#give bucky plums

[bucky-obsessed]

He just wanted plums!

[tamprongs-and-padsfoot]

Civil War plot:

World: we don’t like Bucky.

Steve: fIGHT ME BITCH HOW DARE YOU-

Bucky: ᵢ ⱼᵤₛₜ wₐₙₜ ₛₒₘₑ ₚₗᵤₘₛ

[wings-dings-and-iggyfings]

Hey all, the second episode in season 2 is coming out tonight! They said that if you missed last week's episode to get on at 7:30pm ET to see it! Episode 2 comes on at 8pm ET and will only be available for 24 hours after the livestream!

Livestream Link (Angel studios site)

Youtube Link

Picture of Peet so this post is more noticeable

[coldmilkchoices]

google show me captain america civil war no tony stark cut

[blythesarchives]

Sugar Plums. | W.S

summary: The soldier has an attachment to you.

warnings: Suggestive 18+ MDNI & Fluff | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Brief mentions of PTSD | Brief talk of HYDRA | Heavy petting | Love biting/hickeys

a/n: This came to me randomly but thought it was cute and somewhat spicy. I added some fluff to balance it all out and tried to keep the sexy scenes sweet too. I see so many fics of him being super aggressive in bed and those are great, but for me I think he'd be a little more like this. Takes place after the events of CA:TWS. Contains roughly translated Russian, native speakers can correct me if anything was translated wrong. Ty. ;; wc: 5.5k

It was so awkward.

Everyone sat frozen in place, their eyes locked on the imposing figure of the Winter Soldier as he towered behind you, his piercing blue eyes methodically scanning the room and studying each occupant with an intensity that made them shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"Absolutely not!" Tony was the first to break the suffocating silence, his voice sharp and decisive as he beat Steve to speaking by a mere second. There was absolutely no way he would even consider allowing the fist of HYDRA to take up residence in his tower, treating him like he was nothing more than some lost stray that needed sheltering. "He's not staying here, no way in hell - this isn't a halfway house for reformed assassins."

"Tony, come on. HYDRA is gone, their control over him is broken," you reasoned desperately, your voice taking on a pleading tone as you gestured toward the silent figure behind you, "He's been surviving on his own for weeks, barely getting by. Just look at him...he's exhausted, malnourished, and clearly needs somewhere safe to stay and recover."

"Uh, how about no?" Tony fired back, staring at you like you had grown a second head...or like you had a towering sleeper soldier looming behind you.

Tony wasn't your favorite person in the world, but he was usually somewhat reasonable.

"There's absolutely no way that he's staying here. Have you completely lost your mind? What if he suddenly snaps or loses control and goes completely berserk, hm? What if one night those sleeper triggers buried in his brain suddenly activate and he systematically takes us out one by one in our sleep?" Tony added emphatically, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as he attempted to visualize the gruesome scenarios playing out in his mind.

"Your state-of-the-art security cameras can't give us a heads up before that happens?" You asked with dry sarcasm, your tone deliberately flat and unimpressed, clearly making a joke while you tried to find some kind of middle ground that would get the agitated, self-proclaimed playboy to calm down and think rationally.

"No chance in hell, sweet cheeks," he folded his arms and glared at you with sternness that etched across his features. "Too dangerous."

"He's staying, whether you like it or not," you replied in the same unwavering tone, standing your ground with resolute conviction. "He's hurt, weak, completely vulnerable. There's absolutely nothing he could possibly do in this state. He needs somewhere warm and safe to stay, especially since he's been struggling to survive out on the streets for weeks now. Besides, winter is coming fast and there’s no way he won’t get hypothermia or something." You added with concern, knowing full well that while the soldier hadn't been entirely helpless during his ordeal, he certainly hadn't managed to secure any kind of stable shelter.

His temporary refuges consisted only of cold spaces beneath bridges, dark corners tucked away in forgotten alleys, or the remains of abandoned buildings - not a single place where he could truly let his guard down or feel protected from the harsh elements. With winter's rapid approach and already light dustings of snow, the temperatures would only get more brutal as the nights went on.

You continued to argue with Tony, Steve butting in every so often, luckily siding with you, desperate to have his old friend somewhere safe. It was a long, frustrating argument that lasted much longer than need be.

Earlier that day, while you had been making your way down the frost-covered street of New York's downtown district, his eyes had caught sight of your familiar form. Something deep within him told him to follow you, a magnetic pull that he couldn't explain. He obeyed the instinct, trailing silently behind you all the way back to the tower. When you finally became aware of his presence, he was thoroughly drenched from the steadily falling snow, his cheeks and nose having turned a bright, rosy color from the biting cold as he tried to suppress his constant shivering.

The moment you made your sudden turn to approach him, he visibly startled, immediately taking a defensive step backward as his mind raced through all the possible scenarios and potential threats. His eyes darted across your face with obvious wariness as you fully turned to face him, his entire body subtly shifting its weight from foot to foot, muscles tensed and ready to bolt away.

"It's okay...you look cold..." You spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, trying not to startle him as you took in his disheveled appearance. The soldier, the one whose face had practically been plastered across every news channel, the same one Steve had spoken about with such raw emotion in his voice.

You remembered how Steve had mourned his best friend, utterly confused and devastated about why he had saved from the river, while Bucky fell to what should have been his death. Steve held onto that grief, that guilt, like a lifeline. He held onto it so desperately, clinging to the faintest hope that a sliver of Bucky was still somewhere deep inside the persona of the Winter Soldier.

Looking at him now, you couldn't see any trace of the man from Steve's stories - the soldier's eyes were too wild and wide, filled with fear and confusion.

But despite everything you'd heard, despite the destruction you'd witnessed on the news, despite the intense warnings from everyone in the tower, there was something about his presence that didn't trigger your fight or flight response.

He didn't make you feel unsafe.

He looked absolutely beat down, exhausted to his very core, his shoulders slumped in a way that made you wonder when he'd last had a moment's rest. You weren't even sure he could take you down if he tried in this state, though you knew his reputation suggested otherwise. He was shaking from the cold air as it blew in a stinging breeze, his metal arm gleaming dully in what little light remained, while the incoming winter storm brought with it a thick haze and countless tiny pinpricks of needle-like snowflakes that seemed to cut through the air.

"Come inside with me, I'll take care of you." You offered quietly, your voice gentle and reassuring as you extended your hand towards him. Your body language remained open and non-threatening, shoulders relaxed and posture deliberately casual to help put him at ease and to show him you felt no fear.

After a few silent moments where his piercing blue eyes studied you through the thick haze, he finally shifted his weight forward and took a step in your direction.

The water in the shower had set a steady steam in the bathroom, the mirror had fogged and the tiles sweat below your bare feet.

You could hear the gentle splashing of water against the bathtub as he cleaned himself. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm caught your attention, hopefully that thing was waterproof, but it must be, right?

After setting out a fresh towel and clean clothes for his use, you quietly excused yourself to provide him with privacy. The state of his current attire was awful, every piece was thoroughly saturated and carried an unmistakable stench that made you wrinkle your nose. The clothes were in such poor condition that you couldn't help but wonder if they had been scavenged from someone who no longer needed them.

You wouldn’t put it past the soldier to steal from a cadaver.

His shower routine was notably brief, years of conditioning taught him to minimize the time spent on his personal care. Upon finishing, he emerged from behind the curtain and efficiently dried himself with the provided towel. His gaze fell upon the fresh clothes you had thoughtfully placed by the sink, while his previous garments had been discreetly removed.

The soldier hesitated momentarily before donning the clean outfit. It wasn’t anything fancy, a pair of grey sweatpants emblazoned with the Avenger's logo along the side and a simple yet comfortable black tank top. When he finally emerged from the bathroom to face you, his body language betrayed his uncertainty as he stood there, not sure what to do now. Comfort was completely foreign to him, and care was a dream away.

"Tony finally gave in," you replied softly, your voice sounded in the quiet stillness of the bedroom. "He said you could stay here with us."

He remained motionless, his expression blank and unreadable as he stood there, offering neither response nor the slightest hint of acknowledgement to your words. You weren’t sure what to expect but that seemed pretty in character for him at the moment.

"You'll be staying in my quarters since no one else is comfortable having you in their space just yet...but don't worry too much about that," you reassured gently, though you could tell from his demeanor that others' opinions held little weight in his mind. "They'll come around after some time, I'm sure of it."

His gaze fixed upon you then, his brow creasing ever so slightly with an unspoken question as he began to move. Each step was deliberate and measured as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you until he stood directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets from his freshly washed hair beading at the ends and falling onto the fabric of your top, leaving dark spots where they landed.

"Everything's going to be fine," you said with gentle reassurance, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Why don't we head to the kitchen and get you something to eat? You must be hungry." You offered, hoping to bring some normalcy to the situation.

The soldier shadowed your every movement, following closely behind like a faithful companion who refused to stray from their master's side.

Upon entering the expansive kitchen, you immediately made your way to the industrial-sized refrigerator, searching through its contents for something suitable to offer him. The kitchen was perpetually stocked to the brim with an array of foods, snacks, and ingredients, practically anything one could imagine or desire. It was like having a private, fully-stocked grocery store.

Though with a the ravenous super soldier with enhanced metabolism, the mighty Asgardian god whose appetite matched his status, and Banner's surprisingly hulk-ish consumption…the team still depleted their food with an efficiency that would put a pack of famished wolves to shame.

"Hm...what should you have...do you want anything specific?" You turned over your shoulder to address him, but he maintained his characteristic silence. Unmoving, and completely stoic, like a statue carved from marble.

"Нет [No]," came his quiet response, the Russian word rolling off his tongue deeply. He remained perfectly still, observing with careful attention as you continued your search through the refrigerator's contents, trying to determine what would be most appropriate for him to eat. Your mind was working quickly, knowing you wanted to avoid anything too time-consuming to prepare. You wanted to get some food into him sooner rather than later.

"How about...I could make some soup real quick? Tomato and grilled cheese might be a safe option for you. Shouldn't upset your stomach too much if you haven’t been eating a lot, and it will warm you up if you're still feeling cold." You turned back toward him once more, studying his features carefully for any hint of reaction or preference to your suggestion, any subtle change in his expression.

But, he didn't provide even the slightest indication of his feelings.

You decided on tomato soup and a grilled cheese anyway, you figured it was best and immediately set to work in the kitchen.

Although you typically prided yourself on preparing meals completely from scratch, this particular circumstance called for something different. You assembled the sandwich, buttering the bread before placing it in a heated pan to get a golden-brown crust while keeping a watchful eye on the pot of soup simmering beside it, occasionally stirring for even heating.

Once everything reached the perfect temperature and consistency, you transferred the meal onto clean dishes, relieved it didn’t take too long. You presented him with the steaming bowl of soup and perfectly grilled sandwich, watching as the soldier deliberately took his place at the counter, his eyes fixed intently on the rising steam from the bowl before him.

You watched him, noting how his entire body remained unnaturally rigid and motionless, as though every muscle was locked in place and braced for something. His lips bore a slight sheen of moisture, like he had licked them at some point when you weren't watching. Yet despite his obvious hunger, he hadn't made even the slightest attempt to reach for the food. His eyes held intense longing and hesitation, briefly meeting yours before quickly darting away, as if making eye contact was somehow forbidden.

"What's wrong?" You asked with growing concern etched across your features, "You're hungry aren't you? I can tell you haven't eaten in a while. Especially not anything warm, at least. I know it can be hard out there, all by yourself…"

His response came in the form of an almost imperceptible nod, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the bowl and sandwich before him, as though they were the most important and most dangerous objects in the room.

"So why aren't you eating? The food's getting cold, it won’t be as good if it cools too much."

"Я не могу совершить действие без приказа. [I cannot perform an action without an order]," the soldier responded in barely more than a whisper, his voice carrying the weight of years of conditioning.

You stood there, completely lost in the language barrier between you. Your limited knowledge of Russian extended only to the most basic words - 'да' and 'нет' - leaving you clueless by his response and worried about the implications of his behavior.

You didn't want to wake Natasha, even though she would certainly understand what he was saying in Russian, but disturbing her sleep for something as simple as a quick translation seemed unnecessary and might put her in a bad mood. Instead, an idea popped into your head that would avoid an angry widow. You reached for your phone and placed it on the smooth counter surface, navigating to a translator app before looking up at him again. "Can you repeat that?"

The soldier's eyes flickered briefly to the phone screen, taking in the sight of the translation app with what seemed like recognition, before his gaze deliberately returned to the untouched food laid out before him. "I cannot perform an action without an order," he stated in perfect, albeit mechanical English this time.

You blinked in surprise, thoroughly caught off guard by the sudden switch to English when he had been persistently speaking Russian up until this point. "Okay...well...eat then, you can eat freely here, you don't need an order to do that." You slowly tucked your phone away into your pocket as his right hand gradually lifted from where it had been resting in his lap, reaching out to pick up the sandwich.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but he wolfed down his food within a minute, that sandwich was gone within maybe three bites. The soup swallowed just as fast.

God, he was starving, and the realization made your heart ache.

"Better?" You asked gently, to which he only nodded, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth.

This became routine, the soldier stuck by your side like a duckling imprinting on its mother.

He followed you diligently around every corner of the tower, his protective instincts activated as he positioned himself like an ever-vigilant guardian. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings, noting how others would cast uncertain and sometimes suspicious glances in his direction.

These looks made him increasingly self-conscious and anxious, as though he were some exotic creature put on display at a zoo for others to gawk at. But in your presence, he seemed a bit more at ease. He genuinely liked being around you.

Gradually, the rigid tension that had defined his existence began to melt away, and he started allowing more intimate gestures of care. He let you gently brush his unruly hair into place, carefully wash his face with warm water, or trim his growing stubble for him.

He accepted these tender ministrations without the slightest resistance or complaint, though a nagging worry lingered in your mind that his compliance stemmed from years of conditioning to submit to others' wishes. Each time you worried about that, you’d see a genuine warmth and contentment in his gaze rather than submission, showing you that he truly found comfort and pleasure in your gentle touch.

It was evening, the room reflected the warm glow of festive holiday lights emanating from a miniature Christmas tree nestled in the corner. The soldier found himself transfixed by the small decorated tree, his eyes lingering on each twinkling light as their vibrant colors danced and shimmered. The sterile, monotonous walls he had grown accustomed to during his confinement were nothing compared to the colorful lights. The gentle play of red, green, and gold seemed to awaken something long dormant within him, he almost wanted to plant himself in front of the tree and just stare at it.

Tony may have allowed his stay, but that didn’t mean there weren’t restrictions. He was stern about where and when the soldier could go anywhere with you, and he demanded that he not leave your room afterhours. It wasn’t hard to follow, the solider showed reluctance to leave your room at all, having been so accustomed to being kept in one room. You didn’t push him, but you felt bad for him because he was missing how the tower had been decorated for the holidays. So, you got a smaller tree for the bedroom to provide some kind of festive look for him to take in.

You emerged from the bathroom, wisps of steam following in your wake, your damp hair leaving little droplets on your shoulders as you continued to towel it dry with scrunches. He remained motionless on the edge of your bed, his attention immediately shifting as he turned and blinked up at your approaching figure.

His icy eyes traced a deliberate path across your form, which was barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the hem teasingly brushing against your mid-thigh with each movement. "I am beat," you sighed heavily, your voice carrying the weight of the day's festivities. The marathon of holiday activities had clearly taken its toll, leaving you thoroughly drained. The tower often held an array of things to do because Tony loved to show off what he could afford, and it wasn’t like anyone else would object.

He observed with rapt attention as you made your way onto the bed and settled back against the pillows, releasing a deep exhale that seemed to melt away the day's tension. His unwavering gaze remained fixed on the rhythmic, hypnotic motion of your chest rising and falling with each breath.

You felt the bed shift beneath you as he moved, his weight causing the mattress to dip and creak softly. He crawled over to where you lay, his arms positioning themselves on either side of your body, caging you in. Your eyes fluttered open to find him hovering directly above you, his presence overwhelming in its proximity. This was something new…he had always maintained somewhat of a distance before, never daring to position himself so intimately over top of you.

"Я скомпрометирован. [I'm compromised]," the soldier spoke in a hushed tone, his voice carrying that distinctive gravelly pitch that made you feel tingly. The tension between you had become damned near impossible to ignore. What had started as a subtle pull had grown into an overwhelming force of attraction that seemed to draw you both together like magnets.

Still, you forced yourself to hold back, maintaining that last thread of restraint. You had no way of knowing the depth of his emotional capacity, if he was even capable of genuine feelings, or wanted to experience them at all after everything he endured.

"Soldat...?" The whispered word escaped your lips as you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his muscles tensed as he remained suspended above you, perfectly still. "You know I don't understand-"

"I am compromised," he repeated, switching to English this time. His voice had dropped even lower, carrying an edge of frustration that vibrated through the minimal space between your bodies.

"Comprom..." You sat up slowly on your elbows and shook your head in confusion, your brow furrowed as you tried to process his words. That’s what you’d say about a machine or computer, not a man. "What are you talking about?" Your eyes wandered downward, suddenly drawn to an unmistakable tent in his fitted briefs that became obvious from your new viewing angle, causing you to freeze in place as your breath caught in your throat.

So, he could feel things.

"Oh..." You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you remained frozen in place, your cheeks growing warm. "I think I understand now...you're feeling a bit pent up, aren't you?"

His metal arm whirred softly, the sophisticated machinery humming as he moved to adjust his hand placement. "Да. [Yes]," he responded in a low voice, his gleaming titanium fingertips delicately ghosted across the bare skin of your thigh, just barely grazing beneath the hem of your thin sleep shirt. Goosebumps erupted along your body in response to the contact, the cool metal sudden against your flushed skin.

"Мне не нравится делиться вашим вниманием. [I don't like sharing your attention]," he muttered with an undertone of possession, his lips curling into a slight frown as he gradually leaned closer to you. His silken hair delicately tickled your face as he slowly lowered himself, the tips of your noses barely grazing against each other in an intimate gesture. His lips parted ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of anticipation before he dipped his head down, warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your jawline.

You swallowed reflexively, your breath catching in your throat as you felt his warm, steady breath caress your sensitive skin, sending a visible shudder of growing excitement through your body.

He continued his gentle exploration, encouraged by your acceptance and the absence of any resistance. He pressed a trail of soft, purposeful kisses along the curve of your jaw, each one more intimate than the last, before gradually working his way down to your neck. His lips carefully followed the rhythmic flutter of your pulse beneath your skin, his tongue peeking out shyly to touch against you.

"Ah-" You voiced softly, feeling him settle on a particularly sensitive spot, right against the delicate side of your neck. It was nestled perfectly between the graceful junction where your neck connected to your collarbone, the skin there warm and inviting, holding a faint trace of blood flow from the intricate network of smaller veins positioned just beneath the surface.

He kissed many times with increasing intensity, clearly finding this spot ideal for his attentions. The soft, tentative pecks gradually became more passionate, open-mouthed kisses as each one was placed. His tongue began gently pressing against your skin with each lingering kiss, the pressure slowly growing in need. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth when he finally latched on, your eyes widening in surprise as the soldier's strong arms held you a little tighter.

Soldat began to suckle a mark, his ministrations gentle and teasing at first, but quickly growing in force and intensity as his skilled tongue swirled expertly around the trapped skin between his lips and teeth. The sensation drew a breathy moan from deep within you, making your entire body feel as though it were engulfed in flames of desire. Though you were completely helpless beneath the assassin, you had absolutely no intention or desire to push him away.

This felt too damned good.

Without thinking, your leg came up and hooked around his hips, drawing him closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you grew and you felt his painful erection trapped in his briefs, straining against the fabric as his arousal was staining them. Soldat exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening possessively, but he did not let go.

His suckling grew increasingly intense, the sensitive skin tingling and starting to sting and burn with each passing moment. Still, he didn't release the bruised skin just yet.

Instead, he just bit down harder, ensuring the mark he left would last for days. You moaned loudly, your fingers gently tangling in his thick hair as your pleasured sounds encouraged his attention. He became more attentive when your little sounds of pleasure turned into sharp, quiet hisses - clearly indicating that the sensation had crossed from pleasure into discomfort, silently telling him to ease off.

When he did finally relent, he pulled back to admire his handiwork, looking down at the deep purple mark blooming on your neck. His breath came in heavy pants through his parted lips as he stayed quiet, watching intently as you struggled to catch your own breath too. The sight of you beneath him, disheveled and vulnerable, with flushed skin and labored breathing, was enough to draw him right back in.

He dipped back down with renewed hunger, his metal hand slowly threading through your hair before gently fisting it at the base of your skull, though his careful control ensured it wasn’t painful, just firm. He tugged just enough to guide your movement, encouraging you to expose more of your neck to his hungry gaze.

"E-easy..." You whispered, a note of anxious anticipation in your voice. You wanted more, god you wanted more, but his sudden change of behavior was a bit surprising for you.

"Поня��. [Understood]," he whispered against your skin, pressing a soft kiss of reassurance to your jaw before returning his attention to your neck. Those soft kisses began again, trailing along your skin, but his restraint didn't last long as he quickly sought a new canvas for another mark. He latched onto a spot just a little bit higher on your neck, alternating between sucking and carefully controlled bites to gradually darken and bruise the sensitive flesh.

You felt bite after delicious bite, hickey after possessive hickey.

He marked the tender flesh of your neck in several deep, purple marks that bloomed like violent flowers across your skin...each one throbbing with a sweet ache when he pulled away. His tongue always swirled over the mark with care to soothe the sting of it, making you arch into his touch as you fell into a complete daze.

"S-Soldat," you muttered breathlessly, cheeks flushed crimson and eyelids heavy with desire. Your pupils matched his own - completely blown with hunger and desperate need. Those bermuda swirls meeting yours as he continued a torturously slow trail of hot kisses down your chest, nipping your collarbone with just enough pressure to make you gasp before following the gentle dip of your sternum.

He paused deliberately, pulling up so he could lift the thin sleep shirt over you and expose more of your bare chest to his hungry gaze, giving him better access for his heated kisses and teasing nips. Once your top was discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands gently but firmly held your sides, trailing up with reverent touches until settling against your ribcage. His larger hands completely encompassed your torso, making you feel small but protected.

The soldier was absolutely transfixed at the sight of your breasts, eyeing the soft mounds and peaked nipples as they hardened in the cool air, growing increasingly sensitive and rosy with your mounting arousal. It was like he was completely mesmerized by the sight before him, the fucking Winter Soldier, the most dangerous assassin in history, stopped dead in his tracks at the mere sight of your bare breasts.

You felt in charge now.

"What is it? Do you like them?" you purred softly to the soldier, your body swaying in a deliberately teasing motion that made them gently move. His eyes remained fixed, drinking in the sight before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. Slowly, his head tilted down again, surrendering to the moment. He let his face nestle against your chest, his lips trailing a constellation of unhurried kisses across your skin.

He began to nip and suckle the tender skin of your breasts, his mouth working to create deep, purple love bites on that delicate flesh. The bruising blossomed easily beneath his ministrations, almost like they were eager to show themselves.

His lips would find a promising spot, then he would begin lapping at the skin with gentle strokes of his tongue until he felt you squirming. The soldier took the sensitized flesh carefully between his teeth, rolling the captured skin while his talented muscle swirled and sucked.

Your chest displayed his passionate handiwork when he finally drew back to admire his creation. The plum-colored bruises created an intimate pattern across your skin, their rich hues made even more striking by the soft glow of the holiday lights that danced through the room, highlighting each carefully placed love bite until they seemed to shimmer like twilight stars against your flesh.

"Soldat...I think you covered enough surface area," you breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the intense throbbing that radiated from each mark he'd left. The sensation pulsed in waves across your skin, making it difficult to focus. Your neck was thoroughly covered in the passionate marks, and now your chest bore an equally impressive collection.

The soldier gazed down at you with intensely, his eyes taking in each little sugar plum bruise that decorated your skin like a masterpiece. Though they were scattered without any deliberate pattern, the overall effect clearly pleased him. You lay there looking thoroughly affected by his attention, hair mussed and breathing uneven, cheeks beautifully darkened with a dust of blush, just from his careful application of bites alone. The sight of you in such a state, marked so thoroughly, brought deep set satisfaction in his gut.

"Моя теперь. [Mine now]," he muttered softly, his warm breath ghosting across your skin as his lips hovered mere millimeters from your own. The almost-kiss was delicate, just the faintest brush of contact that sent electricity dancing through your nerves. He almost seemed nervous to close that final distance, his confidence faltering despite the passionate trail of marks he had already left scattered across your skin.

He drew back slightly, seemingly snapping out of a trance, and you could see the vulnerability written plainly across his features as that nervousness flickered in his eyes. Shifting his weight, he settled back onto the bed, his right hand finding your knee and tracing gentle, soothing circles there with his thumb. The tender gesture matched his hushed voice as he spoke, "Я не хочу идти дальше. [I don't want to go any further]," the words carrying both certainty and a hint of apology.

Your brow furrowed deeply as you struggled to understand what he was trying to stay, the confusion evident in the slight crease between your eyebrows and the questioning tilt of your head. You really needed to study Russian. "Do you not want to continue?" you asked slowly and carefully, focusing more on interpreting the subtle nuances in his tone rather than trying to parse the exact words he was using.

His facial expression held hesitance and uncertainty, the slight downturn of his lips and the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet yours telling you what you needed to know. Body language was his primary mode of genuine communication, and you had become very good at reading these silent signals he unconsciously broadcast.

"It's okay, we can stop," you replied with a reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice soft to help dissipate any lingering tension he might be feeling. "Let's just lay here, okay? We can cuddle without any kind of pressure to do anything else, if you want." You offered with a warm smile, wanting him to feel that his comfort and boundaries were completely respected and that there was no expectation or obligation to continue.

This was a lot of good progress with him, you typically just cuddled or he kept to his side of the bed but he had shown you a lot of sweet affection tonight, and you loved it, it meant he was growing more confident in himself and your relationship. The evidence of his passionate yet tender attention remained visible in the form of gentle, plum-colored marks that decorated your neck and chest as you lay beside him, watching as his silent form trembled slightly beneath the heavy warmth of the thick blankets that enveloped you both.

You opened your arms, offering him a warmer space, and he quickly scooted forward, tucking himself against you. Prone to being cold, he liked being under many layers of blankets, so you made sure to provide plenty for him to not only feel warm but secure. Plus...having you to hold him always helped.

Without the worry of being a soldier, he could rest easy like this.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[melles1276]

I’m on Team Bucky 🦾

Civil War Bucky

[buckyalpine]

Imagine feeling needy and sad when Bucky pays more attention to your very round, pregnant tummy instead of you. I mean he doesn't actually. You're his entire world and you come first no matter what but currently, you feel like the little super soldier you're carrying is getting much more love than you.

"How's my little plum" Bucky cooed, peppering kisses all over your tummy, snuggling against your skin after coming back from a mission. 2 weeks had never felt longer and you were craving your husband more than ever. As soon as you heard the rumble of the jet, you waddled from your room as best as you could, panting out of breath by the time you reached the living room.

You couldn't wait to have your Bucky safe in your arms again, giggling at the way he tossed his bag and jacket to the side haphazardly, running straight to you. You braced yourself for an attack and flurry of hugs and kisses he always greeted you with but it never came.

You squeaked as he picked you up and set you on the couch, lifting your shirt up to curl up with your belly, sighing contently as his scruffy cheek pressed against your warm skin. You brought your hand down to play with his soft cropped hair, longing to feel his arms hold you, his warm lips all over your face, his sweet words of how much he missed you and how happy he was to be back home with you again. Instead, the tiny soldier in your belly was hogging up all the time with his daddy.

Of course it was ridiculous. You knew Bucky loved you more than anything else in the world; he doted on you all the time, you were the most precious thing in this life. He adored you more than ever, worshipping your every being and ever since you'd told him he was going to be a father, he'd fallen in love with you more. You were giving him the family he dreamed of with his dream girl, you trusted him, you were carrying his little baby.

You will always be everything to him.

Yet you couldn't help but feel a little left out of the welcome party, your throat feeling tight, eyes starting to fill with tears. You missed him soo much and he was still busy nuzzling into your tummy, but not busy enough to miss the whimper that slipped past your lips.

"Baby?" Bucky's head shot up as soon as he heard what sounded like a cry but it couldn't be. His eyes filled with worry when he saw your sweet fallen face, indeed crying and poorly hiding it. "Why are you crying angel, what happened, is everything okay?"

His mind started to run a hundred miles a minute, ready to swoop you away to the med wing when shook your head, another wave of tears pooling when he reached out to wipe your cheeks.

"It's silly" You shrug with a sniffle but Bucky isn't having it.

"Tell me what's wrong baby" his baby blues pled with you, waiting to fix what was wrong because why was his perfect angel sad.

"I didn't get a hello kiss" You say with a pout and Bucky found himself stuck between wanting to cry and loving you more.

"I'm sorry, mama" Bucky coos, scooping you right up into his arms, cupping your cheek and placing a kiss onto your nose. Then your forehead. "M'sorry" He places a gently kiss to your still pouted lips, repeatedly peppering kisses till he hears you giggle. "You deserve all the hello kisses angel"

"I thought you didn't miss me" You whisper with your face pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent, all the anxiety you felt with him gone washing away in an instant.

"I missed you more than you know, baby" His lips move against your hair, "How could I not miss the pretty girl I fell so in love with, you're it for me"

He kept you in his arms, his hand slipping up your shirt to rub your back, the simple action nearly lulling you to sleep. He picks you up with ease, deciding to run a bath because he doesn't want to be away from your side for another minute and he keeps himself glued to you the entire time. Your back is against his chest, his hands coming up to massage your tense shoulders, kissing down your neck. He doesn't let go when it's time to rinse off, standing with both hands over your tummy as the hot water cascades over you both. He gets you dried off with a nice fluff towel before taking you to bed to sleep, frowning when you shuffled around in discomfort.

"I think your little plum misses you" You giggled between a squeak as baby Bucky kicked in your tummy, refusing to sleep until he heard his daddy's voice say goodnight. You gave him a pointed look as Bucky grinned, shimmying down the bed to rest between your legs at eyelevel with your belly. "Come talk to your son please"

"Quit kicking your ma" Bucky whispered, his metal hand patting the area where his baby boys tiny feet caused a ruckus, "time to let mommy rest, plum"

"Unbelievable" you huffed as the kicking stopped immediately, your little one settling contently while you also got comfortable against Bucky's chest. "So in love with his daddy"

"He gets it from you" Bucky smiled down at your content form, already half asleep, snug in his arms, "Pretty angel"

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Bucky realizes just how dirty minded reader is after playing Cards Against Humanity with their friends, and realizes how to use it his advantage.

Dirty Mind » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky finds out how much of a dirty mind you have during game night with your friends and uses it to his advantage.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, vibranium arm kink, praise kink, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵 also, I’ve never played Cards of Humanity so this is based off of what I Googled and looked up on Pinterest

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You managed to convince Bucky to go to game night at your friend’s house tonight. Actually, you promised him that you would buy him plums if he would go with you. In other words, you bribed a Super Soldier with plums.

Anyway, now here you two are. You guys are in the middle of playing of Cards Against Humanity. Bucky isn’t playing, because he doesn’t understand the game so he’s just watching. He’s also looking at your cards, which are pretty graphic to him, but he’s not complaining.

Bucky watched you put a card down after your friends did. He leaned forward to read it. His eyes went wide when he read it. That’s when he realized how dirty minded you are. He leaned back against the couch and smirked to himself, thinking of how he can use your dirty mind to his advantage.

You decided to stay the night at Bucky’s apartment after leaving your friend’s house. As soon as you closed the door, Bucky pinned you against it, catching you by surprise.

“Who knew that you had such a dirty mind, doll.” Bucky says in almost a whisper.

You bit your bottom lip and giggled, looking up at him.

“I thought I was making it pretty damn obvious all along, Bucky.” You say seductively, rubbing your hands against his strong chest.

“I’m sure you were, doll face. I just didn’t realize it until now what a dirty fucking girl you are.” He says lowly.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your cleavage, getting a clear view of it in the shirt you’re wearing. He bit his bottom lip when he got an idea. He nudged his leg in between yours to move them apart. You gasped when you felt his thigh touch your panty covered pussy. “Good thing I wore a skirt today.” You thought to yourself.

“Are you going to be a good girl and take everything I give you, babydoll?” He asks.

“Yes, Bucky.” You answered submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

Bucky’s vibranium hand disappears underneath your skirt, finding its way to your wet panties. His vibranium fingers rubbed your clit through your panties before moving them to the side. A shiver went through your body when you felt the cool feeling of his vibranium fingers touching your pussy. His fingers rubbed against your folds, smearing your slick around. You couldn’t help but look down at his vibranium hand in between your legs.

“Looks like I have a dirty girl on my hands.” Bucky whispers in your ear.

Literally.

“I bet I can get you to cum so fast with my vibranium fingers.” He said softly in your ear. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at it.” He says with a smirk.

“Bucky, please!” You whined.

“What do you want, babydoll? Tell me what you want.” He says, kissing your neck.

“I want you to- fuck… I want you to fuck me with your vibranium fingers.” You tell him through a moan.

You felt the tips of Bucky’s vibranium fingers circling your entrance before sliding two fingers in your pussy. A soft moan left your lips at the feeling of the cool vibranium in and against your pussy.

Bucky watched the expressions on your face change each time he thrusted his vibranium fingers in and out of your pussy. Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned your head against the door. He took the opportunity to kiss along the column of your throat. His teeth nipped at your skin.

“Bucky…” You moaned breathless.

“I love the way you moan my name, doll.” Bucky murmurs softly.

Bucky sped his fingers up, curling them and hitting your sweet spot perfectly. You bucked your hips against his vibranium hand and moaned loudly.

“Did I find your little spot?” He coos.

You moaned and nodded. Bucky curled his fingers every now and then as his fingers continued to fuck you. He curled his fingers against your sweet spot again, making your knees buckle. Bucky wrapped his free arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“Your legs getting weak already, babydoll?” Bucky asks in soft voice.

Your hands held onto his chest and you nodded your head yes.

“Tell me, doll…” He begins, kissing just below your ear. “What else do you have on that dirty little mind of yours?” He asks curiously.

“I- oh fuck…” You paused to moaned. “I want you to fuck me in every position you can think of all over this fucking apartment.” You admitted. “I want you to spank me and choke me too.” You added.

“Fuck…” He growls, feeling his cock become uncomfortably hard in his jeans. “I’ll fuck you all you want as soon as you cum on my fingers.” He says.

Bucky sped his fingers up. His thumb applied pressure to your clit as he rubbed it. Your hands clutched the fabric of his t-shirt. Your orgasm was building up fast. It felt like you were going to fall apart on his vibranium fingers any second.

“Oh fuck! Bucky!” You moaned loudly, throwing your head back against the door.

“I know you’re close. Cum for me, doll.” He says lowly.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a pornographic moan left your lips when you came. Bucky’s vibranium fingers fucked you through your orgasm. His fingers came to a stop and his thumb gave your clit one last rub before he took his fingers out of your pussy.

You lifted your head at the same time Bucky licked your cum off his vibranium fingers, moaning at your taste. You felt a new wave of wetness while watching him do that.

“You taste incredible.” Bucky said. “I hope you’re ready, because you’re in for a long night, babydoll.” He says lowly with a smirk plastered on his face.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[holylulusworld]

Longing

Summary: You won't give up on him.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine trope (kinda), sweet reader, a/b/o, scenting, true mates

Written for @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge

Trope: Grumpy (and Sunshine)

Prompts: ☀️ A: “Stop coming around here… “ B: “No!” A: “I mean it… I’m just going to end up hurting you if you don’t stay away…” *glaring at each other until one of them grabs the other in a bruising kiss*

He smells you the second you step toward the cell. The alpha dips his head, listening closely to your heartbeat. Your heart always beats a little faster the closer you get to his cell.

He inhales deeply, basking in your scent as you are unaware of his longing for you and your presence.

If only for a few fleeting moments, you make him feel human again.

“Hi,” you shyly say as you stand in front of the cell, carefully touching the bars parting you from the alpha. “I got cupcakes for you and plums.”

His features soften for a second hearing that you remembered he told you about the plums he bought after he was finally free of Hydra.

“I told you to not talk to me,” the alpha grumbles as you place a basket filled with cupcakes, sandwiches, beverages, and plums on the ground.

You unfold the blanket you hid under your jacket, smirking as Bucky watches you with curiosity. “I had to smuggle it inside. They wouldn’t let me bring one last time.”

“Did you hear me?” The alpha asks, waiting for you to finally leave him alone. He’s been on his own for too long and doesn’t know how to handle kindness.

“I have biscuits too,” you say and sit down, cross-legged. “What do you want to eat first?”

Bucky sighs deeply. He mirrors you and sits down in front of the bars. Once again, the alpha gives in to you. “Did they tell you to come here? Is this their newest way to interrogate me?”

You shake your head. “I sneaked in,” you proudly say. “The Avengers are not as smart as they think they are.”

“Doll, you…” Bucky can’t help but grin when you tell him that you outsmarted Tony Stark and Spider-Man. “So, you outsmarted the spider boy?”

“Cupcakes or biscuits? I have sandwiches too.” You move the basket closer to the bars. “Plums maybe?”

While you talk to Bucky, wanting him to eat the food you brought to him, Steve, Tony, and Bruce watch you with worry.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to let her see him?” Tony is still not convinced that Bucky is no threat. “What if he freaks out and hurts her?”

“He’s calm around her. Did you see how he looks at Y/N?” Steve argues. “She’s his true mate. If anyone can stop him from going feral and losing himself again, it’s her.”

“If you say so,” Tony huffs, but watches your interactions with the alpha with interest. “Let’s see.”

“Good, right?” You happily ask as Bucky grabs one of the plums. He hums while eating the juicy fruit. “I got the best for you.”

“Why do you still come back?” Bucky asks. “They’ll never let me out of this cage. You’re wasting your time on me.”

“No, I don’t,” you grumble, not accepting any arguments. “I will come here until they release you. You didn’t hurt me. One day, they’ll see you’re a good man and alpha.”

He takes another bite as you slowly get back up. Bucky watches you with sad eyes, believing you want to leave so soon.

“I stole something from Spider boy,” you giggle and wiggle your fingers to show Bucky the keys to his cell.

“Doll,” Bucky warns. He scrambles to his feet and steps away from the bars. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. What if I cannot hold back?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you confidently say. Holding Bucky’s gaze, you push the key into the lock, unlocking his cell.

“Doll…no.” He takes another step back when you enter his cell, reaching out for the alpha you’re longing for.

“It’s okay. You won’t hurt me.” You assure him. “Please, alpha…”

“Stop coming around here… “ He says, pointing toward the open door as he does.

“No,” you stubbornly reply while stepping closer to Bucky. “I won’t.”

“I mean it…” He pants heavily when your scent hits him with full force. “I’m just going to end up hurting you if you don’t stay away…”

You glare at Bucky for the first time since you met him. Back then, they brought him here in chains made of vibranium. Princess Shuri from Wakanda accompanied him, telling everyone he was free of the programming and the code words.

They didn’t believe her, though. Instead of welcoming the lost man home, he got tested on and thrown into a cell.

Pursing your lips, you hold Bucky’s gaze. He glares back at you, waiting for you to cave in. He’s an alpha after all.

“Fine, have it your way.” You shriek when Bucky grabs you to press you up against the wall. He looks at you for a second, waiting for you to fight him before capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

You wrap your arms around him, melting against his body as his lips devour your mouth. Moaning against him, you let Bucky sling his arms around your body, lifting you off the ground.

“What the fuck, Capsicle!” Tony exclaims loudly as you are heavily making out inside the cell. “She… and then.”

“Uh—I think the kid shouldn’t see this.” Bruce clears his throat and covers the monitor with his hand to stop Peter from watching you wrap your legs around Bucky’s waist. “I think they are fine, though. No sign of aggression.”

Tony is not amused. He scrunches up his nose and makes a retching noise. “They can’t just make out in my cell! Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a comfortable bed with soft cushions.”

Steve grins because his friend is more interested in kissing you than escaping the cell. He knows that if Bucky wanted to, he’d have left the cell a long time ago. One flick of his vibranium wrist and he would have been long gone before anyone noticed his absence.

Something kept him from running away as so often before. His omega and true mate.

Tags in reblog.

[angrythingstarlight]

Better Than Before

Summary: Bucky wants to erase every disappointing, unsatisfying experience you've had, starting with your first time. He plans on making sure this time is better than anything you ever had before.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

CW: Smut, Oral (fem rec), praise kink, hint of overstimulation kink, minors dni.

WC: 3.7k

AN: Beta'd by the lovely @flordeamatista.

❀Masterlist❀Roommate Masterlist❀Library❀

“You know that means you’re still a virgin.” 

His brazen remark coasts over the top of his bottle nestled in his right hand. Avoiding his perceptive gaze, you rest your head against his headboard and fight the urge to fidget across the sheets. God, you should have kept your mouth shut, should have known that he’d keep pulling on that thread until the truth came out, leaving you raw and exposed. 

Bucky wraps his fingers around your ankle, tugging once, twice. “None of that shit counts, you know that.” 

Maybe. 

Still, it doesn’t mean you know what to say or how to handle this—another tug interrupts your musings, instead your mind focuses on the feel of his hand smoothing over your ankle. A small, unworried part of you wonders why such rough, calloused fingers feel so good, so right on your skin. 

You shake the wayward thoughts off with a stern reminder that Bucky is your roommate–just your roommate. 

Not dropping your gaze from the TV across the room, you wonder if it would be easier to roll over and pretend to sleep until he gives up.

But this is Bucky.

He’s persistent.

And he’s firmly stuck on the whole orgasm thing. Or lack thereof.

And you’re in his room which makes escaping this conversation difficult. Freeing your ankle, he nudges your thigh with the end of his cold bottle, the wet condensation makes you flinch. 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” 

You’re not getting out of this. 

Sighing, you loll your head onto your shoulder, eyes flicking down to his. “Pretty sure that’s not how that works, Bucky. I’ve had sex.” 

He hums in his throat, dismissing your statement. He’s sprawled across his half of the sheets, one leg bent causing the end of his shorts to ride up, exposing his thick thigh. Your eyes drawn to the muscles flexing as he stretches. The low thrum of the tv swallowed by the deafening silence pulsating between you. 

Bucky takes a slow slip, polishing off the rest of his beer, intense blue eyes never leaving your face. The longer he stares, giving you that look, the warmer you get, heat fanning down your chest and settling between your thighs. You want to squeeze them together, needing to relive the ache unfurling inside you. A part of you knows if you do, he’ll know exactly what he’s doing to you. 

What he’s been doing to you for the past month.

It’s hard to tell the exact moment things changed between you and your roommate. But it's there. An unspoken thing that takes up more space than his hockey gear scattered across his floor. 

Maybe it was around the time he kicked your ex out after a particularly nasty fight or the night he held you when you finally got rid of the jackass. 

“C'mon plum, I know what you need,” he said, his eyes warm and empathic, not an ounce of pity to be found. He brought you to his room, gathered all two of his pillows and his blanket, wrapped you up, and made you watch every Fast and Furious movie he owns, the two of you spent the entire night debating the physics of a branch being able to support a car until you fell asleep. 

The next week, you made him watch your favorite chick flicks. He retaliated with a series of horror movies that left you both uneasy. 

Tonight it’s John Wick. 

The low bass floating from the speakers goes unnoticed. You’re not sure how the conversation led to this point. A casual question about if you’re going out tonight led to you scoffing that you didn’t feel like being disappointed again, he wrangled the truth out of you so slyly that you didn’t realize what you were admitting to until your confession spilled out, splattering between you. 

 Too late to go back now. 

“Like I said.” A smile flits across his pink lips, his tongue peeking out to catch a wayward drop before it slips away. Your eyes follow the slow, languid movements, his lips parting again. “If you didn’t enjoy it, if you don’t cum so hard you can’t hear for a good five seconds afterward, it doesn't count. Therefore You. Are. A. Virgin.” His words are emphasized by a squeeze on your calf. 

There’s a finality to his words like he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. In his eyes, it's a goddamn travesty that your loser of an ex couldn't do the bare minimum of getting you off. 

He’s not wrong. 

It definitely felt like it at the time. A few hasty, uncoordinated thrusts, one was it good for you, already on his side and half asleep before you could even think to answer. It became a pattern after that, one that left you unsatisfied, wondering if it was your fault while investing in toys that almost made up for his lack of attention. 

Another cold nudge brings you back to the present. Raising your brows, you glance at Bucky out of the side of your eye. “What?” 

He looks at you, something heady and indiscernible in his deep blue eyes. It makes your stomach drop and twist. A lazy smirk pulls at his lips, stretching across his bearded face. 

“I could change that. I’ll be your first Plum.” 

 You must have misheard. You blink. Slowly. His smirk widens, the 'ya heard' me evident in the way his gaze darkens. No, you did not. Turning your upper body, planting your elbow in the side of your pillow, you stare down at your roommate. “Huh?” 

“Huh, she says.” He chuckles softly under his breath. Bucky reaches behind him, his teal henley stretching across his broad chest, outlining the ridges of muscles hidden beneath, a hint of his dog tags peek through the top as he sets his empty bottle on the nightstand with a dull clack. He drops down, grabbing your pillow from under you and pushing it under his head. “You heard me.” 

Cheeky bastard. 

You inhale a shaky breath, glancing away from him. Your heart is beating too fast, you don’t think you can handle this conversation any longer. Bucky moves to his knees, the bed dipping under his weight. Smooth, cool fingers encircle your ankle again, his thumb sweeping back and forth. 

“If you want,” he starts the timbre of his voice, deep and smooth and casual as it sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps prickling across your skin. “I’ll show you how you should be treated. How a real man fucks. I’ll give you a real first time and make it so good you’ll never think of anyone else but me again.” His hand lifts your leg, bringing you to his mouth, barely touching your calf but the warmth of his lips sinks into you like a tattoo. “If you let me.” 

“I-” Your eyes widen, his drop to your chest, rising and falling, your nipples tightening, showing through the thin cotton of your shirt. 

You want this. Everything in you wants this. 

“Please let me.” It's the please that breaks you. His voice laced with desire and hunger for you. Followed by a slow sweep of his lips across your skin, chaining kiss after kiss up your thighs. A silent mantra imprinted by his lips. 

Please. 

Please. 

He sets your foot back on the bed, sliding it up until your knee is bent. He moves up your body, his hands on either side of your stomach, kiss after kiss, easing your shirt up until he’s at your breasts. “Will you let me take care of you the way you deserve? Let me make you feel good.” 

You nod, swallowing thickly. 

The corner of his lips lifts. “Words Plum. Need to hear you say it.” 

“I-yes.” 

He lowers himself onto you, the warmth of his abs melts into your soft stomach, his erection presses into your skin, hard and heavy. Hands braced next to your head as he lowers his face until his lips are hovering over yours. “Words, Plum.” His voice travels across your skin, the slight brush of his lips teasing you. “Need to hear you say it. Say you want me. I’ll give you anything you, all you have to do is ask.” 

The deep blue of his gaze pierces through you, he grins when you tentatively place your hands on the small of his back. “I want–want you Bucky.” He doesn’t move, his brow lifts expectantly, a burst of heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize what he’s waiting for, what he’s making you wait for. “Please fuck me,” you rush out before your nerves get the better of you. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he breathes out, his lips slamming into yours. A frantic glide of his mouth over yours, his tongue delving into your mouth.

 Bucky wasn’t lying, he’s been craving to discover if you taste as sweet as you look. He is not disappointed. It’s not enough to satisfy his need for you but it takes the edge off his hunger. 

His lips slot over yours, devouring you once, twice before slowly turning into something languid and sweet. Savoring your kiss, his hand slips down to the curve of your waist and he drags you into him. His erection hardening against the thin layers of cotton separating you from him. 

Kisses chained down your face, across the smooth column of your throat, lacing down your chest as if he’s mapping his way across your body. Each press of his lips is a landmark he intends on coming back to again and again. His lips enclose around one taut nipple, gently scraping it between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth, his fingers plucking at your nipple, rolling it between his calloused fingers. “Bucky,” you choke out, a flare of pleasure shooting straight to your clit.

He kisses the growing wet spot on your panties, twisting them to the side to see your pussy, glistening and dripping. “This for me?” He murmurs, his greedy gaze skating up to your face. “Knew you’d be pretty everywhere Plum.” His praise sinks into your veins. His fingers curl under the band of your panties, easing them down your legs, he tosses them over his shoulder. 

His eyes drop to your pussy. 

“Been dreaming about this, Can’t believe I’m about to taste you,” he curses under his breath. You barely hear him over the dull roar in your ears, you don’t need to though, not with Bucky staring at your cunt like he wants to eat you whole. So he does. No warning. No teasing–he’ll save that for next time. He licks one thick stripe up through your folds.

“Oh–Bucky,” you keen, voice cracking as your back arches off the bed, your thighs clamp around his head. 

His tongue is so warm and wet and oh god–fuck that feels so good–when he drags the tip of his warm, wet tongue around your clit in a dizzying circle only to flatten it and drag it up in one firm motion. 

You don’t know if you want to cry out or grab the back of his head and beg for him to do that again. 

You do both. 

His name jumbled and broken on your lips. our heels dig into his back and you fist his hair, twisting the soft strands between your fingers as you roll your hips, pushing your pussy into his wicked mouth. 

As good as it is for you, it’s even better for him. 

You taste so sweet–he knew he was going to be addicted to you the second he saw you. He’s going to make up for every lackluster experience you’ve ever had and replace every disappointing memory with the ones he’s going to create for you. 

Bucky is going to treat you the way you should have been. He’s been waiting for the opportunity to show you how good it would be if you were his girl. 

Bucky slides his hands under your ass, lifting you to his face. He groans your name, the vibration of his deep voice sends another surge of sensations through you. Two fingers slip inside you, curling and thrusting to the frantic rhythm of his tongue. Pleasure winds tighter and tighter around you, dragging you down even as it borders on too much. 

Buicky feels you clench around him, the sounds of your moans spurring him on, his eyes locked on your face, watching your expression as you fall apart. Your mouth falling open on a sharp cry, your body tensing as your orgasm spirals wildly throughout you. 

This would be enough for you but Bucky isn’t done. Not when he has more to give you. 

You feel the soft press of his lips on your pulsing clit and then he pulls back, cool air replacing the warmth of his mouth. His face is drenched, your slick clinging to his beard. He runs his thumb across his lips, licking you off of him with a debauched groan. Quickly getting rid of his shorts, his cock springs free, lightly slapping his stomach. "I’m clean but I can grab a condom if you want. Either way, I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

“I’m on birth control and clean too.” You glance down,  pausing at his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “I want–” Bucky watches your eyes widen as he slowly strokes his cock, your gaze following his hand up his thick, hard length to the swollen tip shiny with beads of precum and he gets painfully harder. “I want to feel you. Just you.”

 “Grab the headboard,” he hoarsely demands. The second your fingers curl around the wooden frame, he’s tapping your sensitive clit with the head of his cock. Light jolts of sensations makes you whimper and he inhales sharply, eagerly anticipating all the ways he’s going to get you to make that sound again. “Ready for me plum?” 

“No,” you laugh out. You don’t think you’ll ever be ready for him. “Pretty sure you’re about to ruin me.” 

“Good, it’s only fair for what you’ve done to me,” he replies, pushing into you with a deep, sure stroke, filling you instantly. You’ll never forget the way his lips part on a quiet gasp, his eyes closing shut as your warm, tight walls surround him. 

Your own gasp echoes in the room. 

You are so full, so stretched, you’ve never been this full before, your lungs struggle to take in a breath. A slight burning spreads through you but it’s soon lost in the sensation of having him inside you. 

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he tells you, resting his weight on his forearms. “I’ll wait as long as you need.” 

He doesn’t move, holding himself above you. There’s no pressure, no worries that you’re taking too long or doing something wrong. The only way you know he’s affected is by the flush sweeping across his face, yet he doesn’t rush you, smiling down at you like he could wait forever. You swallow down the swell of emotion and taking a shaky inhale through your nose, you run your hands up and down his tattooed back, relaxing bit by bit around him until the sting fades, leaving only a faint pleasurable ache in its place. You tentatively rock your hips and–

Oh.

You do it again, taking more of him inside you.

Oh.

He’s so deep now. You didn’t think you could take him but now–now that’s all you want to do. 

“I’m ready.” 

Bucky eases out of you and immediately slams back into your pussy with a filthy, frantic swivel of his hips and you keen, unable to control the needy, indiscernible sound from spilling out. His pace escalates, and the wet slapslapslap of skin echoes in your ears. 

A steady thread of pleasure winds inside you.  

Bucky watches your face, waiting for you to tell him that he’s found what he's been looking for since his first stroke, his angle changing with every thrust. 

“C’mon, c’mon Plum, give it to me, let me have it, fuck, let–” he groans, then his swollen head grazes over a sensitive spot just right and your eyes roll back, a sob crawling up your throat. “There it is, that’s my girl.” His pace getting faster, driving his cock deeper into your pussy. “Gonna learn what you like, gonna discover everything this pretty little pussy needs, and give it to you.” 

Bucky bites your earlobe, groaning in your ear. “You want it fast and deep,” The bed creaking and groaning under your combined weights. He’s overwhelming your senses. Bucky is all you see. His cologne drifting around you. His warm, heavy weight on you. His soft, deep groans in your ear. 

You’re so close, you can feel it wrapping around the base of your spine, thick, hot pressure mounting higher,  threatening to pull you under again. “Yes yes,” you sob, grabbing his firm ass in your hands as he grinds deeper and deeper. “Fuck–”

“Mmmhm, don’t think I’m convinced Plum. Maybe you like it, slow and hard.” He pulls out until only the tip of him sits inside you, your walls clench down, trying to bring him back in

“Please,” you mindlessly beg, your fingers dig into his skin, desperately trying to pull him back down. No one has ever made you feel so incredible, you need him back inside you. You’d do anything he’d want right now. “‘m so close, please Bucky.” 

“Yeah, you are,” he says, a smug tilt to his tone. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, I promise plum.” He slides back in, inch by inch by inch, a languid, lazy roll of his hips, ensuring you feel each smooth ridge stretching your silken walls, brushing over that soft, sensitive spot. “Just tell me how you need it.” 

“I–shit, don’t stop,” you moan into the curve of his neck.

“I won’t. Not until you cum for me.” Bucky takes your hands in his, lacing his fingers through yours, the sweet gesture in dichotomy with the savage way he’s fucking you. “Gonna give you what you deserve plum.” 

As the last word leaves his lips, your orgasm crashes into you, and blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, searing through your veins as its pulses deep in your belly. 

Oh god, you get it now. It’s so good–he’s so good.  

More than you expected. Tears leak out of your eyes, rolling down the sides of your face. 

“One more,” breathed into the side of your throat, kissing your sweat-laced skin. 

“I don’t know if I—” 

“Yeah, you can. Don’t tell me you can’t when I can feel your pretty pussy gripping like she doesn’t want to let go. She needs this. Greedy little thing needs to cum again.” Bucky doesn’t slow down, without breaking his pace, he leans back and lets go of your hands, lifting your hips up. The sudden change prolongs your orgasm, another creeping up. “You got another for me.  Play with your clit” he hoarsely demanded, his gaze torn between watching your pussy swallow his cock, glistening with your slick juices and your beautiful face contorted with pleasure. 

“Good girl,” he praises when your fingers slide down your belly and sweep across your clit, fast circles that push you closer to your peak. “That’s my good fucking girl.

His hands slide up your back and he pulls you up until you’re sitting on his lap, your arms winding around his neck, you hold on dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he fucks up into your cunt. Bucky takes your chin in his hand, tilting your head back. “Look at me, let me see your pretty eyes.” 

You struggle to pry your eyes open, clenching down at the sight of his darkened gaze, only a thin rim of blue visible in his lust-blown pupils. “You’re going to cum for me. Just one more and you’re gonna make a mess all over my cock. Bucky brings your face close to his and he grins. “Those other ones were yours but this one is mine and I want it.”

 His voice, desperate and hoarse, tips you over the edge, only this one doesn’t slam into you like before, it creeps up on you, the knot unraveling slowly until you’re consumed. More tears spill out. A sob tears from your throat, and a litany of BuckyBuckyBucky rolls off your tongue. 

“I got ya, I got ya pretty girl. That’s it, knew you could cum for me. S’proud.” Biting his lip, his chest heaving as you grip him so sweetly, he doesn’t want to stop fucking you, doesn’t want to pull out. Bucky is already making plans for you, one that involves keeping you wrapped around him for the rest of the weekend. In his bed, your bed, on the kitchen counter, and a few times in the shower.

He lets go, dropping his weight onto you, fucking you into the mattress. Bucky takes your chin, turning your face towards him, kissing you, warmth filling you as he cums,  his hips jerking erratically once, twice. A small part of you preens—feeling him lose control is nearly as good as hearing him moan your name. Knowing you’re the one to do that to him is even better. 

Bucky rolls over, taking you with him. His large hands sweep up and down your back. "How was that?" he asks genuinely. 

“Incredible. That was–,” you blow out a breath, “better than I expected.”

He smiles softly. “Yes, you are, “ he murmurs, holding you close to his chest. “I had to go easy on you because it was your first time and all,” Bucky says, scrunching his nose. “Next time though, I won’t hold back.” 

Your brows furrow and you gesture at your still-joined bodies. “That was holding back?” Bucky laughs, the rich sound vibrates through your chest. “Wait. No–you were holding back?

“There’s a lot of things I’m going to do to you. That was just a sample of what you can have. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” The hopeful glint in his expression steals your breath. “You will though. If you want me, I’m all yours. All you have to do is say yes and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Yes, Bucky.” You don’t hesitate, not even embarrassed by how quickly it rolls off your tongue.  It’s not every day that you have Bucky Barnes between your thighs and you’re not about to pass up the opportunity to be his girl. Crossing your arms across his chest, you look down at him and match his grin with your own. “But let's talk about this holding back thing. Because if that was you holding back, I’m pretty sure the next time is going to destroy me.” 

He leans up, his hand curving around your jaw as he kisses you again. When he pulls back, there’s a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. 

"Oh, I plan on it." 

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list . m.list one

@amethystarachnid

⭒ Bet

When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

@embbarnes

⭒ Roasted Chestnuts

Bucky takes to sleeping in the living room, you comfort him with hot cocoa.

⭒ Sugar Plums

The soldier has an attachment to you.

@brunchable

⭒ My Neighbor Is A Pornstar

part one | Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out.

part two | Though you've become oddly close to SergeantBarnes, it's still difficult to act normal around him.

⭒ I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend

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

part two | It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him.

@rinasauruss

⭒ Magnetic Mishap

you bought magnets for Bucky's arm, forgetting that vibranium is not magnetic

@lanabuckybarnes

⭒ Secrets That Bite Back

For the longest time America’s star spangled Captain, or as you know him as Steve, has kept a little secret. A secret he thinks he guards well yet the rest of the Avengers seem to know already. Biting the bullet he decides to share this information with you but you have a secret of your own who isn’t too pleased about it.

@retrosabers

⭒ From Me, To You

as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

@vintagebuckybarnes

⭒ In Vino Veritas

It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

@marvelstoriesepic

⭒ Weakness

You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass.

⭒ Like He Means It

You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

⭒ In Too Deep

After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

@artficlly

⭒ Lessons In Love Making

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

@thebarneschronicles

⭒ Nine Lives

Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

⭒ Closer To Home (Masterlist)

A love story built in stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the quiet understanding of two people learning how to find a home in each other.

@inkedbybarnes

⭒ Blind Date

convinced that bucky will never like you back, you agree to a blind date arranged for you to forget about him.

⭒ None Of It Was Fake

you've been undercover with bucky as husband and wife. upon returning, he seems to have forgotten that it was all pretend.

@mournthebird

⭒ Knots

You help the soldier with some self care.

@em1i2a3

⭒ Hole In The Earth

@winterst4n

⭒ Sit Still

After stupidly jumping out of a craft on a mission, ending up with many broken ribs. Bucky is placed under your care unwillingly and he makes the week hell for you. But when the week ends he starts to regret everything.

@the-winter-spider

⭒ Deserve You

@marvelwitchergilmore

⭒ Ready To Sleep

You fall asleep with Bucky after a tough mission.

@graysonfics

⭒ Civil War!Bucky Drabble

@loveletterlore

⭒ A Sweater Affair

Bucky and reader are in a secret relationship, but can't stop wearing each others clothes...

@shockercoco

⭒ Better Late Than Never

@mind-empty-just-fictional-people

⭒ Fingerprints

bucky remembers every time your fingers graze his skin

@spidey-webz

⭒ Missionary w Bucky drabble

you love to be trapped under his weight and he loves to see you writhe underneath him.

@bcksbarnes

⭒ The Sun Will Set For You

bucky barnes is wrapped up in your arms, wanting you to be his

@starrylanex

⭒ Hate To Love

You and Bucky have always hated each other, but when a mission forces you to rely on him, tensions start turning into something else.

@fandoms-writings

⭒ Shut Up

@happy74827

⭒ Bruised Shadows

While coming home from another grueling job, Bucky found himself ambushed by the unrelenting warmth of his neighbor’s compassion.

@bratscave

⭒ Birthday Boy

@buckysm

⭒ 2:15am And I Miss You

In the quiet hours of the night, you and Bucky find solace in an unexpected friendship built on sleepless conversations and cigarettes. Slowly, walls come down, and a bond forms, kept hidden from the team. But when crisis strikes, the Avengers are shocked to discover just how deep that connection runs—and just how far you’d go for each other.

[bucky-obsessed]

Bucky because yes!

[petalbcrnes]

The ‘list’ has been stuck on the cool refrigerator door for a few months now. It’s in pristine condition, and that makes it even worse, considering the current state of BUCKY’S apartment. The sight strikes a chord inside him. Not in a way he’d expected. He feels weirdly content at the sight of it.

He hears Raynor’s words echo in his ears again — ever so professional, and annoyingly skilled at pointing out his every misstep.

“One step at a time,” Raynor says, her voice steady. “List the things you like—even enjoy.”

“Another list? Are you serious?” Bucky remembers scoffing in her face.

Raynor raises a single brow. He knows what that means.

“Oh, come on. What wisdom do you have to share with me now?”

“I think this list will be easy for you to write. Even enjoyable.”

Bucky remembers that conversation as he stares down at the list. The title is scribbled in a dark-colored pen already losing its ink — I enjoy like. As he remembers it, he begrudgingly thinks Raynor was right. It was easy to make, considering the fact that the examples he wrote on the list included a recurring same name.

Yours.

It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you’ll ever see it. No, you wouldn’t see that he actually enjoys the way you keep plums for him on your person. Or in the fruit bowl whenever he’s around. Or in your pocket, not bothered with it staining your clothes. You learned he liked it, so you go the extra long way of feeding him.

So, he likes the plums you give to him. Only him.

Bucky has always accepted. Begrudgingly.

That brings him to the next thing.

The way your personality could be compared to something Sam likes to call ‘sunshine’. Bucky hasn’t figured out the specifics. You’re just you in his eyes. Ever so bright, but steady and careful in your steps — so unlike him. He likes enjoys that.

Bucky is realizing the enjoyment actually feels like warmth. He’s starting to understand the ‘sunshine’ statement.

In short, he likes the way you have a certain warmth threaded into your being.

He likes the way you talk, too. A simple detail. Something he doesn’t think anyone else has noticed. Or maybe he’s reading into it. Or maybe you talk that way only when he’s around. He’d like that to be true, for some reason. You’re ever so careful not to slip in front of others. Not to ‘talk too much,’ as you put it.

Bucky enjoyed hearing you speak. To him, especially. You called it ‘rambling,’ but to him it’s the only sound that doesn’t grate on his ears. Every note of your words brings him a reverie he can’t get anymore from white noise or the television still on in the background as he tries to sleep.

Okay. He enjoys hearing you talk. To him, that is.

Bucky likes your face too. He struggled to write that one on the list, though. Struggled to explain why he’d want to even write it. How does he explain he likes the way your brows furrow every time you study a case? Or when you pick up a menu. Or when you’re reading a book you like. He likes your dopey grin. That stupid grin that dances on your face way too much. He notes the way your eyes smile alongside it too.

Sighing, he keeps the confusing fact that he likes your face on the list.

The last example on the page remains empty. He tries to think of something different to write.

Bucky likes his cat. Alpine likes you.

God damnit, he circled back.

Bucky is thankful for Sam. Sam always brings you around for everything.

He groans, realizing this may be a pattern. A pattern he’s starting to understand — one he isn't afraid of, surprisingly.

A single name is written at the end of the list.

You know it very well.

[vunblr]

A Star Without a Sky (#3)

Pairing: Sheriff! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff. Slow Burn. Smut.

Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.

Word Count: About 6.9k.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

She slowly tied the mare to the post outside the general store, hands cold despite the wool gloves. She patted the crate of preserves at the back of the cart, then hoisted it down and walked toward the porch, as her skirts brushed dust and straw.

The bell above the door let out a lazy chime as she stepped inside. The familiar scent of old wood, pipe smoke, and dried grain greeted her like always. Mr. Bell stood behind the counter, polishing his spectacles with the hem of his vest, while Brock Rumlow leaned on the far side, thumbing through a pouch of tobacco like he had all the time in the world.

His head turned the moment she entered, and his gaze dragged over her like molasses, slow and deliberate. Stopping at her bosom, lingering there just a hair too long.

Same as always.

She chose to ignore it.

“Well now,” Rumlow drawled, curling his lips. “Was wonderin’ if the little homestead swallowed you whole. Been a stretch since you graced the town with your smile.”

She kept her tone light, and polite, but clipped. “Hi, Mr. Rumlow. Been busy.”

“Busy,” he echoed, the word was slow on his tongue like he meant to chew it. “Takin’ care of your land all on your lonesome? That must get… exhausting.”

Mr. Bell cleared his throat pointedly. “Brock,” he warned him without looking up from the ledger.

She set the crate on the counter with a soft thump. “Three of the plums, four of the pears.”

“Appreciate it, Miss L/n,” Bell said, moving to check the jars. ���Been running low. Folks keep askin’ for your pear preserves.”

“Might bring more next week if the weather holds,” she answered, feeling Rumlow’s eyes on her like heat off a pan.

Bell gave her a kind smile. “Glad to hear it. Figured you were due for a trip, truth be told. Just didn’t expect you to roll in with the sheriff.”

Her mouth went dry for a heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her satchel. “Found him on the road, near the ridge. He said he was walkin’ back from some job. He looked like hell warmed over, if I’m honest. Thought I’d give him a ride.”

“Kind of you,” Bell nodded.

Rumlow snorted under his breath, stuffing the tobacco into his coat pocket.

She didn’t look at him, but still, he talked anyway. “Didn’t know he was the ridin’ sort. Looks more the skulkin’ kind to me.”

Bell frowned. “Don’t start, Brock.”

Rumlow raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey now, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Just thinkin’ it’s curious, is all. You keep to yourself, Miss L/n… and suddenly you’re givin’ rides to the sheriff, bringin’ him into town lookin’ like he’s fresh off the gallows.”

Her jaw worked. “I didn’t bring him in. He was already headin’ here.”

Rumlow’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes lost all pretense of warmth. “Maybe you ought to think twice ‘bout bein’ seen with the likes of him. Even if he is wearin’ a star now.”

She stilled in the motion of adjusting her shawl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned an elbow on the counter, grazing his belt with his thumb. “Rode with some fellas, types that don’t get invited to Sunday supper. Vigilante crew, some say. Kept killin’ long enough someone finally handed him a badge and said go ahead, make it legal.”

She turned, slowly and deliberately, resting her hands on the crate of preserves she was arranging. “Didn’t know the law required saints now. And no offense, Mr. Rumlow, but you’re not exactly a cherub yourself, and here we are, talkin’ like always.”

His expression twisted, not quite a scowl, not quite a smile. “Least I know who my folks were.”

Her breath hitched.

He leaned in, and his voice dropped a note, all honey and venom. “Ain’t no secret Barnes is a bastard. Left behind, orphanage-raised. And you know what kind of temper grows in a man made from nothin’.”

For a beat, the store was silent but for the creak of the settling wood. Bell busied himself in the back, pretending not to listen.

She straightened her back.

“I’ve known men with fathers who were monsters,” she said. “And I’ve known bastards who’d give their coat off their back to a stranger. So unless you’re holding something real in your hand, I’d think twice about spreadin’ dirt just to feel taller.”

Rumlow studied her, and his lip twitched a bit like he hadn’t expected her to bite back.

“Just tryin’ to help a lady keep her name clean,” he said, mock-gentle.

She stared him down. “My name’s clean, Mr. Rumlow. And I’m not the one slingin’ mud.”

He stepped away with a low chuckle, tapping his tobacco pouch with his thumb. “Suit yourself.”

When the door closed behind him, Mr. Bell cleared his throat from behind the shelf. “He thinks Banker Pierce’s coin makes him untouchable.” He muttered.

She didn’t answer. Just picked up the last jar and set it on the shelf behind the counter.

But Rumlow’s words swirled in the air like woodsmoke. For how easily men like him wielded rumor like a blade.

He’d called Bucky a bastard like it was a curse. Like it meant he was made wrong.

She pulled her shawl tighter as she stepped back into the morning light.

He didn’t know a thing.

----

The sheriff’s office smelled like old coffee, dust, and iron oil. The usual. Bucky stepped through the doorway with a stiff roll of his shoulders, his coat still damp at the hem from the morning frost.

Sam looked up from behind the desk, as usual, with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. He blinked once.

“Well,” he drawled, chewing slowly, “look what the cat dragged back in.”

Bucky didn’t smile. Just set the rifle gently against the wall and pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time, like he had all the time in the world and no interest in small talk. “Mornin’.”

“You smell like pears and pine,” Sam added, leaning back in his chair with a lazy sprawl. “What’d she do, bathe you in preserves?”

“Don’t,” Bucky said quietly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were gonna.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Sam sighed exaggeratedly and stood to unlock the armory with a key. “A week holed up with a lonely widow out in the hills, gettin’ fed and patched up? Some folks got all the luck.”

Bucky shot him a look. Slow, flat, and unimpressed. The kind that emptied rooms and quieted fools.

“I said drop it.”

Sam’s grin just widened. “Oh, I’m just gettin’ started.”

“You really missed me, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Jail’s been real quiet without you brooding in every corner like a cursed statue.”

Bucky finally cracked the ghost of a smile, rubbing a hand through his wind-tangled hair. “Good to be back.”

Sam leaned on the doorframe of the armory with his arms folded. “So, about your ladyfriend-”

Bucky turned.

Slow. Sharp.

“Sam.”

That was the third time.

The deputy lifted both hands in surrender, with the grin still perched on his face but softer now. “Alright, alright.” He let the words hang just long enough to keep Bucky’s pulse on edge. Then- “Just figured you should know. Your buddy Rumlow’s been sniffin’ around her skirts since the minute she put on the black.”

Bucky froze. Took one breath. Then another.

Sam didn’t push, just sat into the desk chair again, elbows on his knees, “Walker told me. Word’s been floatin’ around since before either of us showed up. Banker’s lapdog’s got a habit, and her porch light’s been on too long for him to ignore.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. His gaze dropped to the floor, then to the rifle by the door. One hand flexed.

Sam leaned back further, crossing his arms loosely. “Funny thing is… every man who tried callin’ on her after the mourning period ended, far as I’ve heard? Well. They either backed off real quiet or had themselves a little misfortune.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, sharp and dark.

Sam nodded once, slowly. “Tripped horse. Busted hand. One fella’s barn mysteriously burned halfway to ash. Nothin’ anyone could pin. Just… bad luck. It ain’t a secret Rumlow don’t like to share what he thinks is his,” Sam finished. “Seems like the only person who hasn’t noticed is her.”

Bucky’s hand curled tighter. He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t need them.

His jaw ticked, and his gaze dropped to the floor for a beat. When he looked up, there was something colder behind his eyes. “You tellin’ me this for a reason?”

“I’m tellin’ you,” Sam said, no grin this time, “because things in this town’ve been cookin’ a long while. You just stepped into the kitchen.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

The silence between them was heavy with meaning. The way his shoulders tensed, the slow clench of his jaw, and how his fingers hovered, just a second too long, over the rifle’s stock.

Sam watched him, then let out a low breath and pushed off his knees. “Yeah,” he muttered, brushing crumbs off his vest. “Figured you’d take it that way.”

Then he stood, brushing crumbs from his vest, and walked back toward the little back room without another word.

----

The bakery door creaked softly as she stepped inside, and the warmth of the oven was certainly appreciated by her chilled cheeks. The air was thick with cinnamon, butter, and rising dough, comforting.

Mrs. Marshall looked up from behind the counter, with her hands dusted in flour. “Mornin’, dear! I saw your cart earlier. You brought the preserves?”

“Sure did. Plums and pears this time.” She managed a smile, tucking a windblown curl behind her ear.

She barely had time to step forward when someone turned from the display near the window.

“Why, if it ain’t the lady of the orchard herself, what a coincidence,” came Rumlow’s voice, syrupy sweet and dressed in charm.

He held a small paper box of tarts in one hand, the other resting loose at his hip. No spurs now. No hat. Just that too-smooth smile and a casual lean against the counter.

“Mr. Rumlow,” she said with polite reserve, gripping the crate tighter in her arms.

He glanced at her, slowly and deliberately, then looked back to the tarts like they required deep thought. “Hope I didn’t come off too sharp earlier. Just tryin’ to look out for folks, is all. Rough place, this town. Rougher men in it.”

She blinked, caught off guard. He sounded sincere, contrite, even. No trace of the earlier sneer. Not a hint of lechery. Just concern, well-practiced and polished, clean.

“Didn’t mean to give offense,” he added, glancing up through thick lashes. “I’d hate to think I made you feel uncomfortable. Wasn’t my intent.”

The baker moved behind them, sliding loaves into the oven.

“I appreciate that,” she said after a beat, softening a little. “It’s easy to speak without thinkin’. We’ve all done it.”

He nodded slowly, tucking the pastry box under one arm. “You’re gracious. That’s a rare thing these days.”

His voice carried the right amount of warmth, and deference. It felt measured, not too eager, not too slick. The kind of tone a man used when he wanted to be trusted.

Still… something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t just about the way his eyes had lingered on her body in the general store. It was a wrongness she couldn’t name. But she smiled politely, thanked Mrs. Marshall, and turned toward the door.

Rumlow was already there, stepping ahead to hold it open.

“Let me,” he said, almost gallantly, the gentleman act slipping on like an old coat. “Least I can do.”

She hesitated, but walked through, nodding once as she passed.

“Actually,” he said once they were outside, “I was wonderin’... Would you let me make up for my tone earlier?” His gaze flicked sidelong, all soft lines. “There’s roast at the hotel restaurant today. Real nice. You let me buy you a plate, and share a civil conversation. Just neighbors, makin’ peace.”

She stopped on the sidewalk, lifting her chin just a notch, the crate against her hip.

He didn’t push. Just waited, still smiling. Still polite.

She stood there a beat too long.

The cold nipped at her shawl, and her hands pressed harder on the handle of the crate. Rumlow’s eyes didn’t press, but they didn’t look away either. Waiting. Open.

Maybe she was too quick to paint everyone with suspicion.

After all, he’d apologized. Earnestly. And while the way he’d spoken about Bucky earlier had crawled beneath her skin, wasn’t it, sadly, the sort of thing most decent folk thought? Especially with a man whose past came tangled in blood and bounty?

He had been trying to look out for her. In his own rough, clumsy way.

And maybe it wouldn’t hurt, just once, to indulge that peace offering. Squash whatever awkwardness might fester between them. Ensure she wouldn’t find herself whispered about in the corners of the general store or glared at by the banker's men.

You and the gunman got bad blood now? That’s not wise.

She adjusted her shawl and shifted the crate to her other hip. “Alright,” she said lightly, like she hadn’t just talked herself down from a dozen misgivings. “Lunch, then. Neighbors making peace. Let me leave the crate in the cart.”

He smiled widely, wider than she would have liked, though she told herself that was just his normal expression.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, offering his arm.

She didn’t take it.

Just walked beside him, with her back straight. Letting herself believe that maybe, she’d imagined that little flicker in his eyes.

----

Just across the road, down the mouth of an alley, the edge of a dark coat shifted with the wind.

Sheriff Barnes watched from a shadowed corner, with crossed arms, an unreadable face under the brim of his hat. A flicker of movement, a flash of her shawl as she walked beside Rumlow.

His jaw clenched once. Hard.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t follow.

Just watched them disappear into the warm light of the hotel’s front door.

Then turned, slow and silent, and walked the other way.

----

The hotel’s restaurant was quiet at midday, just a few men nursing coffee or waiting for stew. Rumlow waved off the waiter like he owned the place and guided her to a corner table with a hand lightly at her back, too lightly to protest, too familiar to ignore.

She sat across from him, smoothing the napkin across her lap, fussing her fingers with the edge of her spoon.

Rumlow ordered for them both without asking. “Beef’s decent today,” he said, flashing a smile full of teeth. “And I remember you don’t eat pepper bells.”

She blinked. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“Just observant,” he said, leaning back on the chair. “Always tryin’ to be of service. Like I always tell you on Sundays, if you ever need anything out there on your land, being alone and all… just send word.”

He smiled again, broader this time. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

She gave a soft, noncommittal hum, reaching for the glass of water. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly. And if I find myself in a bind… I’ll ask.” A pause. “I do have neighbors. And folks in town have been decent enough.”

“Sure,” he said, tapping the table with one finger. “But not everyone’ll come runnin’ without askin’ questions.”

She managed a polite smile, but the way he said it turned in her stomach. She kept sipping the water, cool against her tongue.

It wasn’t that he said anything wrong, exactly. But the idea of sending for Rumlow, having him alone at her property, with no one else around...

It didn’t feel right. Not like it had with Bucky.

Bucky had been half-dead, bleeding out, but somehow, even when he was better, she hadn’t felt unsafe. Never once worried what he might do, even when she’d undressed him, fed him, tended his wounds.

She forced her thoughts back to Rumlow, nodded once more. “That’s generous of you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

After all, Alexander Pierce was a respected man. A generous pillar of the community. He wouldn’t keep untrustworthy men around.

Right?

Still… her hands remained folded neatly in her lap. And she didn’t finish the stew.

----

An uneventful week came and went until one morning, when the sun had barely cleared the eastern ridge, she reached the edge of the orchard and stopped cold.

Ten trees. Maybe more. Splintered stumps jutting from the ground like broken teeth. Pears crushed into the dirt, sticky and swarming with flies already.

She dropped her basket without realizing it.

She hadn’t heard a thing. Not a damn thing. No dogs barking, not the trees falling in the dark. But someone had been here. Someone had taken an axe to her land like it meant nothing. And done it close enough to her house.

Her trees. Years of work reduced to kindling. She clenched her fists.

She should’ve gone to the neighbors. Asked if one of their men saw something. But her mind snapped instead to a voice quieter than most, one that still echoed in her ears some nights.

If you ever find yourself in trouble... even if it seems foolish... come to me.

So she hitched the mare to the cart, fast and sloppily, threw her coat over her dress, and did a quick braid on her hair. She rode hard toward town, the wind biting her cheeks, dust and snow kicking up under the wheels. The orchard flashed behind her eyes with every jolt of the road.

By the time she reached the main street, the town had already stirred to life, doors propped open, smoke curling from chimneys, folks tipping hats in greeting. She didn’t slow down.

She pulled up hard in front of the sheriff’s office, and her boots hit the ground before the cart had even settled. The door creaked as she stepped inside.

Sam was behind the desk, polishing the handle of a shotgun with a rag over his knee. He looked up, blinking once.

“Morning, Ma’am,” he said. “You alright?”

Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. “Where’s the sheriff?”

Sam set the shotgun down slowly. “Ain’t here. Went to check somethin’. Why?”

She stepped forward. “Someone’s been on my land. Cut down half my pear trees. Fruit ruined.”

Sam stood now. The chair scraped back against the floor. “When?”

“Last night,” she said. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

He grabbed his hat from the peg behind him and motioned toward the bench along the wall. “Sit a spell. Let me ask you a few things. Bucky’s out workin’ a lead, but he’ll be back soon. Might help to have the details ready for him.”

She nodded and sat, folding her hands tightly in her lap. The office smelled like tobacco and oil, and the clock on the wall ticked too loudly in the quiet space.

Sam settled back behind the desk, already reaching for paper and pencil. “Now… you said trees were cut. You see tracks? Anything else disturbed? Tools left behind?”

She shook her head. “Nothing I could see. Just trunks, clean cut. Fruit all over the ground like someone went outta their way to ruin it.”

He hummed, jotting notes. “Any trouble with neighbors? Workers? Someone pass by lately that didn’t sit right?”

She hesitated. “No. Nothing like that. It’s been quiet.”

Sam gave a thoughtful nod. “Ain’t the kind of damage you do unless you’re lookin’ to send a message.” He tapped the pencil once on the desk. “Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

She offered a tight smile, but her insides were churning.

The longer she sat, the more the walls pressed in. The louder the clock ticked than it had any right to, and the lamplight made the air feel thick. Her mouth had gone dry, but her palms were damp in her skirt.

Sam noticed. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, then stood. “I think… I should go. Need to get back. If the sheriff -or you- come by later, just knock.”

“You sure you don’t wanna wait a little longer?” Sam asked, standing too, “He might be back any minute.”

She shook her head. “I’m just tired. I’d rather be home. Thank you, deputy.”

He gave a polite tip of his head, watching her go with a thoughtful frown as she stepped out into the sunlight.

The town was louder now with creaking wagons and raising voices. She moved down the steps, trying to clear her head, focusing on each step.

Then, a smooth and too familiar voice startled her.

“Well, now. Didn’t expect to see you in town this early.”

She looked up.

Rumlow.

He was standing near the water trough, with his arms folded, chewing something leisurely. His eyes flicked over her -lingering too long, as always- before returning to her face.

“You alright?” he asked, all concerned, all charm. “You look rattled.”

She froze for half a second before forcing her shoulders back, smoothing her skirt. “Just had a bit of trouble at home,” she said, cautiously but politely.

“That so?” he said, stepping closer, narrowing his gaze just slightly. “You know, if you ever need help out there…”

She offered a tight smile. “That’s kind of you, really. I’ll ask if I ever need anything.”

But she wouldn’t. Not from him.

Still, she told herself not to overthink. He was just being nice. Maybe a little crude sometimes, but it wasn’t rare in those lands. Maybe he just didn’t know how to talk to women like normal folk. So she said thank you, gave a small nod, and stepped around him, her heart ticking a little faster as she went.

Because no matter how calm his voice was, or how polished the apology, something about Brock Rumlow had always made her skin crawl.

And today, that feeling was worse.

----

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

The fire had burned low, casting soft golden fingers across the floorboards. The weight of the day, the trees, the ride, the faces in town, it all felt heavy across her shoulders, and when she sat on the old chair near the stove, just to rest her eyes… her body had decided for her.

She woke with a small jolt.

The fire was dimmer now. The room, colder. Outside, beyond the window, snow was falling in slow spirals, coating the ground. It took her a moment to place the faint sound she’d heard beneath the rustle of wind.

Knocking.

Not frantic, but insistent. Three times.

She sat up, with her heart climbing slowly into her throat, with one hand still tangled in the folds of the blanket.

It could be Bucky or Sam, or-

Another knock. Louder now. More forceful.

She rose slowly and turned slightly, squinting toward the window near the door. She couldn’t see much past the snow, but a tall figure stood on the porch, low hat, black coat pressed flat to a solid frame. Her pulse kicked up.

Then she heard his voice, low and unmistakable, behind the door.

“It’s me.”

----

She motioned him inside. He looked windblown and a little agitated, like he’d galloped the whole way and hadn’t let himself breathe since. The snow clung to his coat hem and melted in his hair, dampening the ends that curled against the collar of his long coat. His eyes were unreadable.

“Your horse-” she started.

“Took the liberty,” he cut in, his voice was low, rough from cold and something more. “To put him in the stable with the mare.”

She nodded, stepping back so he could pass fully inside. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in the warmth of the house. He stood awkwardly near the threshold, like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was here.

“Sam filled me in,” he said after a pause. “Before coming, I spoke with the closest neighbor. Just makin’ the rounds. Gotta ask a few questions myself, in case anything got missed.”

She gestured toward the sitting room. “Well, come on then. No use freezin’ in the entry.”

He slowly followed her in, removing his hat, pressing his fingers at the brim. The fire snapped softly in the hearth. She’d tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, motioning for him to sit. He did, stiff-backed, resting his hands on his thighs, eyes on the fire instead of her.

She studied him for a moment. He looked guarded. More than usual. Not just tired or worn down, but distant, like he’d put something between them and couldn’t find the words to move it.

“Something wrong?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he said too quickly. “Just doin’ my job.”

Except he wasn’t. Or he was, but this wasn’t the man who’d laid half-dead in her bed. Not like the one who’d eaten preserves with careful hands and watched her when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

This version of him was tense and cold. Polite, but brittle.

She tried not to let it show. “You said you had questions,” she offered softly.

He nodded, like he had to remind himself why he was here. “Right.”

And then came the usual list: had she seen anything, heard anything, remembered anything new? She gave the same answers she’d given Sam, almost word for word.

Until he shifted in his chair. Cleared his throat. Didn’t meet her eye.

“Has anyone new been here the last few days? Spent time with you in town?”

She blinked. “New? No. You were the last new person here. Before you…” She shrugged. “Just the neighbors. Their wives.”

He swallowed hard, flexing his jaw. “Let me rephrase,” he said, and something in his tone turned pointed. “You spend time with anyone lately? Had a conversation that got… close? Maybe a disagreement? Some kind of confidence?”

Her brow furrowed. “Not that I recall.”

He exhaled sharply, and sat back like he didn’t believe her, or didn’t want to. “This won’t work if you play coy.”

The room went still. The crackle of the fire filled the gap he left.

She stared at him, clutching the blanket in her lap, as something cold crawled beneath her skin that had nothing to do with the snow outside.

“I’m not playin’ anything, Sheriff,” she said firmly. “And if you think I am, maybe you should try askin’ plainer.”

He raked a hand through his damp hair, his face shadowed in firelight. “I didn’t mean it like-”

“No?” she cut in. “Because it’s starting to sound like you did.”

A beat passed by.

“Sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze. “I shouldn’t’ve said it like that.”

She let out a breath through her nose. Nodded once.

He hated this. Hated that his chest felt tight over something he had no business feeling.

He didn’t tell her that seeing her step into the hotel with Rumlow, with his hand hovering too close to her waist, had lit something ugly in his chest. That made him feel stupid, boyish. Like a stray dog sniffing around a place he didn’t belong.

It wasn’t jealousy. He didn’t have that right. Hell, they weren’t anything. She’d helped him. Cared for him. He’d held onto that feeling too long, long enough to let his thoughts wander where they shouldn’t.

But damn it, something in him had imprinted on her. And now here he was. Snapping at her like she’d betrayed something between them, like she’d wounded a bond they’d never named.

It wasn’t fair. Not to her.

It wasn’t even like he had a clean slate to stand on. He was a man with a past soaked in ash and blood. A man most decent folk crossed the street to avoid, badge or not.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. The stubble rasped against his palm.

“I just think you’re leavin’ something out,” he said, the words coming out too rough, too flat.

She looked at him like he’d just insulted her straight to her face. “Well, think again. Because-”

“I saw you,” he said. The breath in his chest caught halfway through, but he forced it out anyway. “The day you dropped me off.”

That made her blink. “I went to the general store. Then the bakery-”

“The hotel,” he cut, and that stopped her cold.

Something shifted behind her eyes, confusion, maybe. But that didn’t matter. Not to the part of him that had ridden out here with this iron weight pressing deep in his chest. The part that saw her walking past those swinging doors with Rumlow on her heels like a man walking where he was welcome. Too welcome.

She stared at him, the corner of her mouth twitched, maybe with realization, maybe with anger. “I had lunch,” she said, incredulous. “At the restaurant.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t blink.

She scoffed, a breath of disbelief. “Jesus. Is that what this is? You think-?”

“I don’t think anything,” he said stiffly, gaze burning into the dark of the fire instead of her face. “It’s not my business what you do, or who you see.”

Except it was. Except his guts had twisted since Sam mentioned Rumlow’s name. Since he’d watched that hotel door open and seen her coming in with a small smile. Like they were gonna-

His jaw worked, tight.

“Unless it has something to do with your land being torn up,” he added, quieter now. “Unless it puts you in danger.”

But that wasn’t why it haunted him. Not really.

He hated that the thought even crossed his mind.

And most of all, he hated that he’d ridden all this way, with a badge and a reason, and still couldn’t look her in the eye.

She didn’t move for a moment.

Just sit there until she finally looked up. “So that’s what you think of me.”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t say-”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t say it. You just asked around it, circled it, hoped I’d fill in the blanks for you.” Her voice was calm, but it cut straight through the dim room like a knife.

She crossed her arms, not defensively, more like she was holding herself together. “You think I’d do that. After what we- after the way we sat under the same roof, broke bread, shared the quiet without needing to fill it? You think I’d let a man like that in my bed just because he looked my way?”

He winced; the soft tone she used did more to shake him than if she’d raised her voice.

“I don’t know what I thought,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I just… saw you with him. Walkin’ into that place. And my head ran with it.”

“I went for roast,” she said plainly. “I sat across a table and let a man I don’t like tell me I should be grateful he looks out for me, like he owns the right. And I smiled through it because sometimes that’s easier than making an enemy in a town too small to disappear in.”

She took a breath. “If you wanted to know, you could’ve asked. You didn’t need to look at me like I’d proved something ugly.”

His throat worked around a word he couldn’t get out. His hand flexed once at his side like he wanted to reach for something but didn’t know what. He looked down.

“I’m sorry.” It came rough.

She didn’t speak.

He forced himself to meet her eyes, even if it made something twist in his gut. “I ain’t good at this.”

Still nothing from her, but she wasn’t walking away. That was something.

“I saw you with him, and I knew what it looked like, but I also knew it didn’t mean what my head started sayin’ it did. But I let it talk anyway. I ain’t used to bein’ in the company of decent folk, ma’am,” he added, reverting without meaning to, the word slipping out like armor. “I should’ve known better.”

Her stance relaxed a little, just enough to notice.

“Damn right you should’ve,” she said.

Well, it wasn’t cold. Not quite.

And it wasn’t a door shutting in his face.

Bucky sat there, with his hat hanging in his hand, rubbing his thumb slowly over the brim. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than under her gaze, but he stood his ground all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice quieter this time. “I was wrong to think it. Or to speak it. Either.”

Her arms folded tighter across her chest.

“I know what that sounded like,” he said, trying again. “And I’d take it back if I could. You… didn’t deserve that. You deserved better than me makin’ you feel low in your own home, after all you’ve done.”

He paused, looked down again. He shook his head, like the words failed him.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, studying him, how his fingers twitched around the hat brim, how his boots didn’t quite plant firmly on the floor like they usually did. He wasn’t looking at her now, with his gaze fixed on the corner of the room like it might forgive him if she didn’t.

“You always call me by my name,” she said finally. “Except just now.”

His jaw flexed, and his mouth worked once before answering. “Didn’t figure I’d earned it anymore.”

The quiet stretched again.

Then came the smallest exhale. Not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

“Sheriff,” she said dryly, “you have the backbone to drag a half-dead body into law and stare down a gun barrel, but the moment a woman looks disappointed in you, you start unravelin’ like a spool.”

That got his eyes to lift, just barely.

“And I’m not sayin’ I’m ready to be all smiles and pie,” she added, softer now. “But I can see when a man’s trying.”

He swallowed. Gave a small nod.

She got up and reached for the kettle without looking at him. “Might as well stay a bit. Snow’s still fallin’.”

And that -more than anything- was her way of saying he was forgiven.

She smoothed the skirt of her dress with one hand, though it didn’t need smoothing. Her voice was calmer now, even, but not cold.

“Answerin’ your question… I didn’t have an altercation with anyone.”

His eyes slowly lifted to her at that.

She met his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Rumlow invited me to have lunch. Said it was a way to make amends for somethin’ he’d said earlier. A misspoke, that’s all.”

Her tone wasn’t defensive, but measured. Like she was offering him the facts and not asking for approval.

“And before you ask-” she added, tilting her head slightly, “it was nothin’ that matters to the issue at hand.”

He was quiet. Too quiet.

Then, low: “Without due respect, I’ll decide if it’s not important.”

His thumb rubbed slowly along the edge of his belt. “What did he say, that needed apologizin’ for?”

There was no heat in the question, but something in his posture had stiffened, and his gaze pressed on her. Heavy. Blue and unreadable.

She sighed, slightly curling her fingers around the fold of her skirt.

“He said… I oughta be careful who I’m seen with.” Her lips pressed into a line. “Then went on about your past. What you used to do before you came here.”

A flicker of reaction passed through his body -barely there- but she saw it. A twitch in the jaw, the faintest crease between his brows. Still, he didn’t speak.

“I told him I didn’t see how that was any of his business,” she added quietly. “He backed off. Seemed sorry. And I figured… I dunno. Maybe he was tryin’ to look out for me in his own way.”

He nodded once, slowly and shallow, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Something about his silence didn’t feel like judgment.

It felt like shame.

He needed to get a hold of himself. Do his damn job.

But he wasn’t made of stone.

He leaned back slightly, fixing his eyes somewhere near the wood grain on the floorboards, working his jaw like he was grinding down a thought that wouldn’t settle.

Rumlow and he had been oil and water from the start. The second he stepped foot in that town wearing the badge, Rumlow had made it clear he didn’t much care for new dogs sniffin’ around old territory. Tried to undermine him from the first week, worded suggestions like they were orders, challenged decisions with a smile too thin to be friendly.

The man was used to a softer sheriff, someone who knew how to look the other way when Pierce’s interests didn’t align with the law.

And Bucky… didn’t look away.

It had come to a head not long after he took the post, in the middle of Main Street, hands twitching toward pistols. Townsfolk froze in their tracks. No bullets flew that day, but it was a close thing. Banker Pierce had stepped in, of course. Smoothed it over with the mayor, all shaking hands and backroom talks, calling for a “more amicable coexistence between two capable and trustworthy men.” That’s what he’d said.

He never forgot the wording. Nor the way Rumlow smiled afterward, all teeth and threat. They hadn’t traded words since unless it was required, but that cold simmer never left. And now…

Now that son of a bitch had gone and put his name in her mouth. Dug up pieces of his past and handed them to her like stones, waiting to see if she’d throw them back at him.

He swallowed slowly and tightly.

“And you suppose he told you all that just to be helpful,” Bucky said, tone clipped. “Lookin’ out for you.”

Her lips pressed into a line. “That’s what he claimed.”

Bucky’s hand flexed once on his thigh.

“Alright,” he said after a beat. “Did he say anything else to you that might be… meaningful?”

She shrugged, like she hadn’t thought twice about it. “Sincerely, no. It’s the same speech over and over about me being alone.”

That caught his attention. Subtle, but sharp.

He straightened slightly. “And what speech is that?”

She turned to remove the kettle from the heat. “Oh, you know. That I oughta ask for help if I need it. That I can count on him for anything.” She paused, poured water into the mugs. “He always says it like he’s doin’ me a kindness.”

Bucky narrowed his gaze. The warmth from the fire didn’t reach the knot forming low in his gut. “You say ‘same speech.’ Does he bring it up often? That you’re alone. That you- need a man around.”

She furrowed her brow, like she hadn’t thought of it that way before. “I mean... yeah, I guess he does. Just figures it’s odd I’m still by myself out here.”

“Hmm.”

Just a sound. Nothing else.

But behind his eyes, the gears turned. Slow. Steady. Ugly.

The day she brought him to town, Rumlow saw them together. Saw her at his side, blanket on their laps. Not even two hours later, the man had cornered her with a mouth full of sugar and tried to tear Bucky’s name to pieces. Then offered himself up instead. Big-hearted. Concerned. Eager to step in.

If that was something he did often, subtle, polite, persistent… and if Sam’s warning was true… other men had tried before. Men who'd backed off too fast. Or had little accidents. Coincidence, maybe. But now?

Now, it was starting to look like something else.

Because maybe Rumlow wasn’t just tryin’ to win her favor.

Maybe now he was trying to scare her into his arms.

The thought curled like smoke in the corners of Bucky’s mind, foul and slow. He didn’t let it show, just kept his eyes on her face, his voice quiet.

“And… have you ever taken him up on it?” he asked. “Relied on him? Brought him out here?”

She turned halfway, with the kettle still in her hand, furrowing her brow as if the question caught her off guard.

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head with a little laugh. “No, I never have. I mean… I can’t name it, and maybe it is silly, but I don’t-” her fingers pressed a little harder around the kettle’s handle, “there’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way.”

Bucky watched her carefully and didn’t interrupt.

“It’s not that he’s done anything wrong,” she added, like she was trying to be fair even to her discomfort. “On the contrary, he’s polite. Apologetic. Always offers help.” She exhaled, looking at the wall like it might explain what she couldn’t. “But he makes me uncomfortable.”

He nodded once, slowly. Said nothing at first, just stared into the fire like he was measuring its heat.

But inside him, a match had been struck.

Because she had no idea how well her instincts were working. How lucky, maybe, that she hadn’t needed help yet. That she hadn’t given that vulture an inch to take.

He cleared his throat and looked at her again, voice rougher than before. “Trust your gut.”

She blinked. “What?”

“If he makes you feel that way. Don’t second-guess it.” His gaze met hers, firmer now. “Ain’t silly.”

She held his stare for a breath, slightly softening her posture. “…Alright,” she murmured. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

And he gave her the smallest nod in return.

But inside?

He was already thinking about how fast a man could lose a hand for reaching too far.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @whitewolfluvr @webbedwonders @ddrewcameron @globetrotter28 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @maryevm @nojudgmentjustsupport @jaderabbitt @hi172826 @littlesuniee @lonelyghosts-stuff @vxllys @mrsalexstan @winter107soldier @muchwita @gentlelimerence @gotminho @alaskaloveposts @oldernotwiser26 @daylighthazzz @dollface-xoxo @danzer8705 @ana27qz @carrotlove @valyriantarg @mgchaser @kittieboo @buckysbbydoll @purplefluffycows @yes-ilovetowrite @greatenthusiasttidalwave @technicallytinyheart @y0urgrl @wintrsoldrluvr @neyr100

[chiacanwritesometimes]

shopping headcanons!

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨🛒୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 765

authors note: light hearted hc’s since ive been writing a lot of hurt/comfort. next fic is gonna be a little painful, so im giving a fluff offering before that! this one was really fun to write :) no warnings!! this was inspired by my recent shopping trip lolol, enjoy!

===========

shopping with bucky wasn’t easy. the few times you convinced him to go with you, he stayed a little grumpy throughout the trip. he mostly went to keep you safe, to watch you while you were in the zone. the times he didn’t go, he constantly checked your location, similar to a worried mother. when you came home, he would pepper kisses around you, exhaling in relief that you came home safely.

when shopping for groceries, he spent most of the time scoffing at the prices. almost as if on command, he would say, “back in my day, milk was a quarter”, or something of that nature. that always made you giggle and roll your eyes, so he was glad that his annoyance with inflation made you smile. he would try to buy 10 pounds of beef behind your back, but when you caught him, you both negotiated a reasonable amount to keep.

he would often visit the fruit section, and see if plums were in season. if plums weren’t there, his second option were mangoes, and if those weren’t there he would get oranges. despite how much he complained about going to the store, he enjoyed seeing you concentrated on the products, and making a calculated choice. he also enjoyed seeing other people, wondering why they were there. he would assign them backstories, for example: a nervous teenage boy in the flower section was about to go on his first date, an older woman with a warm appearance was buying ingredients to make brownies for her grandchildren, etc. it brought him some feeling of comfort, as if he was just another civilian with no other care. that, of course, wasn’t the case, but he liked to imagine it anyway.

when shopping for gifts, he would always suggest a candle, because that was the first thing you gifted him. he liked watching the little flame flicker, and was mesmerized by the comforting smell. he would ask you to buy a candle for him every time you went out the store, with an excuse that he ran out of his last one. he kept a secret collection underneath the bed, thinking you didn’t know. of course you knew, but you went along anyway, to please him. he was always excited to see what new smell you brought him this time, and kept certain smells in specific places. fruity for the bathroom, spice for the living room, citrus for the kitchen, eucalyptus and fresh linen for the laundry room. he had a whole system, and would change candles out for holidays. you enjoyed seeing him passionate about something, plus it made your house always smell good, so you never complained.

when shopping for household items, he suggested to buy in bulk, so as to make fewer trips overall. you agreed, but you both had different ideas as to what “in bulk” was. for you, it was buying a reasonable amount of toilet paper to last six months. for him, it was buying enough to last five years. you managed to compromise and land for 18 months, but you were always embarrassed checking out, because the cashier always had an amused look when seeing the amount of toiler paper in your shopping cart.

when checking out, you always paid in joint. he would pay half, and as would you, unless there were special circumstances. after paying his half, he would excuse himself, saying he needed to go to the bathroom or something. he then would run to the flower section of the store, grab a bouquet that you were eyeing, and pay through self checkout. by the time he finished paying, so did you, and he met up with you, bouquet in hand. despite how many times you told him not to spend money on those sorts of things, you always had the biggest smile on your face, so he never listened to you.

when unloading the shopping bags into the car, he would hand you a few bags, and escort you to the passenger seat. he didn’t want you doing a lot of work, plus he liked being the one to organize what goes where.

after arriving to your home, you would take a few bags and unlock the front door, returning to grab more bags. you’d always see him with all of the bags in his metal hand, and the other hand closing the trunk. he would smile sheepishly and hand you two bags from the bunch.

shopping with bucky wasn’t easy, but it certainly was entertaining.

[blythesarchives]

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.