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kaynothanks · 10 months ago

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On His Collar | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wilson!Reader

Warnings: bucky’s one jealous boi, lil bit of violence, no smut which (for me) really is surprising, smooching, being caught

Summary: Bucky can't keep his hands off you and your brother notices

Word-Count: 12.3K

With a nervous gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you were only half-aware of your leg's relentless fidgeting. Your eyes remained affixed to the world beyond the car window, the landscape blurring as the vehicle, courtesy of Zemo's orchestration, sped on. Vague details of the city drawing closer had filtered through to you via documents and whispers; the scant knowledge of its shadowy dealings enough to stir an unsettling churn within your chest. From a distance, Madripoor was breathtaking, its myriad lights flickering through the rain's swift descent, captured momentarily on the glass before you.

This fleeting illumination conjured memories of a night several months prior, when a call in the deep, silent hours had pierced your tranquility. Urged by his voice, laced with an unspoken desperation, you hadn't hesitated. Your car had cut through the sleeping city of New York, a beacon in the dark, drawn to alleviate his turmoil. The lights of that night, though bearing a resemblance to the ones now stretched before you, held a beauty tinged with a personal touch, perhaps making them appear even more enchanting.

You released a breath tinged with anxiety, your fingers idly tracing the edge of the scant dress that, for reasons unknown, Zemo had at his disposal. The material, with its thinness and the overlay of silver glitter, chafed against your skin, a constant reminder of its presence. However, the knowledge of Zemo's opulent wealth lent you the perspective that this barely-there garment might indeed possess a value surpassing the collective worth of your entire wardrobe.

"You good?" came your brother's voice, close enough to stir the air by your ear, pulling your attention sharply towards him.

For a fleeting moment, you found yourself studying him, ensnared in your own whirlpool of anxiety. The furrow of worry etching deep between his brows sent a sharp pang through your heart. Witnessing this, a desperate plea bubbled within you, a silent yearning for him to cease his endless vigil over you��to halt his attempts at shielding you from every conceivable harm, to stop viewing you through the lens of perpetual childhood, to simply cease the worry that seemed to etch itself into his very being. The thought of being the source of such profound distress, such tangible sorrow for him, was more than you could bear. Heaven knows, the troubles you'd landed yourself in, the predicaments from which he'd extricated you time and again, were countless, far beyond what your fingers could tally.

Sam was the epitome of the brother everyone should be blessed with. From the tender years of your childhood, he had been the figure you looked up to, the beacon that guided many of the choices that had shaped your life. And in the wake of your father's passing, his protective instincts didn't just increase; they surged, enveloping you in a steadfast, unwavering care. He was your rock, your constant, in a world that seemed all too ready to shift beneath your feet. Always there, without fail.

Your decisions often found themselves at odds with his views, sparking debates that seemed as endless as they were passionate. A vivid memory that stood out was when you announced your intention to follow in his footsteps and join the Marines. What ensued was a marathon two-hour discourse, laden with reasons he believed painted a vivid picture of why the military was a mismatch for someone like you. You had absorbed every word, every concern, yet your resolve had remained unshaken. In hindsight, the wisdom woven into his admonitions might have merited deeper consideration, a realization that dawned on you with greater clarity once you found yourself deployed to the turbulent south.

It was there, amidst the chaos and the distance from home, that you began to truly comprehend the depth of Sam's anxiety for your well-being—a sentiment that became reciprocal as concern for your family gnawed at you. Sarah, battling to keep the family business afloat while nurturing two young boys in Sam's absence, became a focal point of your worries. Meanwhile, Sam's life, veiled in the secrecy of countless missions, left a chasm between your shared experiences. Often, he returned with stories he couldn't share, silences that spoke louder than words, deepening your understanding of the burdens he carried and the protective shield he tried to extend over you from miles away.

Had you heeded his words, the tapestry of your life might have been woven with different threads, perhaps even brighter hues. Imagine a reality where you had chosen to stand by Sarah's side, absorbing the tranquility of domestic life rather than the chaos of battle. In that alternate existence, your path would never have intersected with the harrowing battlefield against Thanos. Your presence in the thick of that fight was nothing short of serendipitous, a stark coincidence born from a casual visit to him just as the alarm bells of invasion clanged their ominous toll.

The details of your unexpected journey to Wakanda are shrouded in the mists of adrenaline-fueled urgency, a memory blurred at the edges by the sheer intensity of facing an extraterrestrial threat for the first time. It was an initiation by fire into a reality far removed from anything you had ever known or imagined.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of chaos and the blur of combat, one memory stands etched with crystal clarity—the visceral sensation of teetering on the brink of oblivion. The cold brush with death is an experience that lingers, a stark reminder of mortality that paints every moment with a sharper contrast, a memory that forever shapes your understanding of life, resilience, and the fragility of existence.

You had weathered the storms of human conflict, battles steeped in the folly and hubris of mankind, but never before had you faced a legion from beyond the stars, intent on culling half of all life in the universe. In the shadow of such an unfathomable threat, your own mortality had seemed inconsequential, dwarfed by the incalculable lives teetering on the edge of annihilation. Driven by a newfound recklessness, a fiery resolve to make a difference, you had abandoned the post Sam had painstakingly chosen for you. You had forsaken safety, charging headlong towards Thanos, the architect of doom.

To him, you were but a speck, a mere human too insignificant to warrant attention, and he had dismissed you with the ease of one swatting away an irritating fly. Yet, with your firearm spent, desperation had lent you audacity. You had launched yourself onto his colossal frame, a knife clutched in your fist, the last vestige of your defiance. You were acutely aware of the invincibility that his skin professed, an armor no earthly might had pierced with lasting effect. But ambition—or perhaps the raw edge of survival—drove you to attempt the impossible: to excise one of the gleaming Infinity Stones from its gauntlet perch.

And in that breathless moment, as your blade kissed the surface of the gauntlet, Thanos's fingers curled into a fateful snap.

The universe hung in the balance, suspended on the cusp of his action and your audacious defiance. Time itself seemed to stand still, awaiting the outcome of a confrontation that had spiraled far beyond the realms of imagination.

When consciousness reclaimed you, five years had vanished into the ether, and you awoke to a world that had moved on without you. The sight that greeted you was your own veins, pulsating with an uncanny luminescence, casting a ghostly glow over the skin they webbed. Your body, once a familiar vessel, now refused the basic command to rise, leaving you sprawled and powerless on the ground. If only you had heeded Sam's directive, you mused bitterly, you might have remained untouched by this curse, spared the constant, gnawing anxiety that now made a den in your heart. Fear had become your unwelcome shadow, looming over you with endless "what ifs." The thought of unintentionally unleashing harm, of your very essence becoming a cataclysmic force capable of leveling cities, was a nightmare that played on an endless loop in your mind.

Through it all, Sam had been your anchor in the tempest, steadfast even as you spiraled into a mire of self-distrust. For three agonizing months, he had nursed you through the turmoil of accepting this altered existence, an existence marked by an estrangement from your own being. Comfort in your own skin had become a foreign concept, an elusive state that you feared might elude you indefinitely. Nowadays, every flicker of your fingers was accompanied by a torrent of anxiety, a silent battle waged between mind and heart. With each throb of your pulse, a cacophony of fears whispered the possibility of harming the one constant in your life—your brother. This new reality was a labyrinth with no visible exit, a path you tread with trepidation, haunted by the potential havoc you could wreak with a mere gesture, a thought, a slip of control.

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously adjusting the sleek black leather gloves that now served as a barrier between your touch and the world, a precaution against the inadvertent destruction your mere contact could cause. For a fleeting moment, your gaze drifted to him, taking in the precise way his ebony locks were coifed, a style so meticulously arranged atop his head. The shortness of his hair, a detail so starkly different from before, still felt alien to your eyes. Catching his gaze already fixed on you, a silent exchange that spoke volumes, you redirected your attention back to your brother, mustering a smile tinged with awkwardness. "Of course. Stop worrying," you whispered, attempting to lace your voice with reassurance, even as your heart wrestled with its own tempest of concerns.

"I'm your big brother," he reminded you, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness as if introducing a fact that might have somehow slipped your mind. "That's my job," he added, a declaration of his unwavering role in your life.

Gotta be a real thankless job, you mused silently, the thought echoing wryly within the confines of your mind. "How haven't I fired you yet?" you quipped back, a teasing lilt in your voice as you nudged him gently with your elbow, inviting a moment of light-hearted banter between the gravity of your shared experiences.

His response was an exaggerated gasp, a playful act that drew a slight, amused smile across your face. Without missing a beat, he turned to the conspicuously silent super-soldier beside him. "Ey, Bucky," he called out, seemingly plucking his next words from thin air with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did I tell you about that one time, when Y/n was seven and she peed—"

"Oh my god, Sam, stop!" The words flew from your lips as you reached out to silence him, your hand slapping his shoulder before trying to cover his mouth, a futile attempt to stem the flow of embarrassing tales. Your cheeks flushed with a warmth that radiated from the deep-seated embarrassment of the memory, vivid as if it had happened just yesterday, rather than years ago.

"I apologize for interrupting your camaraderie," Zemo's voice, laced with a hint of formality, cut through the air from the front seat. His eyes found yours in the rearview mirror, carrying a mix of apology and inevitability. "Unfortunately, my driver can proceed no further."

Zemo was the first to emerge from the vehicle, setting the tone for a swift exit. Sam was quick on his heels, nearly leaping from the car at the sight of Bucky preparing to disembark. The super-soldier merely rolled his eyes at the urgency, a silent testament to his annoyance, before he too followed suit, stepping into the open air.

Left alone for a brief moment, you lingered in the cocoon of the car's interior, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The unease knotted in your stomach, a familiar harbinger of doom, seemed to grip tighter with each passing second. Yet, as you prepared to step out into the uncertain world beyond the car's confines, a flicker of hope dared to whisper through your thoughts. Perhaps, just this once, the ominous premonition that twisted your insides would prove false. Maybe, after a stretch of relentless storms, a moment of calm awaited you. With that fragile hope cradled in your chest, you ventured forth, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Navigating the bustling streets of the city, your senses were on high alert, eyes darting left and right in a mix of wariness and awe. Every sound, every blur of movement was cataloged, an overwhelming flood of stimuli as you endeavored to absorb the essence of the place. Ahead of you, the three men moved with a purposeful stride, seemingly indifferent to the sensory overload that ensnared you. Or so it appeared, until a momentary glance to the side caught Bucky mid-observation, his head subtly angled in your direction. The instant he realized he'd been noticed, his gaze snapped forward, a silent admission of his watchfulness.

A small, knowing smile played on your lips as you continued your exploration, your attention now on the eclectic mix of individuals that populated the streets. Their attire was a vivid tapestry of the city's culture and complexity, each person a unique thread woven into the larger fabric. In this context, Zemo's insistence on changing your clothing became crystal clear. Clad in your usual cargo pants and top, you would have stood out starkly, a beacon of foreignness in this richly diverse crowd. It would have been akin to parading around with a neon sign branded "idiot," announcing your outsider status to every discerning eye. His foresight, though begrudgingly acknowledged, spared you that unwitting declaration of naivety.

In the mosaic of your life, Bucky Barnes occupied a space that was both vivid and complex, interwoven with threads of intimacy and shared secrets, away from the prying eyes of your overprotective brother, Sam. Your connection with Bucky had evolved, nurtured by the clandestine moments and deep conversations that unfolded in the quiet corners of New York's bustling cityscape.

It began with chance encounters, two souls adrift in the vastness of the city, finding solace in the understanding gaze of the other. These meetings grew in frequency and depth, transitioning from fleeting to intentional, as you both sought the comfort and understanding that seemed to elude you elsewhere. The shared experience of navigating a world that often felt too constricting, too demanding, became the foundation of your bond.

Your relationship with Bucky was a tapestry of silent understandings and whispered confidences. There were evenings spent in his modest apartment, where the glow of the city lights barely filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a soft luminescence. Here, amidst the shadows, you shared parts of yourselves that had been carefully guarded from the rest of the world. Bucky, with his guarded heart and weary eyes, found in you a kindred spirit, someone who could see beyond the Winter Soldier to the man who was still standing beneath.

These moments of vulnerability were your secret, a world built for two, where words were often unnecessary. You had memorized the layout of his apartment, the contents of each cupboard and drawer, not through any explicit intention but through the natural intimacy that comes from shared spaces and shared silences. It was in the way you could wordlessly hand him a glass of water from his kitchen without having to ask where he kept his glasses, or how the two of you could sit in comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts yet together.

Yet, this closeness was kept hidden, a chapter of your life unread by Sam. Not out of deceit but from a desire to protect this fragile connection from external judgments or expectations. With Sam's protective instincts, your relationship with Bucky was a delicate balance, a treasure trove of moments and memories that you both guarded fiercely.

The complexity of your relationship with Bucky was not defined by labels or expectations but by the depth of connection and mutual understanding. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, the most profound relationships are those that exist in the spaces between words, in the comfort of silence, and in the shared experiences of two souls navigating the world side by side.

The inexplicable flutter in your heart whenever Bucky was near often left you questioning your own sanity, yet there was something undeniably captivating about the way he made you feel. The warmth that crept into your cheeks as you reminisced about a lazy afternoon spent in the park was a testament to this. It was a simple moment, really—Bucky's admission of his aversion to text messaging because he preferred the sound of your voice had somehow managed to send your heart into a delightful somersault. In that instant, you understood the unspoken pact between you two: to keep the depth of your connection hidden from your brother.

This secret camaraderie you shared with Bucky was treasured quietly, a series of moments and feelings kept just between the two of you. Bucky, too, found solace in your presence. The way you looked at him, with eyes filled with genuine affection and understanding, offered him a tranquility he had long thought was beyond his grasp. Your smile was like a beacon to him, urging him to open up about his past, his fears, and his dreams, despite the darkness that shadowed much of his history. Yet, of all the things that drew him closer, it was your laughter that he cherished most.

Your laughter wasn't restrained or demure; it was the kind that bubbled up from deep within, unfiltered and infectious. Those moments when you would laugh so heartily, throwing your head back without a care in the world, were the ones that Bucky held dear. It was in these bursts of genuine joy that he saw the lightness of being, a stark contrast to the battles and burdens he carried. Your laughter, free and unabashed, symbolized a purity of happiness that Bucky admired. It reminded him that amidst the complexities of life, there existed simple, unguarded moments of joy worth cherishing.

In the twilight of Bucky's life, where happiness seemed more a memory than a possibility, the moments he shared with you illuminated his world with an unexpected joy. Time and again, he teetered on the brink of asking you to intertwine your lives officially, to step beyond the unspoken boundaries of your secret affinity and declare it openly. Yet, each time the words perched on the edge of his tongue, ready to leap into the abyss of possibilities, the thought of Sam cast a long shadow over his resolve.

Sam, the steadfast pillar of your family, was a friend to Bucky in every sense except in name, for their camaraderie was too complex and layered for simple labels. Bucky was acutely aware of the fierce love Sam harbored for you, a protective and encompassing love that was both admirable and intimidating. He knew of the cherished photograph Sam carried in his wallet—a tangible reminder of the bond shared between you, your sister, and his beloved nephews, a snapshot of the life Sam fought so valiantly to protect.

And it was the thought of Sam, with his unwavering loyalty and brotherly love, that stayed Bucky's confession. He was painfully aware of the turmoil that would ensue should Sam discover the depth of his feelings for you. Bucky could almost feel the weight of Sam's betrayal and anger, for in his heart, he knew that his affection for you crossed lines that Sam might never forgive. This tension, this fear of fracturing the fragile truce they had built, kept Bucky silent, trapped in a limbo of longing and loyalty, where his desire to claim your heart battled with his respect for the brother who would view such a confession as the ultimate treachery.

As Zemo led the way, weaving through a throng of onlookers whose eyes darted with a mix of curiosity and caution, the air buzzed with hushed whispers that all seemed to echo the same question: "Is that the Winter Soldier?" Yet, if only they could see beyond the infamy and the scars of war, they'd find Bucky. This was the same Bucky who had once called you in a panic, deep into the night, baffled by the modern conundrum of ordering a television online. The same Bucky who shared with you his playlist of favorite songs, tunes you never expected to enjoy, yet found yourself playing on repeat. And this was the Bucky who, in an earnest attempt to teach you to dance, ended up with you standing on his feet, both of you moving in a clumsy but heartwarming harmony across the floor.

Arriving at the bar, you edged closer to Zemo and Bucky, the latter noticing your approach and subtly shifting to grant you more space. "Good evening," greeted the bartender with a nod towards Sam, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger."

The effort to suppress a grin was Herculean as the nickname filled the air. Your brother, Sam, for all his bravery and skill, was many things, but a master thespian he was not. Tonight, he was to embody Conrad Mack, or "Smiling Tiger," a persona draped in notoriety and whispered about in the darkest corners of the criminal underworld. Knowing Sam's theatrical limits, the anticipation of watching him navigate the guise of an African gangster tinged your apprehension with a thread of amusement, painting the night ahead with the promise of unforgettable moments.

"Plans have shifted," Zemo interjected smoothly, answering on behalf of Sam, who tightened his lips in an attempt at solemnity. The sight was almost comical; Sam's expression ventured into the realms of absurdity. "We have business with Selby tonight."

A cloak of skepticism draped over the bartender's demeanor, his eyes—a mix of inquiry and caution—peered from behind the substantial frames of his glasses. His visage, half-obscured by a beard, seemed out of place in this den of shadows and whispered secrets. One could easily mistake him for a tech wizard from the polished corridors of Stark Industries rather than a keeper of this clandestine establishment.

"The usual, then?" the bartender queried. Sam, lips still tightly sealed, offered a single, determined nod, his posture shifting slightly with unease. With practiced ease, the bartender turned to retrieve a jar housing a deceased equatorial spitting cobra, laying it out with a certain reverence on the cutting board before you. He wielded a knife, expertly slicing the serpent open to extract its heart. This he placed in a shot glass, to which he added a dash of Triple sec, a measure of gin, and a squeeze of finger lime, concocting a drink that teetered on the edge of the exotic and the macabre. Sliding the glass towards Sam, the air was momentarily thick with anticipation.

"Ahh," Zemo exhaled, a chuckle threatening to breach his composure. "The Smiling Tiger, your favorite." The room hung in a momentary suspense, the bizarre ritual highlighting the lengths to which one might go to blend into the shadows of this underworld.

As you reluctantly redirected your attention away from the unsavory scene, your eyes found solace in Bucky's gaze. The moment of eye contact with the super-soldier was like a silent pact, conveying volumes in the briefest exchange. “I think the next part’s worth watching.” His suggestion was delivered in a hush, his voice a soft, enticing caress against the delicate skin of your neck, sparking a cascade of warmth that pooled in the pit of your stomach. You darted a quick look around, half-expecting the assembled throng to notice this intimate exchange. Yet, their attention remained steadfastly on the notorious figure of the Winter Soldier, allowing you a sliver of privacy in the crowded space.

Turning back towards your brother, you endeavored to steady your racing heart, to cloak the fluttering butterflies that Bucky's nearness had unfurled within you. But it was akin to trying to calm a storm with whispered words; Bucky's heat enveloped you, a comforting yet unnerving presence. Then, almost imperceptibly, he edged closer, a mere shift that breached the scant distance between you. His chest hovered just shy of touching your back, a whisper of contact that electrified your senses.

Your body responded before your mind could catch up, muscles tensing, heart thundering against your ribcage as if seeking escape. The air seemed to thicken, each breath a labor through the heightened tension that his proximity wrought. The warmth from his body seeped through the fabric of your clothes, branding your skin with a heat that was both foreign and intoxicating. A shiver coursed through you, unbidden, as you fought the urge to lean back into him, to seek solace in the strength of his embrace. His presence, so close and yet so restrained, left you teetering on the edge of something profound, a precipice overlooking a maelstrom of uncharted emotions and desires.

The atmosphere in the dimly lit, cramped space was charged with an uneasy anticipation as Sam steeled himself to down the concoction before him – the alcohol mingling with the snake's heart in a display of grit and resolve. Standing beside him, you could almost taste the bile rising in your own throat at the thought, empathy for Sam's predicament tangling with your own visceral reaction. It was in this moment of vicarious revulsion that you felt it—a touch so light, so fleeting on your arm that it could have been mistaken for a trick of the air, save for the deep, intrinsic knowledge that it was Bucky. His touch, though minimal, carried with it a warmth and a reassurance that seemed to cut through the tension of the moment, grounding you.

This gentle caress, lost to anyone else's perception, was like a beacon to your heightened senses, which seemed to come alive with a fervor that only Bucky's presence could ignite. It was a silent communication, a shared moment amidst the chaos, confirming that his attention was riveted not on the grotesque spectacle unfolding with your brother but on you. And then, without need for visual confirmation, you sensed the subtle shift in his posture, the lean of his body just close enough for you to catch the light inhale as he discreetly breathed in the scent of your hair. The intimacy of the action, hidden in plain sight, had your eyelids fluttering close, teetering on the edge of surrender to the sensation.

But the moment was shattered by the intrusion of a new, deep voice, unfamiliar and brusque, pulling Bucky's gaze away from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The voice belonged to a tattooed biker who had sidled up beside Zemo, breaking the spell that had cocooned you and Bucky in your private world. Yet, even as Bucky's eyes momentarily flicked to the newcomer, assessing and then dismissing him as a threat, his hand lingered on your arm, a silent vow of protection and an unwillingness to completely sever the thread of connection between you.

When the biker had disappeared back into the throng of the bar's patrons, Bucky's voice, low and resonant, brushed your cheek, "A Power Broker, really?" His breath was a warm caress, a contrast to the cool air of the bar and the cold reality of their mission.

Zemo's response was a shrug, nonchalant yet laden with the weight of their precarious position within this den of intrigue and danger. "Every kingdom needs its king. Let's just pray we stay under his radar." The words were a stark reminder of the peril that shadowed their every step, yet, for a fleeting moment, the only truth that seemed to matter was the connection between you and Bucky, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that thrived even in the heart of danger.

As your brother subtly leaned in, distancing himself from the ears of the surrounding strangers, his voice carried a note of quiet inquiry, "Do you know him?" His gaze was sharp, the weight of leadership and concern pressing upon his features, a look you knew all too well.

Zemo, ever the enigmatic figure, glanced briefly over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the teeming masses of Madripoor's underworld. "Only by reputation," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of wariness. He continued, his tone lowering to match the gravity of his words, "He is judge, jury, and executioner in Madripoor." The way Zemo articulated the roles imbued them with a sense of dread, painting a picture of a figure wielding absolute power over life and death in this lawless land.

As Sam prepared to step back, blending once more into the crowded backdrop of the bar, his gaze inadvertently fell upon Bucky's hand, a subtle yet intimate gesture resting gently on your arm. The silent question was evident in the arch of his brow, a wordless probe into the nature of the connection he had just witnessed. Despite the many shared battles and secrets between you, this particular nuance of your relationship with Bucky remained veiled from Sam's knowledge. He knew of the camaraderie, the shared jokes, and the mutual respect; what he had yet to grasp was the depth that lay beneath those surface interactions.

Caught under the weight of your brother's scrutiny, you felt a compelling urge to divert, to shield the budding complexity of your relationship with Bucky from any further inquiry. With a practiced nonchalance, you reached for the glass that had mysteriously found its way before you—its contents unknown but suddenly invaluable as a means of distraction. The glass felt cool against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your chest, fueled by Bucky's proximity and the intensity of your brother's gaze.

Without granting Sam the acknowledgment he sought, you lifted the glass, the liquid inside catching the dim light of the bar in a fleeting dance of shadows. With a resolve born of necessity, you downed the contents in one swift motion, the liquid tracing a burning path down your throat, a physical manifestation of the turmoil swirling within. In that moment, the intricacies of your heart's desires, the silent yearnings, and the whispered dreams shared in the quiet with Bucky were drowned in the sharp bite of the drink. There was no love life to dissect, you reasoned, at least not one that could be neatly explained or openly acknowledged under the watchful eyes of your brother. This was a complexity you were not yet ready to unravel, preferring instead the sanctity of ambiguity and the solace found in the unspoken.

From the periphery of your vision, the subtle yet unmistakable shift of the crowd's focus toward your group sent a ripple of tension through the air. Zemo, breaking the mounting silence, uttered something in Russian, his voice a sharp command that instantly put Bucky, who loomed protectively behind you, on high alert. Your grasp of Russian might have been rudimentary at best, but the gravity carried by the word "attack" pierced through any language barrier, sending a shiver down your spine. Your gaze darted anxiously between Bucky and Zemo, then to the increasingly hostile encirclement of men.

In a moment driven by instinct more than thought, your hand found Bucky's arm, a silent plea for restraint, an acknowledgment of the heavy burdens he bore and the battles you wished he wouldn't have to fight again. Yet, as the hand of an adversary reached for Zemo, intent on aggression, Bucky's protective instincts overrode any hesitations. The mission's success, the preservation of your collective guise, demanded action.

With a fluidity born of countless battles, Bucky intercepted the stranger's hand, wrenching it into a grim contortion of pain before hoisting him by the collar. The air was punctuated by the thud of the man's body crashing to the ground, a clear signal to the onlookers who, rather than stepping in, recoiled to the safety of the crowd's edges. Their initial shock quickly gave way to the modern reflex of capturing chaos on their smartphones, eager to document the return of the Winter Soldier.

Another assailant lunged forward, driven either by bravado or foolishness, only to meet Bucky's calculated fury. A swift strike to the chest paired with a debilitating kick to the shin sent the man staggering, a prelude to the crushing force of Bucky's elbow against his back. But Bucky was far from done; he delivered a final, forceful kick to the assailant's stomach with such power that the man was propelled backward, colliding with another would-be attacker and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

In those tense moments, Bucky transformed the immediate vicinity into a no-man's land, a clear warning to any who still harbored thoughts of joining the fray. The message was unambiguous: the Winter Soldier, though cloaked in the guise of Bucky Barnes, remained a formidable force, his actions a blend of precision and power that left no room for doubt or defiance.

The melee unfolded with relentless ferocity, each blow landing with a chilling finality. Amidst the chaos, Zemo's unexpected touch on your waist snapped your attention sharply to him, an unwelcome distraction amidst the turmoil. His fingers were cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the skirmish that raged a mere breath away. Holding a shot glass, with another stationed invitingly before him on the bar's counter, Zemo seemed almost nonchalant, as if the violent ballet unfolding around you two was mere background noise.

You could only hope that Sam's gaze was entirely consumed by the spectacle of the fight, lest Zemo's audacity earn him a swift and severe reprimand—the kind that involved a painful reconfiguration of his hand's anatomy. And, should Sam's protective instincts flare up, your carefully maintained cover would be shattered in an instant.

"So," Zemo initiated casually, offering you the glass while securing his own. His demeanor was eerily calm, a man unfazed by the chaos, his curiosity piqued by personal intrigues rather than the potential dangers that lurked in your immediate vicinity. "How long have you and James been seeing each other?"

His question caught you off guard, a blunt intrusion that left you momentarily flustered. "Excuse you?" you retorted, the sharpness in your voice mirroring your surprise.

He downed his shot in one fluid motion, a satisfied exhale following the liquid's descent. "Oh," he dismissed with a nonchalant wave of his hand, a gesture that belied the keen observation behind his words. "Your brother might be wearing blinders, but I certainly do not. It's been quite evident that Barnes has scarcely glanced away from you all evening."

You found yourself grappling for a response, the unexpected scrutiny leaving you unsettled. "Well, uh," you stumbled over your words, grappling for composure. "It's just what he does—staring." Your gaze dropped to the shot glass cradled in your palm, its contents suddenly more appealing than the conversation. With a swift tilt of your hand, you emptied the glass, the liquid courage coursing through you. Instinctively, you braced yourself for whatever probing questions Zemo might pose next, bolstered now by a fleeting rush of boldness from the alcohol.

Zemo's attention subtly shifted behind you, a prelude to his hand sneaking once more to your waist. A wry smirk played at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear with a whispered directive, "Get ready." Immobilized by a sudden rush of surprise, you found yourself momentarily unable to react, your mind racing to process the unwelcome proximity.

As you regained your composure, indignation fueling your resolve, your hands began to rise, intent on removing his intrusion. Yet, before you could act, a familiar and comforting warmth enveloped your back. A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat as a low, protective growl resonated from behind you, a primal sound that spoke volumes of the tension filling the air.

In the blink of an eye, Zemo's hand was forcibly removed from you, Bucky's intervention swift and silent. The warning in Bucky's eyes was unmistakable, a clear message that brooked no argument. His grip on Zemo's hand tightened, a silent demonstration of his protective instincts. The strain was evident as Zemo's face flushed, a crimson wave ascending his neck in stark contrast to his paling face, a vivid testament to the discomfort and possibly fear induced by Bucky's ironclad hold.

Observing the intensity of the moment, you placed your hand gently atop Bucky's, seeking to diffuse the tension. "It's okay," you whispered soothingly, a plea for peace. "Let him go." Your voice, though soft, carried the weight of your concern, hoping to coax Bucky back from the brink of further conflict.

With a grudging release of pressure, Bucky acquiesced to your request, albeit with a distasteful grunt. He allowed Zemo the mercy of an unbroken hand, a testament to his respect for your wishes. The moment, charged with silent confrontations and unspoken bonds, highlighted the deep connection between you and Bucky, a bond that transcended mere words, resonating with loyalty, protection, and an unyielding sense of unity.

The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy cloud that seemed to weigh down every breath, until the bartender's voice sliced through the silence with the precision of a well-honed blade. "Selby will see you now," he announced, effectively diffusing the charged atmosphere. As you were ushered down the dimly lit corridor by a group of stern-faced men, the arrangement was strategic: Zemo leading, followed by Sam, with you nestled securely in the middle, and Bucky bringing up the rear, his vigilant gaze ensuring no threat would find its way to you unnoticed.

In a fluid motion born of protective instinct, Bucky's fingers found your wrist, gently but firmly pulling you aside into the seclusion of the shadowed alcove. The dim light played across his features, casting deep shadows that sculpted his face with an intensity that was almost breathtaking. His rugged attractiveness, framed in the half-light, struck you with a force that made your heart flutter. "Are you okay?" you found yourself asking, drawn into the complexity of emotions that danced within his eyes. It was clear he was wrestling with his own turmoil, yet his proximity to you, so near that the soft flutter of your eyelashes could have brushed against his cheek, seemed to both unsettle and anchor him.

“Next time he grabs you like that—” He cut himself of, jaw clenching.

As you laid your hand against the solid warmth of his chest in a comforting gesture, a ripple of tension eased from his frame. "It's okay," your whisper broke the intimate silence between you, your gaze lifting to meet his. "I'm okay, promise. He was just trying to get under your skin."

His eyes, a mirror to his soul, roamed over your features with an intensity that felt as though he was memorizing every detail, every curve, and contour, before finally settling back into your gaze. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" His voice, soft yet filled with an emotion that resonated deep within your chest, enveloped you in a warmth that went beyond the physical closeness. In that moment, amidst the shadows and whispers of danger, a connection forged in the crucible of shared experiences and unspoken understanding deepened, transcending the chaos of the world outside.

Your smile, blossoming in response to Bucky's unexpected compliment, was abruptly cut short by Zemo's call for the Winter Soldier, reverberating ominously off the walls. A mutual sigh of resignation passed between you and Bucky. With a bite to your lip, signaling the gravity of the interruption, you took a hesitant step back, murmuring, "We should go."

Bucky's response was a tight nod, the muscles along his jawline tensing visibly as he too made the difficult choice to distance himself. The atmosphere shifted palpably as you entered Selby's domain. She was ensconced regally in an armchair, her fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against its worn fabric, embodying the calm before the storm. "You should know, Baron," she began, her voice cool and measured, "people don’t just come into my bar and make demands."

Zemo, unfazed, countered with equal calmness, "Not a demand, an offer."

Selby's demeanor hinted at a mix of curiosity and caution as she observed the changes in her domain and the players within it. "A lot has changed since you were here last," she remarked, her gaze sliding over Bucky with undisguised interest. "By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?"

Zemo, settling himself before Selby with a nonchalance born of confidence, merely shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "People like us always find a way, don’t we? I'm sure you've already figured out what I am here for."

Selby, her attention never straying from Zemo, extended a languid finger toward your brother, her voice taking on a teasing, almost flirtatious tone. "You're taller than I'd heard, Smiling Tiger," she purred, her grin sharp as a knife's edge, before shifting her focus back to Zemo. "What's the offer?"

"Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum." Zemo's command hung in the air, heavy with implication. He rose, his movements deliberate, as he made his way to where Bucky and you stood in a silent vigil. The audacity of his next offer sliced through the tension like a cold blade. "And I give you him," Zemo gestured towards Bucky with a chilling casualness, "along with the code words that control him, of course." His fingers dared to trace a path along Bucky's jawline, a presumptuous gesture that hinted at possession. "He will do anything you want." You moved your hand to brush against his, blocking the view with your body, not wanting your cover to blow, also not wanting Bucky to blow up because of the over-the-top trade Zemo was talking about, which he hadn’t disclosed with you "Now, that’s the Zemo I remember," Selby's voice curled with a mix of admiration and threat, her lips twisting into a grin that was as dangerous as it was pleased. "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately." She mused aloud, nodding to herself as if affirming her own wisdom. "Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right." Zemo, with a nod acknowledging the compliment veiled as a critique, moved back to his chair, rejoining the precarious dance of conversation.

"The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor," Selby continued, her revelation hanging in the smoky air like a veiled threat. "Doctor Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank, or…" Her voice trailed off as she tilted her head, her gaze sharp, "Or condemn, depending on what side you're on."

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?" Zemo's question cut through the tension, his inquiry pointed and loaded with unspoken implications.

Selby stood, her movement fluid as a shadow, drifting behind Zemo. She was about to divulge the answer, a secret that could tip the scales, when the moment was shattered by the unexpected vibration of a cell phone. Sam's cell phone, ingeniously hidden within the confines of your bra, the only place deemed secure given the impracticality of the suit's tiny pockets. The room froze, a tableau of anticipation and dread, as all eyes darted towards you. The vibration continued, a silent herald of impending chaos, until, with a steadiness you hardly felt, you retrieved the phone. The caller ID flashed "Mom jr." — a code name for your older sister, Sarah, that now felt like a harbinger of disaster.

"Go on," Selby's voice was a command laced with curiosity and a hint of menace, her henchman already looming ominously behind her. "Answer it. On speaker."

With a nod, terse and devoid of any option but compliance, you swiped the screen, the green circle heralding a connection fraught with risk. Clearing your throat, an attempt to mask the torrent of nerves, you answered with a voice feigning confidence, "Smiling Tiger."

"...Okay." The brief silence that followed was thick with confusion, Sarah's voice betraying her bewilderment. "Why do you have his phone? Is he there?"

"Uh, yeah, yes, he is."

"Could I speak to him? It's urgent."

"Sure." You navigated the tense atmosphere with caution, aware of the danger that lurked in every corner. Approaching Sam, you offered the phone with a discreet, "Sir."

Sam accepted the phone, his throat clearing a precursor to the conversation. "Hello?"

"Hey, uhm, we need to talk about this situation. It's been driving me nuts."

"What situation are you talking about exactly?"

"Are you high? You know the situation. It’s the only situation me and you have."

"What situation, Sarah? Say it."

"The damn boat. And watch your tone, okay? I let you slide at the bank."

Sam's scoff was almost audible, a mixture of disbelief and humor. "The bank, yeah. Laundered so much money," he chuckled. "Yeah, they'll come around."

"If that’s the case, then why'd they dog you out, Big Time?"

"Yeah, you damn right I'm Big Time. You'll see when I have that banker killed." Your gaze flickered to Bucky, dreading the potential fallout from this precarious bluff.

"Cass! What did I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this!" Sarah's exasperated outburst was unexpected, yet somehow, it underscored the normalcy of life's chaos — even when worlds apart, Cheerios could cause turmoil. "Sam, I'm sorry, let me call you back."

"Sam?" Selby's voice, sharp with suspicion, cut through the room. "Who's Sam?" Her eyes scanned the room, landing on one of her men as she gave the lethal order, "Kill them!" No sooner had the command left her lips than a bullet from an unseen sniper found its mark, sailing through the window to claim Selby's life with unerring precision.

As Selby's men, jolted by the sudden turn of events, scrambled to retaliate, the trio leapt into action, their movements a blend of desperation and determination, ready to confront the chaos unleashed by a single, ill-timed phone call.

Sam's movements were swift and precise, his elbow connecting with the gut of the assailant beside him with a force that spoke of urgency and desperation. In a fluid motion, he seized the man's weapon, leveraging his strength to send his adversary crumbling to the floor. Nearby, Bucky confronted another threat, an opponent armed with an automatic firearm. The bullets, however, were no match for Bucky's metallic arm. With an almost serene calmness, he raised his arm, the bullets ricocheting off the vibranium and falling harmlessly to the ground, their lethal intent nullified. With a swift, decisive movement, Bucky disarmed the gunman, the heavy thud of the weapon striking the assailant's head a grim punctuation to the confrontation.

Zemo, meanwhile, exhibited a different kind of strategy. He glided to the side, a ballet of avoidance, demonstrating a preference to remain on the fringes of the physical altercation. His demeanor suggested disinterest, a calculated decision to avoid the fray, yet you knew the truth. Zemo possessed skills honed by experience, a dangerous combatant by any measure, choosing discretion over engagement.

As for yourself, standing on the precipice of engagement, you too could have dismantled any adversary with ease, mirroring Zemo's restraint. Yet, it wasn't the fear of the fight that stilled your hand, nor the dread of physical harm. It was a deeper, more insidious kind of fear that gnawed at your resolve — the fear of responsibility. Sam had seen the toll it took on you, the anxiety that came with wielding your powers. He reassured you, time and again, that it was okay to hold back, understanding the weight that came with such immense power.

You had mastered control over your abilities, a feat that was as much for those around you as it was for your peace of mind. But control was a fragile thing, a constant battle against the possibility of a catastrophic slip. The echoes of the past haunted you, a stark reminder of the chaos unleashed during the battle against Thanos. The risk you had posed to your brother's life was a memory etched in the recesses of your mind, a harrowing reminder of the potential consequences of your powers. The burden of that day weighed heavily on your shoulders, a silent vow to never relive that helplessness, that guilt, again. Control could temper the power, but it could never erase the memories, the fears, or the haunting possibility of what could happen should it ever falter.

The moment unfolded before you with a surreal clarity, as if time itself had bent to accommodate the gravity of what was about to transpire. There stood Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, his figure exuding an aura of solemnity. With a hand stretched towards you, his voice cut through the chaos of your thoughts, delivering the harrowing message that Thanos was on the precipice of ushering in another war.

The ground beneath you felt unsteady, as if it too, shared in your tumult of emotions. Your body was a tempest of sensations, akin to being engulfed in invisible flames, an internal inferno that threatened to consume your very essence. Your hands, held out in front of you, became the focal point of your bewildered gaze. They glowed with an ethereal green luminescence, transforming your eyes into beacons of an otherworldly force. In that moment, you were a stranger even to yourself, your identity obscured by the overwhelming power that surged within you. You feared that even your brother, upon witnessing this transformation, would find himself staring at an unfamiliar figure, your familiar visage masked by an alien force.

It was during this maelstrom of confusion and fear that Stephen Strange recognized the tumultuous energy you were channeling. With a wisdom borne of his experiences with the mystic arts, he extended not just his hand but an offer of guidance and mastery over the forces that now threatened to unravel you.

Amidst this turmoil, a familiar voice pierced the veil of your disorientation. Bucky's voice, imbued with urgency and concern, reached out to you, grounding you back to reality. "We gotta go." His words, simple yet laden with an unspoken promise of safety, beckoned you. As your gaze snapped towards him, you were met with the sight of his outstretched hand, a lifeline in the chaos.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you placed your palm against his, the warmth of his grip a stark contrast to the cold uncertainty that had gripped your heart. Led by Bucky, you began to make your way out of the building, each step away from the epicenter of your crisis a step towards reclaiming the self that had been momentarily lost in the eye of the storm.

As Zemo's directive to abandon their firearms behind echoed in your mind, a profound vulnerability washed over you, intensifying the uncertainty that already clouded your heart. The decision to venture into the unknown without the familiar weight of a weapon at your side left you feeling starkly exposed, each step on the pavement echoing your apprehension.

Amidst the chaos, the glow of countless phone screens caught your attention, their omnipresence a stark reminder of the digital eyes that followed your every move. Your grip on Bucky's hand tightened, a help in centering you amidst the swirling uncertainty, your fingers intertwined with his in a silent plea for reassurance. Bucky, feeling the tremor of your grasp, was confronted with an overwhelming pressure in his chest—a sensation so intense, it seemed as though his heart might shatter through his ribcage. The logical part of his mind suggested that releasing your trembling hand might alleviate some of his distress, disconnecting him from the tangible evidence of your fear. Yet, the thought of pulling you even closer overpowered him, a testament to the protective instinct that surged within him, despite the presence of his partner in crime at his side, equally eager to escape the impending peril and shield you from harm.

Out of the corner of your eye, a figure detached from the crowd caught your attention—a woman, standing apart with her hands mimicking the shape of a gun, playfully ‘shooting’ at your group. This macabre pantomime, juxtaposed against the sea of illuminated screens, shed light on the grim realization that you and your companions had been reduced to mere targets in a deadly game, surrounded by a multitude of unseen adversaries, each one thirsting for blood and the lure of a reward.

In the fraction of a second before you could advance another step, the air was pierced by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. An instinctive fear gripped you, catalyzing a reaction that tore you away from Bucky's grasp. You spun around, just as a barrage of bullets threatened to engulf your group in a lethal storm. Driven by a deep-seated impulse to protect, you extended your hands, your eyes instinctively closing as you tapped into a wellspring of power that had lain dormant within you for far too long. The air around you charged with anticipation, as if the very essence of your being had awakened to confront the danger head-on.

Upon daring to open your eyes, fearing the aftermath of your instinctual reaction, you were confronted with a surreal tableau: bullets suspended mid-air, frozen in time and space, an arm's length away, creating an eerie stillness in the midst of chaos. The sheer number of projectiles, hovering ominously close, sent a shiver down your spine, yet it was the sight of your own fingers, aglow with a radiant green luminance, that truly captivated you. It was a strange juxtaposition—how could something so ethereally beautiful harbor the potential for immense destruction?

Your fascination gave way to action as you turned your palm, the bullets beginning to dissolve into nothingness, disintegrating into a fine mist just before reaching your skin. The urgency to locate your assailant led your eyes to a figure, scant meters away, wielding a machine gun braced against a makeshift stand in the bustling market. With a focused gesture, you manipulated the now-liquefied metal, directing it with lethal precision towards the gunman. He recoiled, anticipating pain or perhaps even death, but instead, you targeted his weapon. The metal swarm enveloped the gun, rendering it inoperable, parts of its mechanism dissolving into oblivion.

The surrounding crowd, momentarily taken aback by the display of power, quickly regrouped, their initial shock transforming into twisted smiles as they once again raised their weapons. It was then that your brother intervened, his hand clasping yours with determined strength, pulling you back into the frenetic escape. The concept of a leisurely retreat was a luxury far removed from reality as you both dashed through the dense throngs of Madripoor, a city now teeming with adversaries drawn by the allure of a bounty. The streets, alive with danger, became a labyrinth as you navigated through the relentless pursuit, the weight of potential violence pressing against you from all sides.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam's grumble about his unsuitable footwear for their frenzied escape almost halted you in your tracks, the urge to chastise him for his complaint bubbling up fiercely.

"I'm wearing six-inch heels, you idiot!" you retorted, your voice slicing through the tension as you were half-dragged, half-ran, your form almost seeming to bounce off the pavement with each step.

Just then, the distinct growl of motorbikes escalated behind you, a clear sign that your pursuers were closing in with alarming speed. Instinctively, you twisted around, freeing one arm from your brother's firm grasp. A brilliant emerald glow enveloped your hand as you unleashed a force resembling a sonic boom towards your chasers. Glancing back, you witnessed the bikers caught in a surreal slow-motion, ensnared within the temporal anomaly you'd unwittingly summoned.

The urgency of your flight tapered off as your brother gradually decelerated, releasing your hand to take in the quietude that had enveloped the scene. Zemo, ever the observer, couldn't hide his admiration, stepping closer with a sly grin. "Quite impressive, if I may say so myself."

“You may not.” His commendation was met with a mutter from Bucky, barely audible yet brimming with protectiveness. Bucky positioned himself squarely between you and Zemo, effectively shielding you from the latter's view. Sam, meanwhile, appeared utterly bemused, hands perched on his hips as he oscillated his gaze between you and Bucky, bewildered by the sudden shift in dynamics.

"Okay, what—?" Sam began, only to be cut off as the moment teetered on the brink of unraveling.

"Well, isn’t this just perfect," a voice chimed from the enveloping shadows, laced with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Emerging into the dim light, a blonde woman approached with her gun poised, her stance radiating confidence and danger. Recognition flickered through your mind, delayed by the surreal context. Sharon Carter, the name finally clicked, associated with tales of Steve Rogers and his erstwhile entanglements. Sam's anecdotes, usually shared with a mix of reverence and jest, painted her in the light of a past fraught with complex allegiances, especially during the so-called Civil War—a term you found overly dramatic for what essentially amounted to a highly publicized skirmish among comrades at an airport.

"Sharon?" Bucky's voice cut through your thoughts, tinged with a blend of surprise and uncertainty. The Sharon Carter you'd heard of through scattered stories seemed far removed from the woman who now stood before you, gun in hand, in the underbelly of Madripoor. It was a reflection, perhaps, of how life's unpredictable currents could sweep anyone into unforeseen harbors.

Her gaze, sharp and unyielding, locked onto Zemo, the intensity of her scorn palpable. "You cost me everything," she accused, the words heavy with resentment. Sam attempted to interject, offering explanations that seemed to dissipate before they could reach her, lost in the void of her grievance. "I stole Steve's shield, remember?" she reminded, her resolve steel-hard, the weapon unwavering in her grasp. "I also took the wings for your ass," she directed at Sam, causing a ripple of tension to pass through you. The mention of sacrifices made—her actions for their benefit—underscored the gravity of her fall from grace. Her focus shifted momentarily to Bucky, implicating him in the web of consequences, before returning to Zemo with a disdainful flick. Finally, her eyes found you, registering your presence with a flicker of surprise. "No idea who you are," she stated, an admission that underscored the complexity of alliances and identities in this shadowy world.

With a determined stride, Bucky advanced towards Sharon, his every step a testament to his intent to defuse the tension that crackled in the air. He engaged her with words, his tone both pleading and firm, navigating through the storm of her fury. Eventually, her grip on the gun loosened, the weapon tucked away after an exasperated sigh, a silent concession to his efforts. Sharon then proposed an unexpected truce, inviting you all back to her sanctuary. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on you; moments before, the cold metal of her gun had promised anything but hospitality.

Crossing the threshold into Sharon's abode, you were immediately struck by an array of art that adorned every wall and surface. The collection was staggering, a visual feast of masterpieces that seemed too authentic, too valuable to be merely decorative. You half-joked to yourself about the possibility of the Mona Lisa being tucked away in a corner, marveling at the fortune that surrounded you, captured in oil and canvas.

The offer of a change of attire came next, with Sharon presenting an array of elegant garments that seemed to glide into the room on a valet rod. The promise of shedding your current attire, particularly the torturous heels that had been your nemesis throughout the evening, was a relief. Barefoot, you approached the selection with eagerness, only to have your enthusiasm dimmed by the realization that the options available were far removed from your comfort zone. Accustomed to the simple reliability of sneakers and boots, the sight of such finery felt daunting, alien.

Facing Sharon, a hint of disappointment lacing your expression, you ventured a request, hoping for something more aligned with your sense of style. "Don't you have anything less... that?" The words hung between you, a polite plea for normalcy amidst the opulence that defined her world.

"Like what?" Sharon's question cut through the tension in the room, her gaze drifting momentarily over Bucky and his shirtless state alongside Zemo. The moment made your skin crawl slightly, an unwelcome distraction in the midst of the unfolding scenario.

"Jeans?" you ventured hopefully, trying to steer the conversation back to a more comfortable topic, despite the circumstances.

"We are going to a club in Madripoor," Sharon pointed out, as if the venue demanded a specific dress code that was far from your preference.

"Yes?" you responded, not fully grasping why your suggested attire wouldn't be suitable, your tone a mixture of confusion and mild annoyance.

After a brief pause, during which Sharon seemed to consider her response, she chose to bypass your suggestion entirely, moving past you as if you had become part of the room's extravagant background. Your frustration evident, you rolled your eyes at her dismissive attitude and turned back to the daunting task of selecting an outfit from the array provided. Among the lavish options, you managed to find flared leather leggings and a high-neck crop top with a singular sleeve—a rebellious choice that echoed your own style while avoiding the discomfort of another glitter-infested dress. As you began the awkward dance of changing into the leather pants without first removing your current dress, a subtle commotion caught your attention.

Bucky, ever the protector, had taken it upon himself to ensure your privacy. His large hand found Zemo's neck, not harshly but with enough insistence to pivot the man's attention away from you. However, it wasn't just Zemo's attention he was diverting; his own gaze, filled with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher, kept flickering back to you. Each look seemed to linger a moment too long, filled with an emotion he seemed to struggle to define, let alone express. With a visible effort, Bucky tore his gaze away, a stern resolve setting in as he forced himself to focus on anything but you.

Your brother went to lift his whiskey glass off the table when he spotted what was inside of it. A shiver ran down his as he fished out the little snake part and stood to throw it out the window. The expression on his face made you throw your head back laughing. He raised his brow at you in question. You lifted your hands. "I didn’t do it."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Because whoever did, is a genius." You were about to pull the top over your head when Sam pinched you in the side. "Ow, what the hell, Sam!" With furrowed brows, and the tight top stuck on your shoulders, you tried to kick him in the shin, though he moved back just in time; a broad grin rested on his face. "Too slow, sista," Sam teased, his playful nudge against your head causing your already precarious balance to falter further. With a grunt of mock indignation, you surged forward, aiming a determined chest-bump at your brother, eager to see him mirror your momentary imbalance. Your efforts were rewarded with a triumphant laugh as Sam was forced to step back, the shared moment of childish glee lighting up your features with a wide grin. This brief interlude of sibling rivalry whisked you back to those carefree days of your youth, where even the simplest acts of brotherly teasing felt like the grandest adventures. Back then, Sam could do no wrong in your eyes, the epitome of an older brother in the most magnificent form.

In the midst of your playful scuffle, you were secretly relieved that Sharon had exited the room. Her presence might have added a layer of self-consciousness to the innocent chaos. Although the antics might seem juvenile to an outsider, to you, they were a rare slice of normalcy—a cherished reminder of a life untouched by cosmic wars or Thanos' dread shadow.

As Sam busied himself with selecting an outfit, your struggle with the unyielding fabric of your top grew increasingly frustrating. The material, devoid of any give, clung stubbornly in all the wrong places. With your back to Bucky, a soft sigh of exasperation escaped you. "Buck?" The quiet call for assistance was barely above a whisper, yet it summoned his attention instantly.

"Need a hand?" His voice was close, filled with a gentle concern that made your heart flutter slightly.

"Yes, please," came your subdued reply, the momentary vulnerability feeling strangely intimate. Then, you felt it—his touch. The slight graze of Bucky's skin against yours as his fingers traced a path up your side, his touch delicate yet assured. He navigated the fabric with a tender precision, his fingers briefly pausing at the edge of your top before guiding it smoothly into place. The fleeting caress that followed lingered just long enough to ignite a shiver of anticipation, a warmth blossoming within you that craved the closeness of his embrace. His breath, a warm whisper against the nape of your neck, sent a thrilling chill down your spine.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, the compliment hanging in the air between you, charged with an unspoken emotion that seemed to draw you even closer, tethering your heart to his with an invisible thread of affection and longing.

"I absolutely agree," Zemo's voice cut through the tension, drawing an involuntary growl of annoyance from Bucky. With a gesture of mock surrender, Zemo backed away, his steps carrying him to the bar where three glasses of whiskey awaited their silent call to be savored. Bucky, feeling the palpable shift in the room's dynamics, reluctantly distanced himself from you, his departure leaving a subtle chill in the wake of his warmth. He reclaimed his seat on the sofa, a move you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment over.

Sharon chose that moment to grace the room with her presence, her arrival marked by the lively bounce of her blonde waves. She exuded a casual confidence, her tone light, yet probing. "So," she hummed, curiosity lacing her words, "How's the new Cap doing?"

Before Sam had the chance to form a response, Bucky's voice, laced with a mixture of disdain and resignation, filled the room. "Don’t get me started." His hands found each other, intertwining in an awkward dance as his gaze inadvertently met yours. Even in the simplicity of his all-black ensemble, accentuated by a blazer that lent an air of sophistication, Bucky looked effortlessly handsome, commanding the space around him with an understated elegance.

Sharon, undeterred by the tense atmosphere, pressed on, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Oh, please. You buy into all that stars and striped bullshit." Her pointed gaze shifted to Zemo. "Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend." With a fluid motion, she sank into the space beside Bucky, a deliberate bite of her lip following her words.

The action did not go unnoticed, drawing a frown from you, a silent testament to the unfolding dynamics. Bucky, catching Sam's eye, shared a moment of mutual understanding, tinged with a hint of disbelief. "Wow," he uttered, the word heavy with implication. "She's kind of awful now." His observation, though softly spoken, resonated with a mix of humor and a poignant undercurrent of nostalgia for times and alliances past.

As you momentarily extracted yourself from the animated discussion unfurling within the living room, your attention was ensnared by the relentless buzzing of your phone, a beacon of unchecked notifications. A myriad of messages from your sister painted your screen, a digital mosaic of concern and updates. "I'll be right back," you announced, your voice threading through the dense air of conversation that was currently monopolized by debates over the Flag Smashers. The name itself, a moniker you found both laughably juvenile and misleadingly innocuous, echoed in your thoughts as you distanced yourself from the discourse, finding solace in the quietude of the hallway.

Leaning against the cool, indifferent wall, you began the arduous task of sifting through the digital deluge, your fingers scrolling with practiced ease. It was then, amidst the solitude of your temporary retreat, that the ambiance subtly shifted, heralding the approach of another. The door opened with a hushed creak, and there he was—Bucky, his presence alone commanding your undivided attention.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice a gentle intrusion, as he navigated the space around you to claim his own against the wall opposite. His casual demeanor belied the concern etched into the furrows of his brow.

"Hey," you echoed, a mirror of his own greeting, yet laden with an unspoken acknowledgment of the weight he carried in his gaze.

"You alright?" His inquiry was simple, yet laden with layers of unvoiced thoughts and concerns. There was a palpable hesitation in his words, a reluctance to tread upon the terrain of your powers—a subject he knew stirred a tempest of emotions within you. “You used your powers.”

"I did," came your affirmation, your response punctuated with a grin that sought to mask the undercurrent of apprehension that had long shadowed your relationship with your own abilities. "I'm alright, though, really." Your attempt to reassure him—and perhaps yourself—was sincere. "It felt weirdly freeing to use them. To see how well I can actually keep control. They are still kind of scary, though."

As the words tumbled from your lips, Bucky bridged the gap between you, each step he took charged with an unspoken intensity. Suddenly, the world seemed to narrow down to the space that separated you, every detail of his approach etched into your memory—the way the light danced in his eyes, the barely perceptible tension in his jaw, the silent communication of his body language that spoke volumes of his concern and his undeniable pull towards you.

The proximity between you dwindled to a mere breath, a distance so trivial yet laden with a myriad of unspoken possibilities. The air around you thickened, charged with a palpable tension that sent your heart racing, your breaths shallow. The notion of closing the distance, of yielding to the gravitational pull that seemed to draw you inexorably towards him, flickered through your mind like a tantalizing promise. It was an effort to maintain your composure, to anchor yourself to the moment without succumbing to the overwhelming urge to bridge the final vestiges of space with a kiss that threatened to unravel both of you.

Pressed against the cool, unyielding surface of the wall, the intensity of the moment had magnified as Bucky's hands found their way to your waist, his grip tightening with a hunger that sent waves of anticipation coursing through your veins. His large, calloused hands, battle-hardened yet gentle, conveyed a sense of urgency as they dug into your flesh, pulling you impossibly closer into his embrace. The strength in his touch was paradoxically comforting, each finger imprinting a promise of protection and desire onto your skin.

The world around you had faded into a distant murmur, his presence engulfing you, drowning out everything else. Bucky's body molded against yours, his chest to your chest, his hips locked with yours in a dance as old as time. The pressure of his hands on your waist was both a claim and a caress, a testament to the depth of his longing. It was as if he was trying to merge two separate existences into one, to erase any space that still lingered between you.

As his lips moved with a tender ferocity against yours, you could feel the raw power of his emotions, restrained yet palpable. The sensation of being wholly desired, of being pulled into someone's orbit with such intensity, was both exhilarating and terrifying. His touch spoke volumes, whispered of need and want that had been simmering beneath the surface, now unleashed in the privacy of this shared moment.

The hunger in his grasp was matched only by the passion of your response, your own hands exploring the expanse of his back, tracing the lines of muscle and scars that told the story of his past. Together, you were adrift in a sea of heightened sensations, every caress, every kiss, every breath amplifying the connection that had been quietly growing between you. In that moment, with Bucky's hands anchoring you to him, you weren't just touching; you were speaking a language of longing, of mutual understanding and unspoken promises made in the quietude of hearts beating in unison.

A voice unexpectedly cut through the thick haze of the moment shared between you and Bucky. The abrupt sound of Sam’s voice, laced with surprise and a hint of disbelief, acted like a cold splash of reality.

“Someone care to explain what’s going on here?” he demanded, his tone piercing the bubble that had enveloped you and Bucky. The shock of being discovered, especially by your brother, sent a jolt through you, compelling you to break the kiss.

Oh, no.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes series #bucky x you #winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 9 months ago

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Ice Cream Date » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Mom/Girlfriend!Reader with daughter Mia

Summary: Bucky takes his favorite girls out for ice cream.

Warnings: Fluff, language, nothing but cuteness, Bucky being the best father figure, hugs and kisses, use of nicknames/pet names

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

“Guess who.” Bucky says, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

You smiled and turned around. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Bucky’s hand found their way to your waist and pulled you against his body. Bucky just got home from a week long mission.

“I missed you so much.” You say against his lips.

“I missed you more.” He says.

“Someone else also missed you.” You tell him.

Bucky knew you were talking about your daughter. Your 4 year old daughter Mia became Bucky’s little light of life. Even though she’s not his biological daughter, he treats her like his own daughter. He loves her with all of his heart. He’d do anything for you and your little girl.

You two went to Mia’s bedroom to see her coloring in one of her many coloring books on the floor. You and Bucky sat on the floor in front of her.

“What are you doing, sweetie?” You asked her.

“Coloring.” Mia says, not looking up from her coloring book.

“Can you look at me please?” You asked.

Mia looks up, her eyes went wide and a canyon fell out of her hand when she seen Bucky.

“Bucky!” She squeals and hugs him, almost tackling him to the floor. “I missed you a lot!” She tells him.

“I missed you too, princess.” Bucky says, kissing the side of her head.

Mia looked up at Bucky and told him about the good things she did while he was on the mission. Bucky listened with the look of adoration on his face. You watched and listened with a smile on your face.

“That’s amazing, princess.” He smiles at her. “I think I should take my girls on an ice cream date. What do you think?” He asks.

Mia nodded her head eagerly. You two smiled at her excitement. Bucky helped her put her shoes and jacket on. You guys went to an ice cream shop that was across the street from the park that Mia loves to play at after school almost everyday which is down the street from the apartment complex you guys live in. Bucky held Mia in his arms so she could get a closer look at the menu.

“What would you like, princess?” Bucky asks her.

Mia studied the menu for a moment and finally found what she wants to get.

“Can I get that one please?” Mia asks curiously, point at the menu while looking at Bucky.

Mia was pointing at a picture of a cup of ice cream with gummy bears, gummy worms, and marshmallows as toppings.

“Yes you can.” He tells her.

Bucky orders for Mia. Then you and Bucky ordered. You guys sat down at a table and Bucky listened to more about the good things Mia did while he was on the mission.

“At daycare, the teachers got new paints and colored paper for painting!” Mia tells Bucky.

“That sounds really cool. You have to paint me something.” Bucky says.

“Can I paint something for uncle Stevie?” She asks.

“Of course you can. I’m sure that he’ll love whatever you paint for him.” He says with a smile.

“I paint something for mommy too!” She says with a smile and looked at you.

“I’m looking forward to it, sweetie.” You say with a smile.

Mia was telling you and Bucky more about the new supplies the daycare got while eating her ice cream.

“I ate all of my ice cream. Can I play at the park?” Mia asks.

“Yes you can.” You say.

You cleaned the excess ice cream off her face before you and Bucky took her to the park. Excitement took over Mia when you guys got to the park. She immediately ran to the slides. The slides are one of her favorite.

“Mommy! Bucky! Watch me!” Mia says, climbing up the ladder to the slide.

You and Bucky watched as Mia slid down the slide. You two smiled at her excitement when she got to the bottom.

“That was so good, sweetie!” You say.

Mia smiles widely and went down the slide a few more times and then begged Bucky to push her on the swings.

“You ready, princess?” Bucky asks Mia after she got on the swing.

“Yes!” She says excitedly.

Bucky didn’t push her too high cause both of you didn’t want her to get hurt if she fell off the swing somehow. After a while, Mia wanted you to push her on the swing. Another few minutes go by when it started to get dark.

“It’s getting dark, sweetie. It’s time to go home.” You tell Mia.

“No!” Mia whines. “I don’t want to leave yet!” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Mia…” Bucky warns her. “Listen to mommy.” He says.

Mia grumbled before getting off the swing and went up to Bucky, reaching her arms up and did grabby hands, wanting him to carry her which he happily did.

“Change into your pajamas and I’ll read you a bedtime story.” Bucky says to Mia.

“Ok, Bucky!” Mia says, running to her bedroom.

Bucky took off his jacket and tossed it on the couch before placing his hands on your waist, pulling you against his body and gave you a kiss. You two smiled against each other’s lips.

“Yucky!” Mia shouts, making you two laugh and pull away from each other. “That’s how you get cooties!” She says.

“How do you know about cooties, little miss?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My friends at daycare said that when a boy and a girl kiss they get cooties.” She explains.

“I’m a Super Soldier, princess. I can’t get cooties.” Bucky says.

“How do you know that you don’t have cooties right now?” She asks.

“I just know, sweetheart.” He picks her up. “Enough about cooties. It’s story time!” He says, carrying her to her bedroom.

While Bucky tucked Mia in bed and read her a bedtime story, you got ready for bed. You then walked down the hallway to Mia’s bedroom and leaned against the doorframe, smiling as you listened to Bucky read Mia her favorite bedtime story.

“And they lived happily ever after.” Bucky shut the book and put it on her nightstand. “Goodnight, princess.” He says softly, kissing the top of her head and adjusted her blankets.

Bucky turned on Mia’s night light before around to see you standing in the doorway with a smile on your face. He put his finger against his lips, telling you to be quiet as he gently backed you out of the doorway and closed the door behind him.

“You’re an amazing father figure to Mia.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’m happy to be that person for her.” Bucky leans down and kissed you passionately. “You know…” He kisses you again. “We should have a baby of our own.” He says.

“Mmm, I was thinking the same thing.” You say, kissing him.

“Let’s get to it then, babydoll.” He says.

Bucky picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, a squeak left your lips. He dropped you on the bed and locked the door. He got on the bed and hovered over you.

“You better be quiet, doll.” He says, leaning down to kiss you hungrily.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover · 6 months ago

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Dating Sam Wilson Headcanons

Sam is perfection. He's the perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for.

He's kind, he's brave, he's absolutely in love with you, he knows how to take care of you.

People underestimate him. It's obvious, since he hangs out with super soldiers like Steve and Bucky, but you're very happy for Sam, your boyfriend. You love Sam for what he is, you appreciate his abilities honestly, and give him credit where it's due.

Sam pretends to be happy and confident all the time, but you can see beneath his charming exterior.

He has insecurities, has low confidence, and a lot of self-doubt. He's an Avenger, and a lot of things come with that. You always try to reassure him that what he's doing is enough, and that he's more than enough, sometimes it convinces him, sometimes it doesn't.

His love language is acts of service. He's the kind of person who'd do anything to reduce your work, and try his best to keep you stress-free and happy.

Sam likes to talk to you. He's always trying to make you laugh, and he bear it when you, the love of his life, is sad. He'll do anything to make you happy.

You have your highs and lows, and each time, he's there to support you.

Sam's great at giving a pep talk, since he was like a counselor to war veterans. But for you, he adds personal touch, and gives you real, useful advices instead of painting pictures in thin air.

You two watch a lot of movies together, and Sam spends a large time explaining to you how unrealistic the action scenes are. You bite your tongue every time and try not to remind him of the fact that he's an Avenger, and fights like that too.

People try to tell you that you can do better than Sam, or in exact words, 'why Sam Wilson? why didn't you go for Captain America or his hot friend?'. You get tired of telling people that it's Sam you love, and you don't have eyes for anyone else.

Sometimes, when Sam hears this, he gets upset. A part of him believes that you deserve far more than what he has to offer, but you dismiss his doubts by saying that it's him you love and him you want.

Your boyfriend is a hero not only for millions, but also for you. But his hero is you, his beloved partner.

Masterlist

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

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Kiss Me If You Can || Bucky Barnes

Character: Bucky Barnes x Thief!Reader

Summary: Bucky, a stern lieutenant, discovers that his first love has become a famous phantom thief, sparking a thrilling cat-and-mouse chase with a romantic twist as he can't bear to see her imprisoned but prefers to keep her close.

Words Count: 1,746

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,-

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Lieutenant James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky as he was commonly known, was a commanding presence within the army. His stern demeanor struck fear into the hearts of many soldiers, earning him a reputation as a no-nonsense enforcer.

After a tough day, Lieutenant James Buchanan Barnes headed to his office, a place where he had a little routine. He would glance at a photo that held a special meaning for him.

In the picture were two kids – a little boy and a tall girl. The girl flashed a peace sign and rested her arm on the boy's shoulder.

That girl was Y/N, the older sister of his best friend and four years older than him. But she was more than just a friend's sister; she was his first love.

The photo captured a moment from their past, a time when Y/N's protective gesture had meant everything to him, and the innocence of childhood hinted at a connection that had endured through the years.

Y/N, the older sister of Bucky's best friend Steve Rogers, had played a pivotal role in his life from an early age. The memory of her standing up for him against playground bullies was etched in Bucky's mind.

She had wiped the dirt from his clothes with a gentle touch, patting his head as she assured him, "Don't worry, if they bother you again, call Sister Y/N. I'll save you."

Years rolled by, and as Bucky enlisted in the army to seek strength and purpose, Y/N continued exploring the world. Their paths diverged, but the connection lingered.

When Bucky earned his rank as a lieutenant, Y/N, ever the supportive figure, patted his head once more and exclaimed, "Awesome, Bucky!"

The gesture, however, didn't sit well with Y/N's younger brother, who found the whole dynamic between his childhood friend and his big sister rather discomforting.

Bucky couldn't shake the feelings that had taken root during his childhood. Y/N wasn't just a friend; she was a beacon of strength and kindness that had left an indelible mark on his heart.

As the years went by, his admiration for her evolved into something more complex, something bordering on obsession. Her image lingered in his thoughts, and the mere mention of her name sent a ripple through his stoic exterior.

The photograph in his office, which captured a moment from their childhood, became a source of solace and torment for Bucky. It was a tangible reminder of a time when Y/N's presence had provided comfort and assurance.

It served as a testament to the unspoken emotions he dared not express.

When he inquired about Y/N's whereabouts, Steve's cryptic response only fueled the fire of anticipation.

Steve's response was mysterious, "She will appear when you didn't expect her. Just let her be, Bucky. You will find the right girl."

The advice to wait and let things unfold left Bucky in a state of restless contemplation. The walls around his heart, built by years of military discipline, seemed to crumble in the face of the unresolved feelings he harbored for Y/N.

Then, one day, things changed. Bucky's boss, a really important officer, called him to put together a special team. The job was to catch someone who stole weapons from the army.

Now, Bucky was part of this special group, and it was a different kind of mission. They weren't just testing his military skills; they were also testing how well he could handle his feelings. The team had different people, each good at something specific.

Bucky, known for being tough and precise, had a big role. They found out the stolen weapons could be a big danger if they ended up in the wrong hands.

The mission got intense, with the team figuring out clues and doing secret stuff. Bucky's focus on the job helped him ignore the feelings he hadn't dealt with in the past. Things got even more serious as they got closer to catching the thief.

The night was tense as the elite team worked tirelessly to fortify the security measures around the anticipated target areas. His senses were on high alert, and Bucky detected a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The thief was making a move, and a trap had been set.

A sudden ambush unfolded as the team moved cautiously through the shadowy corridors. The trap sprung, ensnaring several members of the elite unit. Chaos erupted as alarms blared, and the team was entangled in a web of unexpected danger.

However, Bucky, ever the vigilant lieutenant, sensed the deception.

His instincts led him away from the chaos, toward the concealed location where the stolen weapons were hidden. In the dimly lit room, he came face to face with the enigmatic thief.

The figure, clad in a tight black suit accentuating every agile movement, turned to reveal a face that sent a shockwave through Bucky's entire being.

It was Y/N.

The woman who had once patted his head and saved him from childhood bullies, the girl who had filled his memories with warmth and admiration, now stood before him as the phantom thief haunting the army.

Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief, a mixture of shock and realization crossing his features.

The intricate dance between duty and personal connection reached a crescendo at that moment as the past collided with the present in a way he had never anticipated.

"Y/N," Bucky uttered, the name escaping his lips in a whisper of disbelief.

Y/N's smile, once a familiar comfort, now carried a mysterious edge as she greeted Bucky with a wave. "Hi Bucky, how are you?"

Her tone, casual and nonchalant, echoed through the room, creating a surreal atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the gravity of the situation.

Bucky, caught between the echoes of the past and the stark reality unfolding before him, struggled to find words. The woman who had once pledged to save him now stood as the very threat he had sworn to apprehend. The conflicting emotions within him churned, creating a storm of uncertainty.

"How..." Bucky began, his voice trailing off as he grappled with the complexity of the moment. The memories of Y/N's kindness clashed with the undeniable truth of her actions as the phantom thief. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in on a tableau frozen in time.

Y/N, seemingly unfazed by the tension, took a step closer. "I've been around, Bucky," she said, her eyes holding a glint of mischief. "Life's been an adventure. And yours?"

Without waiting for Bucky's answer, Y/N laughed, saying, "I warned them they couldn't fool one person. They should've listened to me."

Bucky tried to convince Y/N to surrender and face justice, but she just shook her head, a playful defiance in her eyes.

"Why so serious, Bucky?" Y/N teased, a smirk playing on her lips. "Life's more fun when you're on the edge, don't you think?"

Bucky, determined to maintain authority, responded, "This is serious, Y/N. You've stolen from the army. There are consequences."

Y/N laughed lightly, her gaze never leaving his. "Consequences? I've danced with danger before, and I always come out on top. Besides, it's not like I took anything important."

Bucky, frustration creeping in, insisted, "Stolen weapons are always important. Lives could be at risk."

Y/N's expression turned serious for a moment, her eyes locking onto Bucky's. "You know me, Bucky. I never play with lives. There's always a method to my madness."

Bucky, torn between duty and an unsettling understanding of Y/N, pressed on, "You need to face the consequences, Y/N. This is bigger than your games."

But Y/N, ever the elusive thief, just winked. "Bigger games, bigger risks, Bucky. You should know that better than anyone."

Surprisingly, Bucky didn't feel frustrated. Instead, a subtle grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're still the same Y/N, always dancing on the edge," he remarked, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Y/N, catching onto his unexpected response, grinned back. "Wouldn't want you to forget who you're dealing with, Bucky."

Bucky's attempt to bring Y/N to justice took an unexpected turn as she shook her head in response to his plea for surrender. Instead, she approached him with an unsettling calmness, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Bucky caught off guard, felt a gentle pinch on his chin, and before he could comprehend the surreal turn of events, Y/N's lips met his in a surprising kiss.

The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat as the reality of the stolen kiss sank in. Bucky, stunned by the unexpected intimacy, could only watch as Y/N pulled away, leaving a lingering tension in the air. Her wink and the appearance of a rope from the sky signaled the arrival of a getaway plan.

With the helicopter hovering above, Y/N, with an almost teasing confidence, informed Bucky, "You wouldn't dare to see me locked up in a prison. Because I knew you love me," Y/N declared, her words carrying a mix of challenge and confidence.

She blew a flying kiss his way, adding a layer of provocation to the already complex mix of emotions.

As Y/N soared into the night, hanging on the rope tied to the helicopter, Bucky remained rooted to the spot, a cocktail of shock, confusion, and a hint of something he couldn't quite put into words.

Fueled by a thrilling energy, Bucky's jaw tightened, his fists clenching not in frustration but excitement.

"I'll get you."

Y/N was right; Bucky couldn't bear the thought of seeing the woman he loved locked behind prison bars. Instead, if he managed to catch her, she would never leave his bedroom.

With its twists and turns, this game of cat and mouse was a familiar dance, and Bucky was ready to step into the rhythm anew.

And so, the chase between Bucky and Y/N had begun.

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#bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #buckybarnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan characters #sebastian x y/n #the winter soldier

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alienoresimagines · 2 months ago

Note

For the ask game, 1, 3, 15, and 28!

Thank you for the ask, Dawn ❤️ Starting with the last question because if I want anyone to remember one thing from this post, it's those recs so putting this in the Clegan tag for more visibility for the fic recs🫡

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much

The Mota fandom has so many talented writers who share absolute masterpieces so it was so so hard to narrow it down to 3 but I tried to put 3 authors I don't see as often as others in fic recs post and I hope that for those who don't know them, this'll be your sign to read their works ❤️ So, in no particular order and wih hope that I didn't mess up any link :

@amiserableseriesofevents (Link to AO3)

I devour absolutely every single one of Ginia's fics, even those that tear my heart apart because she's the devil and she loves to make everyone suffer. Some of her fics are the definition of "The love is there. It just simply isn't enough" and all of her fics are "The love is there". The way she writes the Buckies falling in love in different ways is so beautiful every single time, no matter what situation she's put them in. I remember Love At Second Sight to be one of the first fics I've ever read for Clegan and it'll always be one of my It fic. Also I think it takes a special kind of skills to be able to write characters in AU while keeping the essence of those characters because they are so shaped by canon that it can be hard to see who they are if you take those circumstances away but Ginia nails it every single time. She has a couple of different AUs, but they're all undeniably John and Gale, and reading them falling in love and getting together in all those different situations is so so wonderful because with her writing it doesn't feel like you're reading but more like you're there, like a little familiar on the protagonist shoulder <3 Only nobody hears when you inevitably howl because there was too much feeling for you to handle lol

Special mentions to those stories that have my entire heart :

I think the love I bear you should make you not to die or the Timelines AU my beloved, precious darling

The man I've looked for that may or may not be one of my comfort fics of all time

ships in the night aka I might just die if they don't meet again and their almost stays an almost because this AU has my life, I would sacrifice anything to have more of them

@caustinen (Link to AO3)

Obviously there's the Hollywood AU that has a very special place in my heart but every headcanon and fic of theirs 😍 I think about those quite often, especially sharp dressed man that's one of my favorite smut fic in the clegan tag! I just love their overall takes on Gale and John, and on Clegan. Even if it's not set in canon, it's always so clearly them that you have no difficulty picturing them in that universe and that really is a feat ❤️ And the diversity of all those universes is mindblowing, I love it, so much creativity and different scenarios to put the Buckies in 🥹

@majorbuckyegan (Link to AO3)

Definitely one of those writers I get a fangirl moment for when they write a comment on one of my fics lol, their never saw the sun shining so bright fic (or Five kisses that Bucky stole from Buck, and one kiss that Buck stole in return) lives in my head rent-free. I can't tell you how many times I've read it and imagined it as a daydream to help me fall asleep, it's one of my favorite fics in the entire world. Also I read it when I hadn't watched Mota yet so that's one of the fics that introduced me to them and I wouldn't be surprised if my own characterization of the Buckies is lowkey inspired by those works like this one that I've read before watching the show. It's so soft and tender, and yet you never really forget the war. The war is everywhere but so is the love and the balance between the two in every single fic is an absolute gem every time. For tonight, let's love like there's no goodbye is also one of my favorite fics in the fandom, the way you just go into John's head and his thoughts and you can feel how much they love each other is so 🥹❤️❤️

It's come to my attention that all three of these writers are also fantastic smut writers so that's important too, especially because personally, I'm not too much of a smut person, my favorite parts of smut are the feelings involved lol, and all three write pure love making, the feelings are so beautiful and merge so well with the smut, I love it 🥹

Also cheating a bit because technically that's a fourth writer but I have to mention you, Dawn 🥹 The Atonement AU is especially dear to my heart, and the snippets you've shared with us are absolutely stunning! I'm truly in love with your writing style, I don't know how to explain it but it's like the love Gale and John have for each other is so raw that it actually kind of chokes me up a bit, because it's so big and they love each other so much 🥹 And the way you weave words together is so lyrical and gripping that you don't just read what they're feeling, you're feeling it with them if you know what I mean. And I'm repeating myself but, even if I know it might not save them, the love in your writing is so overwhelming that it's obvious that you're loving writing it and that might be my favorite part of it <3

This was very nice to do, it's been a while since I've dived in my bookmarks like that! Also served me as a reminder that most of those 180 Clegan fics were bookmarked before I got the nerve to start commenting on fics so adding on the new Year's resolution to go through them again and leave a comment <3

That got very long so under the read more are the answers to the other questions :)

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Well. A typical me-fic starts as a could-be-2k-fic then I start yapping and it ends up over 6k so I suppose I'll try to think of what makes me yap the most. Definitely either pining that the protagonist (usually Gale lol) doesn't see is mutual or the Buckies already being in love and them waxing poetry about each other 🥹 So fluffy/pining love with too many metaphors is probably my comfort zone 🫡

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

I don't know if it's a trope per say, but horror or too gory stuff I'd say. I'm not really into reading it so writing it would be pure suffering I think 😂 Whump and wounds I might dip my toes in but body horror, painful transformation are definitely not in my range

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oooh this is so tough because when I write I see the scenes in my head like a movie, like the camera closing on certain elements for examples 😭

I'd say either I'm On The Run With You My Sweet Love because I love the setting of the lake in a summer's day, how carefree they can both be and the softness of their love or Never Coming Down With Your Hand In Mine because I could see it so clearly in my mind while I was writing it, the way their hands compliment each other and the contrast between how rough they look vs how gentle they are with the other. Also I could really see the winter light filtering through the window, with little feckles of dust in the air and you can see them sitting side by side, all reddened cheeks from the cold that turn to blushes because they're both in love 🥹 I would love to see Gale's sweet face as he smiles at the ground and John's looking at him so fondly and loving 🥹 The shot of Gale squeezing John's hand back would be so special to me 🥹

#soliloquy-dawn #ali's fic recs #it feels so nice to promote other writer's stuff this made my day #pls take this as a snack while you wait for me to go through my bookmarks to comment them 🥹#clegan #asks

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scoonsalicious · 8 months ago

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Unwanted: Chapter 28, Unwanted - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, violence, injury

Word Count: 489

Previously On...: Bucky's looking for you, and he's in a rage.

A/N: NEXT PART IS THE PART YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR OMG.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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“Faster!” Jade urged. “Fucking move!”

“If you wanted speed, you should have taken that into consideration before you beat me up,” you groused, but you kept moving forward. Your steps were slower than they could have been– you were hurt, yes, but not grievously so, and you weren’t going to do her any favors by hastening her escape.

You seemed to be walking through the tunnel for hours, though it couldn’t have been longer than fifteen minutes, the path before you snaking in switchbacks as you slowly ascended to the surface. Without warning, you smacked face-first into another door, the tunnel so dark you hadn’t seen it, though your face most certainly hadn’t missed it. You’d be lucky if you made it out of this ordeal without needing some kind of facial reconstruction surgery, what with all the damage your face had taken.

“Open it,” Jade insisted, and you could just make out the gleam of the gun in the darkness as she waved it in your general direction. You leaned your good arm into the door and pushed, willing it to budge just a few inches.

When it didn’t, Jade pushed past you, knocking you into the wall of the tunnel in her haste. “You’re fucking useless,” she hissed in your direction as she slammed the door open. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the opening as Jade once again grasped your hair and pulled you through.

You blinked your eyes at the brightness coming down through the trees. You managed to swivel your head around, trying to catch your bearings before Jade began dragging you away again, but the only thing surrounding you were endless lines of pine trees, spanning without end in every direction. The Infamous New Jersey Pine Barrens. You found yourself fighting a laugh.

“What the fuck are you laughing about, now?” Jade said, jolting you roughly as she dragged you behind her across the sandy ground.

“Just picturing you as my very own Jersey Devil, Vixen, dear,” you laughed. “Wondering if you’re going to sprout some hideous leathery wings to match your hideous leathery face.”

“Shut UP!” Jade shouted, spinning you around and tossing your body into a tree trunk.

You shrieked in agony as your brutalized left arm bore the brunt of the impact with the pine bark.

“Ouch, you bitch,” you grunted out through teeth clenched in pain.

She grabbed you again, this time by the upper right arm, and began dragging you through the woods. Between her continuous change of direction, the sheer number of trees blocking your view of the sky, and the way the pain you felt made it difficult to focus, you had absolutely no sense of what direction you were generally heading in; you could be traveling in circles for all you knew. You just had to hope that Bucky was still able to track the signal from your bangle, and that he was gaining on you.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

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Chapter Eighteen - Weakness

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again

Warning: Dark - Kidnapping and false imprisonment, threats with a gun, threats of violence/sexual assault, references to murder, rough handling of reader

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 19

Series Masterlist

You briefly allow yourself to hope that this is Bucky and his men. That he's doing this as some sort of twisted punishment for what you said. Yes, that would be a super fucked up thing to hope for, but at least you'd stand a chance of getting out of this alive.

As time goes on it becomes clear that this isn't Bucky, though. You don't recognise any of their voices. You have no idea who these men are.

This is bad. Really bad.

You do your best to stay calm, knowing panicking will mean you won't have your wits about you. You need to stay focused, do everything you can to stay alive.

Finally, after a very bumpy car ride as you laid on the floor of the vehicle, you get to wherever you're going. The journey was about forty minutes you think, maybe an hour, you try and work out how far that might be out of the city, but to no avail. They park up and you hear people step out to talk. You strain to hear what they're saying through whatever fabric is over your head - there are at least two of them, maybe three. They don't use names and don't give anything away about who they might be or what they're doing with you. They just mutter about the boss, and everything being in place for something. You can't make out the rest.

Suddenly the door is wrenched open, you are tugged up to your feet and snatched roughly out of the vehicle. It hurts and you know you'll likely have bruises up your arms from where they've manhandled you. You're standing outside again when the gun impatiently taps on the back of your head and you take that as indication to walk. You can't see so you have no idea where you're going, a firm hand on your shoulder is guiding you to walk in the direction they want you in. You clomp awkwardly in your date night heels.

"Please..." you murmur quietly from under the hood. "If you want money I can get you my savings and everything from my job's safe...I don't have much but-".

The gun digs hard into your skull again and you shut up suddenly, not stupid enough to continue.

You're lead into some sort of building, trying to count the number of turns and doors you take, doing your best to form a mental picture of the layout. You can feel voices on either side of you and know multiple sets of eyes are on you as you pass by even though you can't see them. Eventually you are pushed down into a rigid chair and the hood is torn from your head.

Your eyes strain under the bright lights after being in the darkness for so long and you do your best to adjust to where you are. The lights are lurid and unflattering, adding a disorientating edge to the already stark space.

You peer across the room as you blink and get your bearings. You're in a warehouse or factory it seems, rusting machinery surrounds you and everything looks decayed and far beyond its best days. The air smells of rusty water and damp mould.

Soon your eyes find your captors, standing ten or so feet away. There's a group of them dressed in combat gear. They all have various weapons strapped to them – sat in holsters, slung over their shoulders, tucked carefully into their palms. Ammo clips are affixed to belts draped around their waists, bandoliers rest threateningly across their torsos. You shudder at the sight. There are more of them than you realised.

A muscular dark haired man stares back at you hungrily and you flinch instinctively at his gaze.

An older man in a dark suit and tie smiles kindly as he heads towards you, his professional attire a jarring contrast to the others in their almost-military like get up. He seems warmer than his 'colleagues' and you can tell he was a handsome man in his younger days.

You begin to panic, the reality of seeing your kidnappers in front of you with all of their weaponry suddenly triggering your flight or fight response. You squirm in your restraints, head jerking side to side as you hunt for anything or anyone that might help you. You feel exposed too, still wearing your tight evening dress from your date. Your body is on show more than you'd like – not that there's an optimum outfit for this type of scenario. You've also managed to lose a shoe somewhere on the walk from the car to here. You're vulnerable, weak. They all know that too.

"Please..." you plead weakly. "I don't know why I'm here".

"I know it must be scary, honey. But try not to panic. We aren't going to hurt you" says the suited man, his voice low and soothing.

"Speak for yourself" laughs the dark haired man, and the rest of the group laugh coldly with him.

The suited man shoots them a look and they all shut up instantly. He must be their leader, you understand. The 'boss' they mentioned.

"Like I said. Nobody is going to hurt you sweetie, as long as you behave yourself. Alright? Can you do that for me?" He coos at you as he comes closer.

You nod rapidly, your eyes widening. You have no interest in finding out what happens if you don't behave.

"Smart girl. But I should've guessed. Barnes isn't gonna pick himself a dummy is he?" He laughs.

Your eyes narrow at the mention of Bucky's name. "Barnes...?" you mumble as things finally start to fall into place.

"Uh huh" the man continues. "The man himself. We know you're well acquainted".

Your throat suddenly feels very dry. "I think y-you have the wrong girl" you stammer. "We aren't together, me and him."

The man smiles, his sweet tone never faltering.

"Well, are you sure about that sweetie? Maybe think about it again. We know he was outside of your apartment when we picked you up. We know he sent a huge order of balloons to your workplace. We know you spent the night with him at his house after some canoodling in a nightclub. We know he sends his men to follow you around town. And he's always in that cute little bakery of yours, isn't he? Seems like pretty damning evidence to me, sweetheart".

You internally admit that you see their logic.

You nearly vomit as you begin to understand just how long they have been following you. Bucky too. Did he know they were following him? How could his surveillance team miss them??

You choke out a sound which is a mix between a laugh and a sob.

"No no...you gotta believe me. We did spend the night together yes, but that's it. He follows me because he likes to torture me. He doesn't really want me. I'm just a... a plaything to him. He's been making my life a misery. He doesn't care, not really. Please...you've gotta believe me..." you're practically begging now.

The men all laugh like you've told a great joke and the suited one speaks again.

"Lovers' quarrel huh sweetie? We've all been there. But listen, you don't know him like we do - he's always been a hump and dump kinda guy. Been that way since he discovered his pecker. Trust me, he used to work for me back in the day and he was the same way then, too. He doesn't keep them around, but he keeps you around. That's no accident."

You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this terrifying thug validating your relationship with Bucky. This was the last way you ever thought you'd receive reassurance about how Bucky feels about you.

"He used to work for you?" you ask quietly.

The man nods, a hint of a smile lurking on his solemn face.

"A long time ago. We taught him everything he knows. He'd be nothing if I didn't take him under my wing. Oh - where are my manners? My name is Alexander Pierce. This fine gentleman is Brock Rumlow" he gestures to the dark haired man who sneers back at you.

You instinctively know Rumlow was the one from the car with the gun pressed into your spine. You feel like a strong hatred for him like you've never felt for a stranger before. You just know in your gut that he's a bad man. A dangerous man.

That they all are.

Pierce introduces some of the other men who all share the same identical snarl on their faces. In your peripheral vision you see more figures at the side of the warehouse, weaving in and out of the doors. There are more of them here than you initially thought. The place is swarming with them.

You scan the room again and take in more of the layout. There are the big double doors you came through on one side, that's where the hub of activity seems to be with people coming and going. A lot of old machinery is dotted across the wide room, each in varying states of disrepair. There's a raised mezzanine level running across one side which seems to be accessed by ladders but it doesn't seem to go anywhere. And then finally in the far corner you spot a solitary door. Fire exit, maybe?

Pierce stands in front of you as your attention snaps back to him. He begins to talk, seemingly relishing your fear.

"You may know us as HYDRA. We knew Barnes as the Winter Soldier. He was the deadliest assassin on the east coast, maybe the country" continues Pierce. "He could put a bullet between anyone's eyes before they'd even noticed him. We recruited him when he was very young, he took to training like a duck to water. It was all very innate, you know the type. Very valuable to our little organisation, as you can imagine".

Pierce mimes a gun action with his hand, his mouth imitating blowing a gun barrel with his finger.

You swallow nervously as you listen. HYDRA rings a bell, you've heard of them – maybe seen a headline or two - knew they were bad men involved with organised crime and terrorist activity, but you couldn't recall much else. You knew Bucky was capable of awful things, and you knew deep down he would've killed somewhere along the way, but hearing it like this from Pierce chilled you to the bone. Bucky was scary. You cringed thinking about all the times you'd berated or challenged him. How lucky you'd been to not push him too far...

"But being just a hitman wasn't enough for him" Pierce continued. "So he broke away from us and started his own organisation, using everything he learned from his time here. Teamed up with some old military buddies of his and built themselves from the ground up, using all the connections and knowledge he learned from us".

Steve and Sam.

"They took out nearly 80% of our numbers after they surprised us one evening, an evening not unlike this one actually. A total massacre. Barnes was like a terminator that night, sweetie, I have never seen anything like it. He just kept coming. Kept mowing people down. The few who managed to survive still have nightmares about him. And now he's on top, and he's been hunting the rest of us ever since..." smiled Pierce forlornly.

"And now he's mostly legit, filing his taxes and all that boring civilian stuff. He's still terrorising the city, but in a different way. We've been trying to find a weakness of his for years but nothing ever came up. Until now that is..." he explained, grinning at you devilishly.

You shrink slightly in your chair. "Weakness...?" you ask in a small voice.

"That's where you come in, sweetheart. You're our bait. You're going to help lure Barnes out here and we are finally going to take care of him, once and for all - and then we can get back on top where we belong".

You begin to panic, eyes widening as you shake your head. You feel sick thinking about Bucky coming out here, as desperate as you also are for him to save you. There are just so many of them. He and his men would be wiped out.

"You don't understand...." you whimper. "It's like I said. We aren't an item. This evening I called him a sociopath and threatened to rat him out to the feds. He...he isn't coming to help me if I ask".

The group laugh, amused by your story. Pierce grins from ear to ear as he leans towards you, pulling up another chair and sitting opposite you.

"If that's true and he doesn't come - no big deal, we'll just shoot you any way sweetheart. No skin off our noses. Annoying to waste a night, but we'll just regroup and come up with something else. Get him some other time. Besides, the boys here will enjoy taking their time with you".

The room echoes with the gang's skin-crawling laughter and you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as fear grips you and sits on your chest like a boulder.

"And...and if he does come?" you manage to croak out. "What happens to me after...well...after you've dealt with him?"

Pierce grins and the other men titter behind him.

"Well, we haven't decided yet, honey. But if you're good, maybe we'll keep you around. We could use a feminine presence around the place. And we can help you get over your boyfriend".

You don't want to think about what that might entail. It seems whatever happens tonight, this doesn't end well for you.

You're not naïve. You know Bucky isn't going to risk his life, or the lives of his friends and men, to come save the person who screamed at him just a couple of hours before. A woman he'd fucked once when you'd drunkenly stumbled around his nightclub. There'd be no sentimentality solely because she used to package up his doughnuts.

You were on your own.

You had to save yourself.

Pierce smiles as he holds up your phone, wriggling it in his hand.

"Let's drop lover boy a line, shall we?" he tells you ominously.

#mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #sweet and sour fic

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fluffysucker · 1 year ago

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8. Deep Blue, but you painted me golden

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

Tw: Mentions of miscarriage.

A/N: Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

I can't believe this is the last chapter. Thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me.

Epilogue coming right away.

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

The day at Coney Island felt like a fever dream. It was too amazing to be real.

After finishing breakfast, Bucky told you to get ready, and he would help the kids get ready. Choosing to stay casual, all of you were out and in Bucky's car in a short time.

The car ride was filled with Lily and Theo's voices expressing their excitement about the day and all they wanted to do. It was barely afternoon, and your smile was already so big. Once Bucky parked the car and you helped the kids out, they ran off ahead of you, ready to start the day.

And it was wonderful. Between the kids getting in the children's rides while you and Bucky took pictures like any parents, going on rides as a family, and eating so much food, you never had more fun. Your favourite part,however, was a moment you didn't expect. You split up, Bucky took Theo to try a game he really wanted to, and you and Lily went to pick up some food for all of you. As you were talking to Lily, you heard your son's excited squeals.

"Mommy, look what Daddy won." While Theo was running towards you, Bucky was trailing behind with two teddy bears in hand. One is bigger than the other. Bucky kneeled to get to Lily's height. He gave her the pink teddy bear with a smile for his favourite girl and got so many kisses and hugs in return. Then he got back to his feet and gave you the bigger white teddy bear, which you happily took from him happily.You tried so hard to listen to your boy as he told you how strong his father is and how he won over all the people standing at the game, but you couldn't. All you could think about was one thing. He remembered.

In your first few months of dating, Bucky took you to a carnival that had opened recently. It was such a fun date. However, Bucky established an important rule for your relationship. Whenever you were out at a carnival, an amusement park, or any other place possible, Bucky was going to win a teddy bear for you. And he did. You have a big box filled with teddy bears labelled Buckies with a Heart. According to him, all these teddy bears are going to keep you warm and safe, just like he is.

So when you looked at him, you wanted to see if he gave you the fluffy animal as a coincidence or if he really remembered. And you saw it. He did it out of tradition. Out of a promise he made over 11 years ago. You collected yourself. This day was about the kids, yet he somehow managed to steal your heart again.

You thought that after spending the day running and playing around, the kids would be tired, but they weren't. So Bucky drove the four of you to your favourite ice cream place. You sat in a booth near the window. You and Bucky were facing each other with a kid on each side. You ate ice cream while the kids talked about their week, and Bucky would also share how his week was. You were almost sure you were going to get kicked out because you were talking and laughing too loud. Which is why, before you left, Bucky left a very generous tip.

On your way back home, the kids' energy finally wore out, with both falling asleep almost immediately in the backseat, leaving you and Bucky talking in hushed voices. You've reached your house. You got out to carry one of them out, but Bucky beat you and carried both of them as if they weighted like feathers. You opened the door, and both of you went upstairs to the kids' room and changed them into their pyjamas, then kissed them good night.

Watching Bucky leave after a beautiful family day was hard. You wanted him to stay. You would go to bed together, talk about your favourite moments of the day, and hold each other. But you knew this was the right call. Two days of pure bliss aren't enough to make up for everything.

And without the two of you noticing, it became a routine.

The first day of the weekend would be a family day. You would spend the day together. The next day would be Bucky's day. They usually spent the day at Bucky's place, having a lazy day, worn out from yesterday's activities. Because your family day always consisted of fun activities to do together. A day at the park A Picnic. An aqurimium. Cinema. Always so much fun.

Your favourite was the beach day. Bucky planned the day ahead with you. Summer was approaching, so it was the perfect time. Watching the kids play with Bucky on the sand and swim in the clear water under the bright sun was a heartwarming sight. It was a breath of fresh air. That day, you took a picture of the four of you together, which ended up being your phone's lockscreen. Then Bucky took a picture of the three of you—you and kids—which ended up being his phone's lockscreen.

You started to feel like family again. In every sense, the word meant And not just because of the fun days you spent together, but because, in the face of hardships, you were a family. Like the time Lily had food poisoning, spent the night throwing up, and had a very bad fever. You called Bucky at 2 AM with tears and a shaky voice, telling him that Lily would almost pass out of the pain and you didn't know what to do anymore. By an unknown power, Bucky showed up at your doorstep less than ten minutes later in his pyjamas. You rushed to the emergency room with Lily in Bucky's arms, and you stayed in the waiting room with Theo, trying to ease your panic and not traumatise your boy. You couldn't leave him alone in the house, so you kept him seated on your lap, wrapped up in your arms, assuring him that his sister would be okay. A huge relief filled you when Bucky walked out and told you that Lily was better now. You had to stay the night at the hospital. But you had your family's support, and, most importantly, Bucky's support.

That night, Bucky took in his surroundings. It's 5 in the morning. His baby girl was sleeping peacefully on a hospital bed, the colours returning to her face. He was holding his son's sleeping figure securely in his lap. And you rested your head on his shoulder, finally feeling the stress die down. All of you were still in your sleepwear. Despite the panic the night had caused him, this was exactly where he belonged. Taking care of his family. Making sure they are safe. Looking after three of them. This is what he is supposed to do for the rest of his life. And just like that, all the remaining doubts evaporated; his demons left him. Nothing can make him leave this. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent promise that he would always be here. He would live his life by your side.

Despite your heart being full at the return of your family, you and Bucky were still a work in progress.

You and Bucky managed to steal time for just the two of you. Secret dates nobody knew about. You were still mainly using Sam for babysitter duties, but whenever he wasn't available, you would have to lie to your friends about where you were going or why you were so smiley.

Bucky managed to have a date at least once a week. It was always something you loved. Restaurants, Café shops, bookstores, and places that you enjoyed Sometimes, Bucky would bring back the act of you not knowing each other before. You always had more fun during these times. It felt like re-exploring your relationship.

Along with dates, there were the bouquets of flowers at your doorsteps every weekend, the lunch packed on your desk with the sweetest note every now and then, the small gifts you would find around the house, and the dreamy texts you would receive out of nowhere. Bucky was making it extremely hard not to get back, but you knew you needed your time. You needed to be sure he wouldn't just get bored.

That is why you avoided physical contact as much as you could. Bucky was indeed a very charming man, but his main love language was always physical touch. And of all the people, you were the one to know this the most. You had fallen under his magic far too many times. You knew the minute you felt his touch, you would give in immediately. Because his touch was captivating. It never hurts you. It always made you feel loved, safe, secured, wanted, and taken care of. You never understood how Bucky was able to express so much through his touch, but it was always so loud. So you kept physical contact to a minimum.

One time, you broke your own hidden rule. The kids were spending the night at their aunt Nat's house. So, you weren't surprised when Bucky showed up with takeout and your favourite snakes, ready for a movie night. It was supposed to be a normal movie night. You didn't know how you ended up on the roof. Each of you is wrapped in a comfortable blanket, watching the stars and moons in the sky. Stargazing was one of Bucky's favourite activities. You loved listening to him talk about the different stars. It was soothing. You didn't know how the conversation went from stars' names to serious topics. Deep questions flew around between the both of you.

Without giving it much thought, you asked Bucky if he could make a wish and know it would be granted. What would he wish for? His answer wasn't something you could have ever expected.

"I would wish that I would have been there for you when you lost the baby."

You didn't know how to feel. Your miscarriage was something you never talked about. Up until now, no one knew. You felt no need to tell them anyway. You moved on, supposedly. You saw in Bucky's eyes many questions, begging you to tell him everything. You had to be open and vulnerable. You knew this was necessary if you wanted to carry on again. Together. So you did. You told him everything.

When you found out, how did you feel, keeping it a secret, losing it, going to the hospital, getting back home, having the kids, everything. You never said this stuff out loud. They were kept hidden in the back of your mind, like it was someone else's story, not yours. But it was yours. It happened to you. You openly told Bucky that the worst part was the empty house. It left you with just yourself and the pain, both physical and emotional.

Bucky couldn't help it. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest your head on his chest. He noticed the way you avoided his touch, and he understood. But this time he couldn't. It was too unbearable. The need to comfort you was overpowering. Hearing the full story was painful, but he wanted to. He had to. He wanted to know what it was like to go through such a thing alone. He wanted to do the thing he should have. Hold you.

You felt overwhelmed. Different emotions were hitting you. But the feeling of being surrounded by Bucky was the strongest. Deep apologies filled your ears. And you knew he meant it. However, you could only focus on him. This was why you avoided his touch. Because, exactly as you expected, him holding you was the only way for you to heal.

As the night carried on, it got too late without notice. You offered the guest room for Bucky to stay in tonight. A part of you didn't want to be alone tonight. You wouldn't invite Bucky back to your bedroom. You just wanted to know he was there. And he understood. Despite the sad topic that you approached, both of you went to bed with a smile on your faces. Something tells you that you were a lot closer to peace.

After that night, it got very hard for you to hide what was going on from your friends. Suspicion grew between your group. And you neither confirmed nor denied anything. Which was all the confirmation they needed. They respected your choice to not share until you wanted to. However, they didn't stop teasing both of you. Sharon and Natasha were having a field day with it. But they have already coordinated the threats and promises of torture to warn Bucky once you make it official again. They already regretted not doing it the first time. So this time, they would make sure Bucky wouldn't have to face your two very protective bestfriends.

You would always get teasing texts from all of them whenever they were on babysitter duty. Even if they were the ones to ask to have the kids. They would always make comments about the blossoming romance between you.

However, you never expected to receive this text. In the middle of the day, from Steve

"Why do I have a feeling that the fact that Bucky was unbelievably disgusted by this beautiful woman's, who was very much his type, flirting and turned her down so fast, has something to do with you?"

"And why has he been going on for almost half an hour now about how it is rude and disrespectful to hit on a taken man?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Rogers."

"I thought so, too."

"Heads up, He is calling your babysitter to come for the night."

Right after Steve's text, you got a text from Bucky that got you smiling.

"Hey,doll ♡♡ What do you think about coming over tonight to my place? I already called the babysitter."

Bucky was so offended by the flirting comments, and you weren't even back together. In his mind, he was only yours.

As you were approaching Bucky's place, an uneasy feeling started to go through you. You spent tonnes of time alone, both of you. However, you had never been to his place after that day. So was it a good idea to spend time there? You removed these thoughts quickly and knocked on the door. Bucky opened up with a smile that flattered your heart. He let you inside. The delicious smell instantly filled your nostrils. He told you dinner was almost ready. So you joined him in the kitchen, where you put the dessert you brought on the counter and helped as much as you could. It was peaceful. You and Bucky were cooking and eating, genuinely enjoying each other's company. After dinner, you moved to the living room, where you both sat on the couch, still talking. Unknowingly, you and Bucky found yourselves in a very serious and open conversation. A conversation about what really happened between the two of you. After so many dates, it was the right time. It was another important conversation that you had to have. Bucky poured his heart out to you, and you welcomed it. Everything that clouded his judgement Everything he thought he couldn't share. You understood why he would hesitate to say this, but you were his wife and his safe place. It was a long conversation. You shared your sides and talked about the miscommunication that happened. It felt like removing all the dirt so you could build again.

You turned to Bucky as you were about to leave after convincing Bucky that an Uber would do okay as long as you shared your location and texted him once you were home. You needed to tell him that.

"Just to make something clear for the future. There are millions of men in the world. Only you have my whole heart. Only you are perfect for me. Only you, I would choose every time."

It took every bit of power and self-control. Bucky had, so he wouldn't kiss you. Wouldn't hold you and never let you. Not to bring you in and worship you all his life. But he would wait. Bucky wasn't a patient man. However, he would wait all his life for you.

But today, Bucky's patience was being tested beyond what he could handle. It was supposed to be a normal day at work. He didn't think much of the meeting with a new business partner who was Steve's friend. He was thinking about your family day tomorrow and the time he was going to spend with you. But his thoughts came to an abrupt stop as he saw that man walking into his office. His biggest enemy That god of a man Thor Odinson.

You didn't mention Thor again that often, as it really meant only work for you. However, Bucky could never forget him, even if he wanted to. His hands around you weren't something Bucky could forgive. Which is why he knew this deal wasn't going to ever happen. Steve and Sam kept looking at Bucky, confused and questioningly, as they watched Bucky be extra rude and strict to the other man. It got to the point where Steve had to hit Bucky's leg under the table, but Bucky didn't care. He despised the man in front of him for obvious reasons.

It all stopped when Thor excused himself to answer his wife. Before Steve or Sam could open their mouths to scold Bucky, he turned to Steve quickly, asking if he knew Thor's wife. Steve told him that Thor had been happily married for over six years now. Steve was offended on behalf of his friend when Bucky asked if Thor was the kind of guy to cheat. Before Bucky could know more, Thor returned and apologised. "Sorry, but I always answer my wife. I don't let my wife's calls go to voicemail." And just like that, Thor became someone Bucky could tolerate. The meeting went well after that. Bucky was more focused and open to the deal.

Everything made sense for Steve and Sam as Thor was leaving, and he mentioned your name. "And please, send my regards to her. It was a pleasure working with her. I'm sure working with her life partner would be just the same." Thor was a smart man. He knew Bucky was more than just your kids' father. And Bucky liked that. He was indeed your life partner.

Planning dates was more Bucky's thing. Unless there was somewhere you wanted to go or something you wanted to do, Bucky was usually the one to make the plans. So he couldn't say he wasn't surprised when he got a text from you with a location, asking him to meet you there and to dress nice. Bucky also couldn't say his heart didn't flatter at the thought of you being comfortable putting in efforts again with him. For him.

And he listened to you. He cleaned up nicely. And went to the place you chose. He tried to keep his heart from bursting when he saw the place. It was your bar. The classic bar that held so many memories Your first anniversary, your first date as an engaged couple, and your first date as a married couple. A special place. Bucky didn't bring you to the bar the past few months because he didn't want to overwhelm you or make you rush your decision. But he couldn't help but have hope for tonight.

He didn't wait long before you were there. Bucky always wondered if there was ever going to be a time when you didn't take his breath away. He knew the answer was no. Bucky would always be enchanted by you. You walked to him, wearing his favourite dress that he always loved, then joined him at the table he picked. Right when he thought he could recover from your beauty, his eyes caught sight of something that left him breathless. You were wearing your wedding rings. Bucky could swear he almost shed a tear or two. He didn't want to read too much into the situation, but his heart was doing little dances, making him more hopeful for tonight.

You still find it fascinating that after so many years, conversations never died down between you and Bucky. There was always something for you to talk about. To laugh about. And you wanted it to be like this always. You never wanted silence to take place between the two of you again. And you had a feeling it wasn't.

Bucky's smile was too big when you asked if he wanted to dance. He stood up, offering you his hand, which you took gladly. The bar had a small area in the middle for dancing, which was now only occupied by you and Bucky. The soft music was playing, his arm around your waist, yours around his neck, your fingers intertwined together, and you were swaying to the music. Bucky could swear this was heaven. You were his heaven.

And if his heart could take more. Your song started playing. And Bucky looked at you as if you hung the stars and the moon. His eyes were showing all his love for you. And you took this as your sign. That what you were doing was right. What you planned to do was the right decision.

The night was magical. A night of your dreams. Bucky dropped you off. And got out of the car to open your door. But you still had one thing to do. You moved a little as if you were getting inside, but then you turned to Bucky, who was still waiting by the car, making sure you got inside safely.

"Do you think if we go to the same lawyers, they will give us a discount on the marriage this time?"

Bucky could swear his heart jumped from his chest. His lungs were working overtime to keep him breathing.

"I don't know. But I will pay everything I have, if that is what it takes."

You were standing in front of him, wrapping your hands around his neck. His arms came around your waist instinctively.

"So you want to get married again?"

"Never wanted anything more in my life."

Bucky couldn't resist anymore. He leaned forward, capturing your lips with his. Like pieces of a puzzle put together, a cold breeze of air after a blazing day, rain after drought, home after exile—everything felt alright.

The kiss was gentle, soft, and sweet. Both of you are pouring all your emotions into it. No pain. No confusion. No regret. Only true love.

You broke the kiss, maintaining eye contact. You said it all with your eyes. And Bucky understood. You stood on your tiptoes to bury your face in his neck, needing to feel him once again. Bucky tightened his arm around you. At that moment, Bucky felt like he owned the world.

By a miracle, you loved him so much that you forgave him and let him have you again. And he would never waste your trust or love again. He would never hurt you again. He is going to live all his life doing one thing. Loving you

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @almosttoopizza @ragingrainbowshipl @dexter99 @xdarkcreaturex @nash-dara @paarthurnax59 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @unaxv @missmielyhoran @wintermischief @kandis-mom @aboobie @ozwriterchick @pattiemac1 @noahspickettfence @a--1--1--3 @elsie-bells

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fandomfluffandfuck · 3 months ago

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Steve takes Bucky’s ashes after Infinity War and mixes it with soil from Wakanda and soil from Brooklyn. He puts it in the prettiest urn he can find, one he’s sure his baby would adore, and puts it on Bucky’s side of the bed. He looks at it when he’s having trouble going to bed, thinking about how Bucky would hold him tight and kiss his cheek, whispering little “I love you, Stevie.”s in his ear. He places a fresh boquet next to it every week, along with Bucky’s and wedding ring.

When the panic attacks come, he usually crashes next to it, and Steve can practically feel how Bucky would wrap his arms around him, guiding him through deep breaths, and some days he swears up and down that he can feel. Bucky’s forehead kisses and the way he gently calms him down.

But at the end of the day, Steve aches at the empty space on the couch, the lack of smells in the kitchen, and the absence of his best guy’s laugh. He sits in Central Park and tries so hard to cry as quiet as possible.

Me, upon reading this with my own two eyes:

Jesus Christ

I will fucking sob.

Okay, okay, my first thought when I was no longer so vitally fucking shattered by this misery, lmao, was that what if... Steve certainly has an urn for Bucky as soon as possible, right? Steve can't bear to have him in anything that isn't beautiful and meaningful for the love of his life--his lives, plural, with how much life they've lived and how much of them they've lived together. However, I could see some of the therapy that Steve does over those five years after the blip being art therapy.

Much like when he was first thawed from the ice, he finds it hard to create--his muse is gone--but there's a loophole to his art block. And the loophole is having a goal, a thing to create in particular. Something for his love.

An urn.

I just have this image inherently in my head of Steve working his ass off, just to have something to do--keeping himself busy to keep him tied to Earth. So, he tirelessly slaves away at developing his skills with pottery. All in all, for the purpose of making Bucky's final resting place with his own two hands so he can, in a way, hold him forever.

Is there anything more permanent than fired clay, after all? In thousands, thousands of years, when whoever is left digs up their apartment, they'll find the fragments of Bucky's urn mixed with the soil, mixed with Bucky, and still held tenderly by Steve's creation for him.

For him.

To have and to hold him.

I, just, yeah. Steve making Bucky's urn himself. Oof.

"When the panic attacks come, he usually crashes next to it, and Steve can practically feel how Bucky would wrap his arms around him, guiding him through deep breaths, and some days he swears up and down that he can feel. Bucky’s forehead kisses and the way he gently calms him down."

Fucking CHRIST.

That is brutal.

"He sits in Central Park and tries so hard to cry as quiet as possible."

Can you imagine being a bystander to that? Because that's all I'm picturing. Just as a regular civilian, trying to move through your own grief, wandering in Central Park, and coming across Captain America as he sobs so hard his big, broad shoulders shake and he chokes, half-hidden by one of the older trees. You don't know if it's more painful to go up and say something, admitting you've witnessed him in this way, or to walk away and leave him to grieve alone.

Do you think there's a sweet little carving in that tree? Somewhere high in the branches where it's hard to find? Bucky + Steve, or more simply, faster and harder to catch, B + S, surrounded by a love heart? There, carved into the tree when it was young--when they were young.

Oh my fucking god.

Thank you for this! It's so terrible for my emotions. I love it.

#asks #adrielangel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #anon provided writing #artist steve #artist steve rogers

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crazyunsexycool · 2 years ago

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My little love

Valentine’s Day head canon.

Warning: fluff, pregnancy and mentions of sexy time (but it’s barely there)

A/N: I had a plan to write a few one shots and such for Valentine’s Day but life got in the way! Hope you enjoy some Dad Bucky though!!!

Series Masterlist

Bucky was nervous. It had been a while since he had taken a girl to a dance. He wore a white button up shirt and black slacks and even went as far as using a red tie along with his leather jacket. The door down the hallway opened and he could hear you getting closer. He took one final deep breath before looking up towards the hallway.

“You look beautiful.” His smile was blinding.

“Thank you daddy.” Charlotte twirled so that her dad could see her whole outfit. A black dress with hearts in different shades of white, pink and red, two French braids with red bows at the end of her long black hair and shiny black shoes and tights. “Mommy did my hair do you wike it?” She asks as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Absolutely, mama did a great job.” He looked up at you with nothing but pure love and adoration. Bucky stands up with Lottie and sets her on his hip before placing a kiss on her chubby cheek.

“Let me take some pictures before you go.” You say as you grab your phone.

Bucky sets Lottie on the floor and lets you take as many pictures of her as she’ll allow before you move on to take pictures of both of them. Including some of Bucky giving Charlotte some flowers and balloons.

“Can we go now, pwease?” The very excited six year old asked as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was very excited to go to her school's daddy/daughter dance held around Valentine’s Day.

“Yes, we are leaving now. Can you go get your coat, Doll?” Bucky had barely finished his sentence when Lottie had already left. “Wish me luck.”

“Oh hush, her classmates love you and so do the parents. It’ll be fun.”

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a sweet kiss. “I love you so much, sugar.”

“I love you too.” You lean in to whisper into his ear. “We’ll celebrate later.”

His grip on you tightens slightly before he lets go and leans down. “Take care of you mama while I’m out, ok sport?” He says as his hand smooths over your swollen belly, Bucky receives a small kick in response. He smiles and places a kiss where he had just felt some movement.

“Daddy!”

“We’re going, say bye to your mom.”

Lottie’s rushes footsteps stop at the entrance of your living room. “Bye mommy.”

“Have fun my sweet Angel. Make sure you dance with your daddy as much as you can.”

“Ok.”

“Thanks for that.” He huffs with a pout.

“You’re welcome. Go show our girl a fun time.”

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your cheek one more time and hurries out the door with a very impatient little girl following.

Taglist: @kunaikunari @rebekahdawkins @cjand10 @nalny5 @sturchling @angywritesstuff @seitmai @writing-for-marvel @goldylions @darkhairedmenrule @little—baby—bear @almosttoopizza @littleseasiren @pono-pura-vida

Series taglist: @buckystevelove @vicmc624 @just-someone11 @sjsmith56 @emily-roberts @spencerriedisagorgman @talesofadragon

#my little love #my little love drabble #girl dad!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader fluff #dad!bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fluff

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justforbooks · 1 year ago

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In the childhood memories of more than one generation, Glynis Johns, who has died aged 100, will be best remembered as the Edwardian materfamilias of the hugely popular Walt Disney musical Mary Poppins (1964). Winifred Banks, married to David Tomlinson’s George W Banks, is the mother of Jane and Michael, the children in the care of the magical nanny played by Julie Andrews. A protester for the right to vote, Winifred delivers a spirited rendition of the song Sister Suffragette – “Our daughters’ daughters will adore us. And they’ll sing in grateful chorus: ‘Well done, Sister Suffragette!’” – as the children’s previous nanny tries to quit.

But the husky-voiced actor had other claims to fame from her more than 60 films and 30 stage productions. In 1973, Stephen Sondheim composed the song Send in the Clowns for Johns when she was cast in the leading role of the premiere production of his musical A Little Night Music, on Broadway. And she had won initial stardom in the British cinema as a mermaid.

In the title role of the film comedy Miranda (1948), she travels from Cornwall to London and causes romantic complications among the Chelsea set. Although the film’s whimsy may now seem strained, it was a great commercial success in its day, making Johns a top-liner in British movies. Miranda returned in a rather belated sequel, Mad About Men (1954).

By that time, Johns had moved almost completely from stage to films, where she was associated chiefly with lightweight roles, alternately fluffy and feisty. One of her most appealing opportunities came in the thriller State Secret (1950, released as The Great Manhunt in the US), playing a cabaret artiste in a fictitious Balkan country, and gamely singing Paper Doll in a wholly invented language.

It says something for her properties of youthfulness that at the age of 30 she could play a teenage schoolgirl in the melodrama Personal Affair (1953). The same year she played in two fanciful Walt Disney British productions, as Mary Tudor in The Sword and the Rose, and as the heroine wife of Rob Roy, and she went on to make her first Hollywood picture, the Danny Kaye comedy The Court Jester, in 1955. The following year she played a cameo role in the star-studded Around the World in 80 Days.

At the time Johns alternated between American and British films, generally in subordinate roles, but a rewarding one came in The Sundowners (1960), set in Australia, as a jolly barmaid who takes a shine to a visiting Englishman played by Peter Ustinov. It brought her an Oscar nomination as best supporting actress. Top billing came in a stylish horror movie, The Cabinet of Caligari (1962). She was well enough known to American audiences by this time to star in 1963 in Glynis, a TV sitcom series that ran for just one season.

In 1966 Johns returned to the London stage in The King’s Mare, as Anne of Cleves to Keith Michell’s Henry VIII. Her Welsh heritage came into play when she took the role of Myfanwy Price in a screen version of Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood (1971) starring Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor and Peter O’Toole, and two years later came her great Broadway success as Desiree Armfeldt in A Little Night Music, which brought her a Tony award.

Glynis came from a show business background: her mother, Alice Steele (nee Wareham), was a concert pianist who performed under the name Alys Steele-Payne, and her father was the prolific character actor Mervyn Johns. He was a stalwart in particular of Ealing Studios films: father and daughter appeared together in an Ealing drama, The Halfway House (1944).

Though her vocal intonations pointed to her Welshness, Glynis was born in Pretoria, South Africa, where her parents were on tour. She was reportedly carried on to the stage at the age of three weeks, and it was not too much longer before she was appearing there in a professional capacity, making her performing debut at the Garrick theatre, London, as a dancer in a revue called Buckie’s Bears (1935).

Educated at Clifton high school, Bristol, and South Hampstead high school and the Cone School of Dancing in London, she rapidly graduated to juvenile acting roles in both theatre and cinema. Her first screen appearance came at the age of 14, as politician Ralph Richardson’s troublesome daughter in South Riding (1938), and on stage she was the young sister, another Miranda, in Esther McCracken’s comedies Quiet Wedding (1938) and Quiet Weekend (1941).

That year brought the opportunity to appear in the film 49th Parallel, starring Leslie Howard and Laurence Olivier in a spy thriller intended to bolster second world war support in the US. When the prospect of playing a mermaid came after the war, she was able to draw on her theatrical versatility: “I was quite an athlete, my muscles were strong from dancing, so the tail was just fine. I swam like a porpoise.”

Johns returned to the London stage in 1977, as Terence Rattigan’s choice to play the murderer Alma Rattenbury in his well-received dramatisation of the Rattenbury case, Cause Célèbre. Her acting appearances became sporadic, though in 1989 she starred with Rex Harrison and Stewart Granger on Broadway in Somerset Maugham’s The Circle.

She was occasionally a guest star in US television series such as Murder She Wrote and The Love Boat, and played Diane’s rich mother, Helen Chambers, in the first series of Cheers (1983) and Trudie Pepper in the sitcom Coming of Age (1988-89). By the time of her final films, While You Were Sleeping (1995) and Superstar (1999), she was a characterful grandmother.

Johns was married and divorced four times. Her first husband, from 1942 to 1948, was the actor Anthony Forwood. Their son, Gareth, also an actor, died in 2007. Marriages to two businessmen followed: David Foster, from 1952 to 1956, and Cecil Henderson, from 1960 to 1962. She was married to Elliott Arnold, a novelist, from 1964 to 1973, and is survived by a grandson and three great-grandchildren.

🔔 Glynis Margaret Payne Johns, actor, born 5 October 1923; died 4 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #glynis johns #in memoriam

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 2 months ago

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HOLY SHIT now I'm thinking about Stucky at the bear hooters. One of them is the server and he has massive sagging moobs that fill out the little top tiny booty shorts that do nothing for his giant round ass and his gut is so large that it hangs down so far that it hides the booty shorts so he looks practically naked, while the other is waited on by him and he spends more time staring at his waiter than actually eating. He's so preoccupied with staring that he doesn't even know what he's ordering until all the food is put in front of him and it's A LOT of food and the waiter tells him how proud of him he is. I don't know if this is a fake stereotype but I've heard that hooters waitresses will flash their boobs at the patrons and sit on their laps and things like that, and I imagine the waiter (I don't know if it would be hotter if it were Bucky or Steve) would the patron's belly when it got too painful and lovingly feed him food until he was all gone. Is there alcohol at hooters? Imagine if the patrons could tip their waiters with food and alcohol to see them get drunk and bloated until they're easy to play with and the more often they come in to see them, the more the two of them have changed- the patron orders the waiters alcohol and food to make them bigger, and then they eat to have an excuse to be there. I DON'T KNOW DUDE NOT I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT EIHER.

Bear Hooters

Bear Hooters a.k.a. Roars a.k.a. Growlers a.k.a. My Actual Fucking Roman Empire

I love this. I love you. I could kiss you on the mouth for this chunk of thoughts. Every part of it is unfairly hot. Just like you were lamenting, though, I cannot for the life of me decide who would be a hotter server.

Initially, I can't lie, I was picturing Bucky all the fucking way, like, Civil War Bucky. Chunky, beefy, hairy Bucky. That's the Bucky I think of whenever I think of Bear Bucky.

And now I think of Thunderbolts trailer Bucky, too. Give me all the thick, soft-yet-strong beefy, hair, and tired-of-your-shit attitude

My mouth is watering. Who said that?

And I think about this Bucky because of those frazzling details. The beef, obviously. The hair on his head and the hair that you know would be spread all over his chest, in his pits, and between his legs as well as down them. He's fuzzy. He's a bear for sure. Not to mention how grumpy he is. He's giving bear right before hibernation that is lazy and tired yet needs to get shit done, so it lumbers around, a slab of fat and muscle not to be fucked with.

HOWEVER

The more I think about Hooters, the more I think about how, obviously, tits are a huge part of it. Ass, too, but mostly tits. And... no one has better tits in the MCU - I'm sorry everyone else, but you know it's true - than Steve. Not to even mention, that is literally America's ass, so he has no problems with the more minor assets needed to fill out his resume.

So, maybe Steve is the server with his tits spilling out of his tiny little tank top, especially once he starts to add some softness to his big, big frame because once his body starts to fill out - entering hibernation mode if you will - then his tits get all swollen. Like, they're still high and tight but there's this extra volume to them, making his tank top strain across the meat of his chest, warping the logo of the restaurant so badly that you can't even really read it anymore. It's not just that, though, his tits overfill the tank top from the sides and the top, too. He has cleavage and side boob and when his belly swells up, filled with all the leftovers from his shift, his tank top rises all the way up his domed, taut gut to show off underboob, too.

I am melting.

If we want to really make him bear, though, I guess we should imagine this Steve not as freshly microwaved Steve but as nomad Steve with all his glorious body hair. The beard. The grown-out hair. The hair on his fucking forearms in his rolled-up, worn uniform. Yeah. That Steve has the real makings to be a bear.

Tiddies 🤤🤤

So........ I still have no idea who I want to be the server more.

Anyway, YES, I do love the idea of having the servers sit in people's laps to praise them about eating. Maybe teasing them, even, saying that it's good they finished it all and, hey, if they're looking for a job, then they're shaping up just right to come and work here, yanno? Just look at that pudgy, overfull belly and how those moobs are coming along, nipples through their shirt, aroused by having such a heavy, crushing, hot bear in their lap making them wheeze for breath even more than they already were from having so much fast, greasy food churning in their stomach.

When I was thinking about Bear Hooters originally, I was thinking purely about the display that the big, fat servers would be. I was thinking about allowing patrons to tip them in food and drink only, no extra money, they get paid enough to be fattened up and drooled over. I wasn't thinking about fattening up the patrons but... both. I like both.

Maybe patrons pay to share a challenge dish, or something, with their favorite server? They have to eat halves? Splitting it so you end up with the patron and server stuffed together, pudgy hip to hip in a booth, wedged in too tight to move, other patrons and servers gathering around to pod and tease and congratulate. If not for the uniforms... no one would know who works here and who doesn't. Either way, they both came for the food and bellies.

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #stuffing #weight gain #alcohol consumption #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #chubby bucky #chubby steve

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andydrysdalerogers · 1 year ago

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Yours Submissively ~ Nacita

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: Only two more left after today! I'm not ready to say goodbye to my babies so the next uploads are just once a week.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Understanding

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

All was calm in the Rogers household.

Belle was in the completed nursey, just a few weeks away from her due date and the nesting stage of her pregnancy, fluttering back and forth with all of the clothes gifted to them from their friends. She enjoyed the quiet, with Steve in his office and Bucky and Ava out on a date. She stared at the onesies that she received, a blue one that said Prince and a pink one that said Princess. She sighed happily before folding them and setting them aside.

“A reason those are separate?” She turned to see Steve leaning in the doorway.

“For my maternity bag. It’s what they are wearing when we bring them home.” She smiled up at her husband. “Always have a plan, Captain.”

Steve snorted. He placed his arms on Belle’s shoulders and duck down to be eye level with her. “Think you are cute, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I know I am, Mr. Rogers,” she smirked at him before kissing the tip of his nose.

He leaned more to press a kiss to her lips and took in the room. “It’s looking good in here.” He got behind Belle and wrapped his arms around her, leaving his hand on her belly.

Belle leaned into his warmth. “It is. I just wish we had a picture or something over the changing table. I could have sworn that I picked something out, but I can’t remember.”

“About that.” Steve went back to the door and came back with a large flat package. He left it on the changing table. “I made something for the twins.”

“Stevie, what do you mean?”

“Well, I know how much music makes your feel better. A way to get all your extra emotions out, right? Well, before, I used to draw or paint or sketch. And I thought, maybe I could make something that would show off how happy I am for our babies.” He chewed his lip nervously as Belle approached the bench.

Two painting were wrapped. It was a picture painting in watercolor, a bear looking out at the moon with his night cap on the other with the sun, the bear and a backpack. Belle’s lower lip wobbled. “Stevie…”

“Do you like them love? I know they are kinda simple…” he was cut off when Belle pulled him down with a kiss. When they pulled apart, Steve smiled. “I guess you do like them.”

“I love them amore mio. Can you hand them up?”

“Sure. Go sit and tell me if their straight.” Steve got a hammer and set up to hang them over the changing table. Belle smiled as she sat in one of the rocking chairs and watched her man go to work.

“You know, we haven’t really talked names amore.”

“Did you have any in mind?” Steve mumbled with the nails in his mouth as he measures where to place the nails.

“I was thinking for our son, just the middle name, we could name him after my dad.” She chewed her lip, waiting for his reaction.

“Phil? Or Agent, as Tony liked to call him?” Steve smiled down at his wife. “Sweet Pea, I think that’s perfect. Phillip. I like it.”

“Yea? Do you have any suggestions? Like your dad’s name maybe?”

Steve crinkled his nose. “Joseph Phillip? No, that doesn’t fit. I like the initials though. JP.” He stopped for a second. “James. James Phillip.”

Belle smiled. “I love it. James Phillip Rogers. A good strong name for our boy.”

Steve nailed in the first one and hung the moon, literally. He got down and pressed a kiss on top of her head. “I think it’s perfect. Now how about our princess?” He moved to hang the sun.

“I’m not sure. She is like a ray of perfect sunshine. A light after all the darkness.”

“Very poetic love. Maybe an Italian name for her?”

“Well, the Italian word for light is luce. But that sounds wrong.”

“How about Lucy?” Steve stepped back to grab the sun painting.

“Lucy.” Belle tested the name. “I like that. Lucy. Ok princess,” she patted her belly. “Lucy. Lucy what?”

They bounced around names, nothing sounding correct. They were interrupted when Steve’s phone went off with a message. He looked at his phone and snorted. “Morgan wants to know when her cousins can play with her.”

“Aww, she’s excited just like the rest of the family.” Belle always referred to the other Avengers as family, never as the Avengers.

“I know, Tony was even saying that…”

“That’s it,” Belle interrupted. “Toni.”

“What?”

“Lucy Antonia.” Belle softly smiles. “If it wasn’t for Tony, we may have never met.”

“Sweet pea, I would have found you one way or another. But,” he sighed, “I do love it. Jamie and Lucy.”

“Jamie and Lucy. Hey babies. Our prince James and our princess Lucy.”

Steve put the last picture up and stepped back and sat on the matching rocking chair. He took Belle’s hand. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

They sat for a few minutes before Belle got up gently. “I’m going to make Bucky a cake.”

“Chocolate is his favorite. You want some help?”

“Don’t you have to work?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve started paternity leave since the doc said you could go into labor at any time. I know that Ava and Clint would get you to the hospital, but I just want to be here.”

“Oh Steve, thank you. I wouldn’t want you to miss anything. C’mon, cake time.”

As the cake slid out of the oven, the door opened with Bucky and Ava holding hands as they entered. Bucky sniffed the air and smiled. “Ava, baby, are you in for a treat.” He pulled her towards the kitchen while she giggled. “Belle, my heart, why didn’t you marry me?”

“I am right here jerk”, Steve growled.

“But she made cake. Chocolate cake at that, my favorite. This proves she loves me more.”

Ava walked over to Belle as the guys continued to argue. “Do they always do that?”

“Since the day I first cooked for them. The way to Bucky’s heart is his stomach.”

“Noted. I make a mean chicken parmigiana.”

“Keep that in your back pocket. How was your date?”

“Oh,” Ava blushed. “Wonderful. He took me to the aquarium in Central Park. It is so beautiful with the underwater tanks. So blue. He kissed me.”

“Well, well. He does have moves.” Belle giggled and then gasped as one of the babies kicked.

“May I?”

“Sure, right here,” she guided Ava’s hand to where her son was kicking. “He’s right here.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Ava smiled as she felt the baby kick. “Are you nervous?”

“For the birth, absolutely. For parenthood, no. Not really. With the right partner, you feel like you can take on the world.”

Later that night, Belle wakes up, uncomfortable and heads to her office. She sits at her piano, hoping to sing to her babies and calm them to allow her to sleep.

One look at you My whole life falls in line I prayed for you Before I called you mine

Oh, I can't believe it's true sometimes Oh, I can't believe it's true

I get to love you It's the best thing that I'll ever do I get to love you It's a promise I'm making to you Whatever may come your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours, forever I do I get to love you I get to love you

The way you love It changes who I am I am undone I thank God once again

She looks up and sees Steve, leaning against the doorway. She smiles and nods to the bench, inviting him to sit with her. He strides over and sits as she continues to sing.

Oh, I can't believe it's true sometimes Oh, I can't believe it's true

I get to love you It's the best thing that I'll ever do I get to love you It's a promise I'm making to you Whatever may come your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours, forever I do

I get to love you I get to love you I get to love you I get to love you

And they say love is a journey I promise that I'll never leave When it's too heavy to carry Remember this moment with me

I get to love you I get to love you I get to love you

As she finishes, Steve leans over and kisses her shoulder. “You know I’m the lucky one, right?”

“Now I know you are wrong, sir. I’m most definitely the luckiest one.”

Steve smiles and leans over to place a sweet kiss on his wife’s lips. She smiles into it, loving the softness of his beard on her skin. She cups his cheek and pulls him in as close as she can with her big belly. She feels a twinge and gasps. “Baby?”

“I…umm… I think I just had a contraction.” Belle looked worried at her husband.

“Ok, let’s just time it ok? The doctor said this might happen because its twins. You are at 34 weeks. They will be ok.”

“Stevie…” her eyes begin to fill.

“Oh, baby don’t cry ok? Everything is going to be ok.” He held her hand. “C’mon let’s get you to bed to get you comfy.”

Steve was meticulous in keeping time of her contractions. A couple of hours later, Belle went to use the rest room when she felt wetness run down her leg. “Steve?”

“Ok, you’re ok. Let’s get you cleaned up and then to Lennox Hill.” Steve went to grab new clothes for Belle and helped her change. He grabbed the maternity bag and called Bucky. “It’s time.”

“I’m on my way.”

Steve helped Belle to the elevator as Bucky came barreling out. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine I just…” she grimaced as another contraction took over. “I just want to get to the hospital.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky grabbed the bag as Steve swept her into his arms. They made it to the car and into the night.

Twelve hours later and Belle’s labor stalled. When they had come into the hospital, she had been 3 centimeters dilated. Now she was only 6 and the doctors were concerned. Her head doctor, Theresa Lee had walked into her room with a look that Steve could just not read. “Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, we think it’s time to consider a caesarian.”

“No, please, I can do this.”

“Mrs. Rogers, please? We’ve given you Pitocin to help the labor progress forward but it’s becoming dangerous to leave the babies in for so long after your water has broken. This is for the benefit of your children.”

“Please sweet pea, its time,” Steve said with a kiss to her forehead. “This doesn’t mean you are weak, love. Your body is tired, and we need to think of Jamie and Lucy.”

“Don’t leave me, Stevie, promise?”

“I promise love. I’ll be right here. I can be right?” He looked at Dr. Lee.

“Of course. We’ll get you scrubs as we prep Mrs. Rogers for surgery.” A nurse handed off some scrubs and Steve looked back. “I will be right back, sweet pea.”

She nodded as the nurses bustled around and the anesthesiologist adjusted her epidural. Steve came back and took her hand. “We ready?” The doctor asked. “Ok, let’s go.”

The gurney moved and they walked to the operating room. “Steve?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I want the babies to go to a good public school.”

Steve looked down at her concerned. “Isabella…”

“No, listen. I want them to go to a good public school and have Bucky and Clint watch over them. Godfathers watching their god kids is good. And I want MJ and Hope to be their godmothers. You can decide who belongs to whom.”

“Belle, stop please.”

“Remember that Lucy is going to be a young lady so respect her boundaries but don’t shut her out. Let her spread her wings, ok?”

“Belle, why are you saying these things?”

“Because if something happens, you need to know, ok?”

“Nothing is going to happen,” he told her sternly.

“You don’t know that Stevie.” They pulled into the operating room, and they set up the curtain over her chest. Belle could sense them around her but felt nothing. “I need you to promise me.”

“I don’t need to promise because you and our babies will be fine.”

He watched as a tear slid down her face. “Please?”

Steve’s heart clenched. He could read the fear in her eyes, and he just wanted to take it all away. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before he said, “I promise love. I promise that I’ll take good care of our family. But you need to fight and stay strong.”

“I’m scared Stevie.”

“I am too. But they do this every day.” He kissed her hand. “I love you.”

“Ready?” Dr Lee peered over. Belle didn’t stop looking at Steve and she nodded. “Ok let’s begin.”

Belle could feel pressure around her belly, and she closed her eyes tight. “Ok, and baby A is out,” Dr. Lee announced as she held up a baby. “Congratulations, it’s a boy.”

“Jamie,” she gasped as she began to cry. Their son was here. Steve felt his own tears slide as he looked over to see him being cleaned up as he cried. “He’s beautiful love. He’s here.”

Belle felt more pressure and a second later. “It’s a girl.”

“Lucy.” Belle gasped. “My babies.”

Steve tracked his daughter to the second incubator as little Lucy cried for her mother. The nurse cleaned her up and wrapped her with a pink cap, her brother in blue and put them together in one. It was almost instantaneous that they felt each other and stopped. “They’re here. Belle, they are amazing.” Steve watched them for another moment. “Can she see them?”

“Of course.”

A pair of nurses brought the twins over so Belle could see. “Look Belle, you did it. You made them.” Steve looked back at his wife to see her pale and her eyes closed. “Belle? Belle? Isabella, wake up!”

“She’s losing blood! Get him out of here!”

“No! Belle, please! Wake up!” Steve began to fight the nurses as they pushed him out. “No! Belle! Please!”

“BELLE!”

A/N: I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not.

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