, and his head fell an inch or two. Saying it out loud was humiliating. He’d thought- he’d hoped- that the city would embrace him. That they’d celebrate his return. But the only welcome he’d received was dirty looks and people spitting at him on the subway.

Bucky’s words knocked the air from your chest. A combination of heartbreak and unbridled rage swirled inside of you; it was all so unfair. Bucky didn’t deserve to be treated like a pariah or a threat. He was least intimidating, most approachable person you’d ever met. Sure, he was a little shy. But he was so warm. So kind. He genuinely cared about people. He wanted to help his community and make people feel safe. But they refused to give him a chance.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you took his hand in yours, “More candy for us.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled you in for a long, much needed hug. He would never be able to express how much he appreciated your undying support. Your unconditional friendship. He knew without a doubt that he could always count on you. And after living in an unpredictable, erratic state of limbo for so many years, he cherished your consistency.

Bucky dug through the candy you brought, searching for a Snickers. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m really glad you came over.” He abandoned his candy hunt and brought his gaze up to yours, “Seriously. Thanks for being here.”

“Anytime, Buck. You know that.” You tucked the bag of candy under your arm and snatched your glass from the counter, “Come on, let’s watch a scary movie.”

Bucky followed your lead, only straying from the path for a moment or two. And when he returned, he brandished his overflowing bowl of candy in your direction. “I mean, if the kids aren’t gonna eat it…”

He sank into the couch next to you and took a swig of his drink as he watched you dig through the massive bowl of candy. A bit of guilt gnawed at him; he’d been so surprised to see you at his door that he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate all the hard work you’d put into your costume. And as you picked through his candy stash, he drank in the details of your ensemble: the perfectly crafted make up, the ornate dress, the complicated hairstyle. It was impressive, to say the least.

“Your costume is fucking incredible, by the way. You did an amazing job.”

“Oh, thanks!” A proud smile stretched across your face, “If it wasn’t so ridiculously uncomfortable, I’d probably wear it every day. But this corset is…” You pinched and pulled at the tight garment, “Definitely not intended for daily wear.”

“Then let me get you something to more comfortable.” Bucky was up in the blink of an eye, and before you could protest, he was gone. 

In the time it took you to locate and unwrap a Kit Kat, he’d arrived in the living room with a change of clothes for you. It was just a pair of sweatpants and a faded t-shirt with BROOKLYN emblazoned on the front, but after spending hours in an uncomfortable corset, you swore he was offering you a slice of heaven. 

With greedy hands, you accepted the clothes, “You’re a life saver!”

You sped off down the hall, promising to be back in a flash.

Bucky scrolled through the scary movies Netflix had to offer, but didn’t pay much attention. He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d planned on spending the night all by himself. He figured he’d oscillate between sulking and self-flagellation until he finally fell asleep. But you’d saved him, as you so often did.

“Seriously, I can’t thank you enough for the clothes. Now, I can actually breathe.” You plopped down on the couch next to Bucky, “Okay, what do you wanna watch?”

Bucky scrolled through a few more movies, “I don’t know, I haven’t heard of most of these. I thought I’d defer to you.”

You motioned for him to continue scrolling and gave him a little synopsis each time one of your favorites popped up on the screen.

He listened closely and took your summaries into careful consideration. And after hemming and hawing over his options, he found himself torn. “This is tough, but I’m thinking we go with It Follows or Evil Dead.”

“Both excellent choices!” You clinked your glass against his, “Let’s do It Follows first, and then if we want to watch another, we can follow up with Evil Dead.”

“Deal.” 

Bucky scrolled back a page or two and selected It Follows. The movie’s opening scene began, showcasing a quiet, suburban street. You tucked yourself closer into Bucky’s side and tore into a package of M&Ms, preparing to be scared. 

But after only a minute or so, Bucky paused the movie.

He turned to you, “Hey, I’m sorry about the party.”

“Buck, we talked about this. I’d rather hang out with you than-”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry I bailed.” He pulled his gaze from your face and placed it on the ice melting in his drink. “My anxiety kind got the best of me. And I-” He locked eyes with you, “I swear I tried. I wanted to go. But I just… I couldn’t do it.” His sudden eye roll caught you off guard, “The whole thing is so ridiculous, it was just a party, but even thinking about going made my hands shake.”

“It’s not ridiculous. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still trying to wade through all the shit Hydra saddled you with.” You gave his hand a squeeze, “Healing takes time. And it’s not a linear process. You’re gonna have ups and downs- that’s perfectly normal.”

All he could manage was a sigh. 

“Like you said, it was just a party. Nothing major. So, who cares if you bailed? All that matters is that you made the right choice for you.”

“I guess.” He carded a hand through his hair, “I just want to be done with it all, you know? I want to be able to do things that normal people do.”

“I know. But, you have to give yourself some grace, okay?” You brushed a gentle hand over his cheek, “And you need to be patient. Cause there’s no skipping to the end with this stuff.”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“So, cut yourself some slack, okay?” You nudged his shoulder with yours, “No one is more deserving of slack than you.”

“I don’t know about that-”

“If the roles were reversed,” you posited, “And I’d been through all of the trauma and abuse that you went through, would you be upset with me if I couldn’t do certain things because of my anxiety ?”

“No,” he gave a fervent shake of his head. “Never.”

“And would you want me to be kind to myself?”

Without pause, an “of course” fell from his lips.

“Okay, then you need to extend that same kindness and understanding to yourself.”

“But I just want to be able to do stuff with you,” he huffed. “I want to go to parties with you. And concerts. And-”

“Hey, all that will come with time, okay? There’s no rush.” Once again, you gave his hand a squeeze, “You’re my best friend, and I just wanna hang out with you. So, it doesn’t matter what we do. As long as you’re comfortable, I’m happy.”

Bucky eyed you for a second, “You mean that?”

You nodded, “I swear on my life.”

An awkward smile crossed his face, “Then I guess I should tell you that I’m not- I really don’t want to watch a scary movie.”

“Oh, shit. My bad, Buck. We can watch anything you want,” you said, “You pick.”

With a few taps of the remote, Bucky opened an entirely different streaming service and selected a safe movie free of actual scares. 

“It’s still on theme with Halloween,” he promised, “But at least it’s not gonna give me more nightmares.”

“Yeah, whatever you want, I don’t-” The opening lines of Hocus Pocus filled the room, and you delivered a playful punch to Bucky’s arm.

He let out a loud laugh, “I had to, sweetheart. You’ve still got the make up on and everything.”

You pelted him with a few M&Ms before settling close to him. He draped an arm across your shoulders and pulled you tight, relishing in your warmth. He was so lucky to have you as his friend, so lucky to know you. He couldn’t believe you’d ditched the party you’d looked forward to for weeks- all for him. Couldn’t believe that you were spending your favorite holiday unceremoniously watching movies on his couch. 

But he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. After everything he’d gone through, he was just grateful that he’d befriended someone with such a kind heart. And as he settled in to experience Hocus Pocus for the first time, he started plotting how he’d make things up to you next Halloween. 

———————————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

[fleurdelouvemonth]

4th Annual Fleur de Louve Month

Welcome back for another month-long celebration of Sarah Wilson and Bucky Barnes! 

This year we're still providing the well-preferred format of providing prompts to choose from. But, we're shaking it up a bit by putting it in a bingo form!

We understand that everyone has their own schedules and life be lifing. Whenever you finish your masterpiece, the requirements are the same: tag us @fleurdelouvemonth and @fleurdelouve so it can be posted and shared on the blogs!

Remember that this is for fun and to put more SarahBucky/Fleur De Louve content out into the world. There's no "wrong" way to create. Any AU, any verse; it's all up to you.

Just please try to have any submissions posted by November 31st. December 14th at the latest.

Please reach out to the mods with any questions. We're so excited to see what this fandom comes up with this year.

Pick and choose some bingo squares and have fun!

Find the AO3 here to add your works to the collection, or submit to the collection “FleurdeLouve_SarahBucky_Month_2024”

✨️: Not everything HAS to be fanfiction. Be as creative as you want! Here are a few ideas: fan art, manips, comics, 3D rendering, moodboards, aesthetics, snapshots of Sims you make as the characters, the options are endless!

BELOW THE CUT IS A BLANK VERSION FOR YOU TO CROSS OUT, IF YOU WANT IT

[klecrone]

This painting by Shade is just so beautifully emotive, and in the context of this chapter, it just feels so especially fitting. I’m so honored to have the opportunity to share it with you!

While we’re so often accustomed to seeing the Winter Soldier as a hardened assassin, I love this moment of self-awareness edging on humanity. I love the way Shade was able to render that lost soul of his breaking through the noise of the role he was forced to play for so long.

As always, Shade really crafted something incredible here, and I can’t thank her enough for allowing me to share this piece with you. Please check out her Twitter page to see more of her beautiful art!

Chapter 89: "The Crux of Trust" - (Read on Ao3) "Winter of the White Wolf"