#not so tiny winter soldier

[pzyii]

I think about this scene a lot

[kayvsworld]

truly did not expect reading 1 (one) bucky comic for samnee art would have led to this.......baby bucky most important boy to ever live on this or any other planet

[bluestarjay]

I'm gonna be so honest,, when I saw the timeskip manga and saw that shinsou grew his hair, I wasn't into it. I don't mind the fact that he grew his hair out, simply that, in that panel, at the very least, it looks exactly the same as aizawa's. I would've preferred shinsou to have his own personality shown in his hair, but it seems to reflect aizawa, and while that's not a bad thing, because aizawa played a big role in his life, and getting him into the hero course, with the addition of the haircut he looks like he's trying to *be* aizawa. He looks like an eraserhead cosplayer with purple hair, yk? So I did a shitty little drawing for timeskip shinsou with a different hair style. I wanted him to keep his bigass fluffy hair, but istg I tried doing it like 6 times so it's not as big and fluffy as I would like but I am NOT doing it again,,,

Idgaf abt piercings being illogical for heroes. I also don't know what his costume looks like but it's 1:30 a.m rn and I don't care. OH RIGHT, he also looks exactly like Bucky Barnes!!! So!!! That was not intentional,,, but then I drew it!! So now shinsou just looks like Bucky barnes!! It's ok, tho I love Bucky.

[bbyboybucket]

Love thinking ab Bucky’s vanity to self loathing pipeline

BUT

At the same time, I’ve always had a headcanon that he was always an insecure guy and the vanity and confidence was just a front to compensate , a “fake it till you make it thing”, and THEN the serum amplified that trait of insecurity, just like it it amplified his loyalty and-

[melles1276]

Totally agree with you. Bucky never was a violent person. Quite the opposite. He cared for his people, his family, his friends. He would have died for them. In some sense a part of him did when Hydra broke him. But he never gave up. He fought back. Still does. He deserves better. Period. ❤️‍🩹

thinking about how Bucky probably rationalizes how fucked up his brain is by thinking it's his fault - he thinks he was broken before the war and the serum just made it even worse. he doesn't even argue when Zemo says only Steve was uncorrupted by the serum. when in reality, the serum amplifying Bucky's caring, resilient nature is probably why it took HYDRA twenty years to break him. the serum didn't corrupt Bucky, HYDRA did. but of course, Bucky can't see it that way.

[vunblr]

Wounds and Walls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Millennial!Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. A little angst.

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Word Count: About 12k.

note: Revised version. It is the first fic I wrote after many years away from writing and I wasn't entirely happy with the result, so here we are.

Before the government officially recognized Bucky as a victim of Hydra’s manipulation and mandated his participation in Dr. Raynor’s therapy program to avoid prison or other legal consequences, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already stepped in. They proposed a more unconventional approach, enlisting Y/n, a mutant with the extraordinary ability to heal not just physical wounds, but mental and emotional scars. Her mission was clear: stabilize Bucky to reintegrate into civilian life, ensuring he posed no harm to others or himself.

At first, he resisted any form of help from her. His reluctance wasn’t just about pride; it was rooted in years of distrust and the unshakable belief that he had to face his past alone. The idea of a “quick fix” only made him more skeptical, feeding the suspicion that she might be just another tool for the government to keep him under control, another reminder of how he had been manipulated and weaponized as the Winter Soldier.

The Blip had taken an even greater toll on him. The sudden shift in society forced him to adapt to yet another unfamiliar world, one where even the tiny constants he relied on were gone. Steve’s departure cut deeper than he wanted to admit; Bucky had thought they’d face this new world together, brothers in arms like always. Instead, Steve had abandoned him, leaving him to shoulder the weight of his demons alone. It was a wound Bucky hadn’t even begun to process, and one that made accepting help from anyone feel impossible.

Despite his initial resistance, her patient and steady approach began to wear down his defenses. Bucky clung to his reserved, cynical attitude, but he grudgingly allowed himself to cooperate. Slowly, the barriers between them started to lower. Eventually, once it was determined on paper that Bucky was stable and no longer posed a threat, the government had the justification it needed to loosen its grip and adopt a more lenient approach to monitoring his progress. His sessions with her came to an official end, and he was granted a conditional release, with the requirement that he continue regular therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor.

As part of his reintegration, Bucky was “strongly encouraged” to take up temporary residence in a carefully selected apartment building. It wasn’t long before he made a startling discovery: Y/n “coincidentally” lived in the same building, and even more “coincidentally,” in the apartment next door. Bucky couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone had orchestrated this arrangement, placing her nearby as a subtle, silent support system.

She hadn’t expected to see Bucky in the hallway of her apartment building. It had been a perfectly ordinary afternoon until she spotted him, effortlessly carrying what looked like bags of clothes in one hand while balancing a microwave over his opposite shoulder like it weighed nothing. When their eyes met, she caught the fleeting shock on his face before he quickly masked it, his expression slipping into something more neutral.

Curious and more than a little suspicious, she approached him with raised eyebrows. They exchanged awkward pleasantries—Bucky, ever the man of few words, offered a brief explanation: the government had rented the apartment for him as part of his continued reintegration.

It felt almost too convenient. Her thoughts immediately flickered to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she couldn’t help but suspect they’d had a hand in this arrangement. Maybe someone wants me to work for free, she mused with a wry smile

Their mismatched schedules during the week meant they rarely crossed paths, and for a while, their lives remained parallel but distant. Sundays, however, became the exception—though not intentionally at first. It started one rainy weekend when the power went out in the building, and she’d knocked on his door, flashlight in hand, to check if he needed anything. She’d half-expected him to brush her off, but to her surprise, he opened the door and invited her in, muttering something about “safety in numbers” as he gestured toward his couch.

They spent the evening with candles flickering between them, sharing the leftovers she’d brought over and exchanging stilted small talk that eventually gave way to a more comfortable quiet. He didn’t share much, but he didn’t seem to mind listening as she filled the gaps with anecdotes and idle chatter.

The next Sunday, she knocked on his door to ask for sugar for a cake she was baking, half-expecting him not to have any. To her surprise, he did. When she mentioned the cake, she noticed a flicker of interest in his usually blank expression. Feeling a little bold, she offered to bring him a slice as thanks. He doubted but eventually nodded, admitting that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food.

Later, when she knocked again to deliver the cake, he opened the door looking awkward, but unexpectedly offered her coffee in return. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. He was watching a documentary about the '90s, and as they sat with their mismatched mugs, the screen played a segment on music. The first notes of Step by Step by New Kids on the Block filled the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh, confessing that she used to love the song as a kid and would dance to it in her living room at five years old. He let out a barely-there smile, the kind that vanished almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t much, but it felt significant, like the first stone in a bridge being laid.

Over time, Sundays became their unspoken ritual. Sometimes they’d watch movies or documentaries. Other times, they’d just sit together, her talking while he listened, occasionally nodding or grunting in response.

She never pressed him to talk, and he appreciated the lack of expectation. Her presence was steady, unobtrusive, and comforting, like the soft hum of a fan on a hot day, something he hadn’t realized he needed until it became a constant.

As time passed, something shifted between them, and Bucky began to open up, little by little. The cracks in his walls revealed glimpses of the man beneath the brooding exterior, and she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes. His shoulders seemed less tense during their Sunday hangouts, and he started to relax more on the couch. Occasionally, there was a slight uptick in his voice when he shared a rare observation or commented on a movie. Though he wasn’t exactly chatty, she could tell he was trying. His words were sparse but deliberate, and as he grew more comfortable, he began to contribute to their conversations in his understated way. A dry comment here, a thoughtful observation there, his eyes met hers more often, and the silences between his responses felt less heavy, settling into something warm and companionable.

As the weeks turned into months, she realized her feelings for him were beginning to shift too. Thoughts of Bucky started to linger beyond their casual Sunday hangouts. It wasn’t just the time they spent together that stayed with her; it was the way she found herself worrying about him on the days they didn’t cross paths, or when he seemed more withdrawn during their conversations. Her mind wandered in unexpected ways, catching herself stealing glances at him that were far from innocent.

It was hard to ignore just how handsome he was, how effortlessly he made her heart skip a beat. The way his blue eyes glimmered on the rare occasions he smiled, or the way her breath hitched when he stretched on the couch, offering a fleeting glimpse of his lower abs, left her feeling like a schoolgirl with a serious crush.

-----

One Friday night, piercing screams shattered her sleep. The sounds were raw and anguished, cutting through the stillness of the apartment. They were coming from the other side of the thin wall—Bucky’s place. She froze, her heart pounding as she recognized the unmistakable signs of a nightmare. But this wasn’t like the restless murmurs or muffled groans she’d overheard in the past. These screams were different, drenched in pain and terror.

Her stomach knotted with worry as she quickly got out of bed, moving toward the balcony the two apartments shared. A low, weathered wooden fence separated their spaces, and she hesitated for only a moment before climbing onto a flowerpot, swung one leg over the fence, and then struggled to follow with the other, cursing her pathetic fitness level as she landed awkwardly on the other side, graceless and unstable.

Peering through the glass of the sliding door, she saw him on the floor, tangled in his sheets, tossing and turning violently. His movements were frantic, his face contorted in fear and anguish as he thrashed against whatever demons haunted him.

“HET!” he cried out desperately, the guttural sound ripping through the room. “Pozhaluysta, prekrati!”

Her heart clenched at the sight. This wasn’t just a bad dream, it was a vivid, visceral reliving of some past trauma. She had no doubt it was connected to his time under HYDRA’s control.

Without thinking, she opened the door and stepped inside. Moving carefully, she approached him, the floor creaking softly beneath her feet. His screams ebbed into harsh, labored breaths, but his body remained tense, caught in the grip of the nightmare. Slowly, she knelt beside him and, with a tentative hand, brushed his hair back from his damp forehead.

As she touched him, she sent a gentle wave of healing energy through him, hoping to ease his turmoil. Her powers couldn’t erase memories, but they could soften the edges of his distress and dull the sharpest parts of his anguish. His breathing began to slow, the lines of tension on his face gradually easing as the energy worked its way through him.

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re not there anymore. Wake up,” she murmured, despite the ache in her chest.

As her hand rested gently on his forehead, Bucky’s piercing screams subsided into soft, pained whimpers. “Bol'no...” he mumbled incoherently, his voice heavy with anguish. Despite her whispered reassurances, his body remained restless, his movements erratic and desperate as the nightmare held him captive.

“No... don’t...” he murmured weakly, his voice trembling with fear and conflict. His legs began to shake, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. She hesitated, her mind racing with the risks of waking him in this state, he could lash out instinctively, putting her in harm’s way.

Swallowing her fear, she made up her mind and knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You’re safe,” she murmured again, as she transferred more healing energy into him by force.

The contact seemed to calm him. His movements grew less frantic, though his body still flinched now and then, as though reacting to something particularly disturbing in his dream. Still, the nightmare’s grip seemed to weaken, her presence slowly chipping away at the fear and pain that had consumed him.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as confusion clouded his features. He looked disoriented, his breathing uneven as his gaze swept the room until it landed on her. For a moment, he just stared, his expression shifting from alarm to recognition. His shoulders sagged slightly as relief washed over him.

“You…” His voice was hoarse as he ran a hand down his face, piecing it together. He looked at her sitting on the floor, with her hair tousled and an old nightie that kissed her knees. Her expression was a mixture of concern and awkwardness. “...woke me up.”

She nodded quickly, her hands fiddling with the hem of her clothes. “You sounded like you were… trapped in something bad,” she said softly. “And you were about to wake the entire neighborhood. I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

Bucky pushed himself upright, with slow movements, like his body weighed more than usual. The exhaustion clung to him in every line of his face, and his voice came out quiet and raw. “Thanks… and sorry.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, big guy. You were suffering.” She shrugged, trying to downplay the moment, but her next words came tumbling out unbidden. “Um… do you want me to stay? You know, for the rest of the night? In case…” Her stomach tightened immediately. What made her think he’d want her to stay?

To her surprise, he paused, considering her offer. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Actually… yeah,” he admitted, still tinged with weariness. He shifted slightly. “If you don’t mind staying close. Just for a while.”

For a beat, she just stared, startled. Quickly regaining her composure, she nodded. “Not at all. I mean, look at your state. Where uh… do you want me?” Her cheeks flushed the second the words left her mouth, and she wanted to die of cringe. That could’ve been phrased better.

Bucky didn’t seem to pick up on the unintended innuendo, or maybe he just didn’t care. He tilted his head slightly, motioning toward the makeshift bed on the floor. “Close is good,” he said simply. “Just… lean against me or something,” he added, curling up into a somewhat protective position as he waited for her to settle in next to him..

Swallowing her nerves, she laid down beside him, her body angled carefully so as not to crowd him. Tentatively, she rested a hand on his side, her palm finding the steady rise and fall of his ribcage. “Like… this?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more unsure.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like a mixture of relief and resignation. “Yeah,” he murmured, his hand briefly brushing hers in an unconscious gesture. “This is good.”

As the silence settled between them, she stayed still, attuned to the warmth of his body and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. He didn’t say much after that, but the way his tense shoulders gradually relaxed spoke volumes. Whatever nightmares had plagued him earlier, they seemed a little further away now.

Exhausted from using her powers at such a high level for the first time in ages, she had finally allowed herself to relax, succumbing to the pull of sleep almost instantly.

-----

When she woke, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains, signaling it was late morning. Something big and warm was pressed against her, enveloping her in heat and security. Still caught in the haze of sleep, her eyes fluttered open slowly. She became aware of the steady rise and fall of breathing against her back, and then of the arm draped snugly around her waist.

Her heart skipped a beat as she registered the sensation of someone instinctively pulling her closer, his hold firm yet unconsciously gentle. He let out a low, sleepy grunt, his nose brushing against the sensitive crook of her neck as he nuzzled deeper, inhaling softly. His breath, warm and even, tickled her skin, and a quiet hum of contentment escaped him.

As the events of the previous night filtered back into her mind, realization struck her like a slap. She remembered where she was, and more importantly, with who.

Wide awake now, her senses sharpened, and noticed with increasing alarm that he was still nuzzling her neck, his face burrowed against her as if drawn to her scent. A traitorous warmth spread across her cheeks as his arm tightened slightly, and she could feel the firmness of his chest against her back.

Panicked but trying not to disturb him too abruptly, she whimpered pathetically under her breath and began tapping his bare shoulder with hesitant fingers. “Bucky,” she whispered urgently. “Bucky, wake up.”

Her soft taps and whispered plea had no effect. In fact, he murmured something incomprehensible and -oh no, oh no, oh no- his hand slid just slightly lower along her side, his fingers twitching as if seeking something in his sleep. Her heart thudded in her chest, her face a furnace of mortification.

Desperate, she abandoned subtlety and swatted the back of his head with just enough force to jolt him.

“Guh-!” he startled awake, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the remnants of a dream. His eyes, half-closed and unfocused, darted around. “Huh? What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

It took a second -or several- for the reality of the situation to register in his brain. As he shifted slightly, his gaze landed on her, and the proximity of their position. The arm draped around her, the way their bodies were pressed together. The faint warmth lingering where his face had been tucked into her neck.

“Oh. Oh,” he breathed, his entire body stiffening. A faint flush began creeping up his neck, spreading rapidly to his cheeks. He immediately withdrew his arm, sitting up fast. “Sorry.” he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I was… dreaming. I didn’t even realize-” He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at her. “Are you… okay?”

She nodded quickly, trying to mask her flustered state. “Yeah, I’m fine.” To distract herself, she stretched her arms lazily above her head, the motion easing the lingering tension in her muscles.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bucky glanced around the room as though looking for something else to look at. The awkwardness between them lingered until finally, he addressed her. “So, uh… Saturday. What plans do you have for today?” he asked casually, though the faint edge of self-consciousness was impossible to miss.

Grateful for a change of topic, she stood up, smoothing her old cotton nightgown and brushing at imaginary dust particles. “Actually, I’m heading out to buy some clothes with a coworker. She invited me to go out to a nightclub with the gang tonight. It’s been years since I’ve been to one.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression caught somewhere between intrigue and skepticism. “A nightclub? That sounds… interesting,” he commented dryly, the hint of sarcasm poorly masking his curiosity. “So I take it you’ll need some new threads first?”

“Yup,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’ve got a decent sense of fashion, but I have no clue what’s in style for places like that anymore. Honestly, I don’t pay attention to what people wear when I see them stumbling home after a night out. I’m usually just walking my dog in old sweatpants or something.” She smiled wryly. “So, she’s helping me look sexy for tonight.”

“Right,” He frowned inadvertently.

“Right,” she echoed, eyeing him for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, since you seem… more than fine now, I should head out. I’m sure you’ve got a packed day ahead, like watching paint dry or maybe finally returning some of those missed calls from Sam.”

She gave him a quick wave and turned toward the balcony, her steps light but deliberate.

Still sitting on the floor, Bucky tracked her movements, his gaze lingering longer than it should on the gentle sway of her hips. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the silhouette of her body through the thin cotton gown, and his jaw clenched before he managed to pull his eyes away. Then he noticed where she was heading.

“The door is that way, in case you didn’t notice,” he said with a faint smirk, gesturing toward the proper exit.

“Oh, I know,” she shot back. “But mine’s locked. I had to channel my inner Cirque du Soleil to get over the balcony and into your place last night.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You climbed the fence?”

“Yeah, and I’d really rather not do it again. Especially with an audience this time.” She paused, turned back to him, and gave him a pointed look. “So, how about you repay me by brushing up on your rusty espionage skills and opening my door without wrecking the lock?”

A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, “You’re serious?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Come on, you’ve got the skills, big guy. Don’t tell me they’re all gone now.”

He let out a low chuckle, pushing himself off the floor. “Alright. Let’s see what I can do.”

------

Later that afternoon, she returned to her apartment with a couple of bags filled with casual clothes, as well as the evening’s potential attire tucked into the mix. She rummaged through them, pulling out the items she thought might work for the nightclub. Objectively, she wasn’t thrilled about the outing -it wasn’t exactly her scene- but she knew she needed to socialize more, to build connections, and maybe, just maybe, find someone to distract herself from the growing attraction she felt toward her grumpy neighbor and friend.

A neighbor who, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware of her feelings.

He didn't seem interested in her that way, and the prospect of him discovering her little crush was mortifying. Also, she knew he had been attempting to date lately, surely encouraged by Dr. Raynor.

Her mind wandered back to that evening when she’d seen him leaving his apartment with a fresh flower bouquet, heading off to meet the chirpy Asian bartender from down the street. Or the time she’d spotted him in the hallway with a single rose wrapped in flimsy paper, his sharp casual-formal attire making him look infuriatingly handsome. When she raised an eyebrow at him, his only response was a gruff, “Tinder,” before disappearing out the door.

He never shared much about that part of his life, and honestly, she didn’t want to know. The thought of sitting through a conversation about his undoubtedly gorgeous dates, smiling and pretending to be happy for him wasn’t her idea of fun.

Before her thoughts could spiral any further, she patted her cheeks with both hands, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She had clothes to choose and a night to prepare for.

-------

After some deliberation, she narrowed her options down to two outfits but found herself hesitating. Against her better judgment, she decided to ask for his opinion. Complicated feelings aside, Bucky was still her friend. And once upon a time, he’d been quite the ladies’ man. Even if he wasn’t that guy anymore, his insights could still prove useful.

She marched to his door and knocked three times. “Bucky, are you home? I have a favor to ask.”

After a moment, the door swung open, and without missing a beat, she held up two hangers, shaking them slightly for emphasis almost against his face. “I can’t decide what to wear tonight. Can you help me figure it out? I’ll pay for Sunday’s pizza if you do.” She presented the options: a short black dress with a daring neckline and a red blouse paired with a matching miniskirt. “What do you think?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed briefly before he managed to mask his reaction with a neutral expression. The black dress was sleek, bold, and undeniably sexy -too sexy if he were being honest with himself-. The red blouse and miniskirt weren’t much better, the skirt’s length leaving little to the imagination.

He knew she was asking for his advice as a friend, but something twisted in his chest at the thought of her wearing either outfit. The idea of her going out in them, surrounded by strangers who didn’t know her like he did, made him uneasy.

His grip on the hangers tightened slightly as a faint, irrational pang of jealousy bloomed before he could push it away. Who else is going to see her like this? Who are these work colleagues, and how many of them are guys? But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was protectiveness, too.

Bucky had spent so much of his life guarding himself from the world that the idea of her stepping out there, dressed like this, left him feeling restless. It wasn’t about the clothes, not really. It was about her. The thought of anyone getting too close or treating her as anything less than she deserved made his stomach turn.

Clearing his throat, he gave her a measured look. “Depends on what kind of vibe you’re going for.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her expression. “Vibe?”

“Yeah.” He held up the black dress. “This says you want to stand out, make a statement. Maybe too much of a statement.” Then he switched to the red blouse and skirt. “This one’s… playful, but honestly, are you sure it’s comfortable?”

Her lips twitched as she fought back a grin. “Are you saying they’re too much?”

He shrugged, his gaze steady but warm. “I’m just saying you don’t need all that to look good.”

Her cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment, and she crossed her arms. “You’re not exactly helping me choose here,” she noted with a playful huff, snapping him back to reality.

Bucky had to admit, the idea of her going out dating, dancing, or doing anything that a single woman her age might do besides spending Sundays on the couch with him, had never truly crossed his mind. Somehow, he’d stupidly taken for granted that she’d always be there, maintaining the easy status quo of their relationship. Ad infinitum.

But now, the possibility of her stepping out of that unspoken bubble between them hit him, and hard.

Was he ready for something else? Not likely, not when he still felt so damn broken. And the idea of ruining what they had for a failed attempt at something more profound, was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her because he couldn’t get his act together.

So, he forced himself to remain calm, even as his emotions clawed at him. The last thing she needed was his unresolved mess clouding her chance to have fun.

He took a breath, keeping his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “The black dress makes an impact,” he admitted truthfully. “It’s bold, sexy…” His gaze shifted to the red ensemble. “This one’s daring too, with the shorter skirt, but…” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he finished, “If you’re looking to turn heads, I’d say go for the black dress.”

He handed the clothes back to her, with a composed expression, though his thoughts were anything but. He plastered on a faint smile, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “You’ll look great, no matter what.”

She accepted the hangers with a small smile, clearly unaware of the turmoil behind his response. "Thanks, Buck. I owe you a pizza," she said with a soft smile, and before thinking twice, she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

The brief warmth of her lips caught him completely off guard. He stiffened, his body betraying him with an instinctive flinch, as though his mind couldn’t immediately reconcile the tenderness of the gesture. “No problem,” he murmured, his voice low and almost distant, eyes tracking her as she quickly retreated toward her apartment.

Once her door clicked shut, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His fingers brushed against the spot where her lips had landed, lingering there like he could somehow preserve the fleeting warmth. For someone like him, feelings were a minefield, buried deep and marked off-limits, hidden alongside memories he refused to revisit. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. At first, she had just been his neighbor, someone who stubbornly broke through the walls he tried to keep fortified.

But over time, things had shifted, quietly at first, like the subtle tug of an undertow, until suddenly it felt like he was drowning.

He sighed deeply, his gaze locked on her door as if it held all the answers. What the hell are you doing, Barnes?

------

On the other side of the wall, she closed her door with a thud, leaning back against it as her stomach twisted in knots. She replayed his flinch in her mind, dissecting it with a mix of confusion and frustration.

Last night, he had wanted her to stay in his makeshift bed after the nightmare, and, for fuck’s sake he even snuggled against her neck in the morning like it was the most natural thing in the world. Asleep, but he did. And yet now, a simple kiss on the cheek had him recoiling like she’d crossed some unspoken line.

Her heart clenched. This is why you need to stop. Whatever feelings she was developing for him, they had to go, and fast. He wasn’t interested in that way. She needed a distraction, something -anything- to pull her away from this spiral.

Fueled by a mix of determination and frustration, she shoved aside his suggestion of the black dress. When the time came, she defiantly slipped into the skimpy red miniskirt and blouse instead. The choice wasn’t just about looking good; it was about reclaiming control over herself, and her emotions. Bold cat-eye makeup followed, along with a slick of glossy red lipstick. Grabbing her purse, she stormed out of the apartment with purpose.

Bucky had just returned from the store, whiskey in hand, when he heard her apartment door open. He turned just in time to see her step into the hallway. His breath caught.

She walked toward him with an effortless sway, the red miniskirt hugging her curves, the glossy lipstick gleaming under the hallway’s dim lights. She looked every bit like a woman who was about to turn heads, and Bucky felt like a deer caught in headlights.

She smiled at him, breezing past with a casual wave. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said brightly, not even sparing him a second glance.

“Have fun tonight,” he managed to say, his voice tight and strained, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.

The elevator doors closed behind her, leaving him frozen in place, nearly dropped the bottle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his face as though trying to rub away the image burned into his mind.

That moment, seeing her like that -knowing she was going out dressed like that-sent his thoughts into a tailspin. He had been trying, desperately, to keep things platonic, to see her as the friend and neighbor who had stumbled into his life at just the right moment. He had tried to distract himself by diving again into the waters of dating after… he can’t even remember how much time, to no avail. But the truth was impossible to ignore now: he wasn’t just fond of her. He wasn’t just grateful for her company.

He wanted her.

And it scared the hell out of him.

-------

Just as she was about to exit the building, the rusty main door lock jammed. Great.

After several increasingly aggressive attempts -rattling the knob, shaking the damn thing, and even delivering a few half-hearted kicks- she finally surrendered. She knew who could help her and grimaced. After managing that catwalk exit showing him indifference, now she needed to crawl back to him for assistance.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned around and knocked on his door. It creaked open on its own, poorly shut. Inside, Bucky was slouched on the couch, whiskey in hand, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of a soccer game.

“Hey,” she called softly, trying to sound casual, hoping to mask the awkwardness of her reappearance. “Are you in the mood to roleplay a locksmith?”

He didn’t startle, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he turned to face her. He took a deliberate swig straight from the bottle before responding, “Again? Don’t you have other neighbors to disturb at this ungodly hour?” he asked a dry tone.

His words were sharp, but she noticed his gaze briefly drop just for a second- skimming her legs before returning to the bottle. The tiniest flicker of frustration crossed his face, like he was annoyed with himself for looking at all.

Her stomach flipped, but she trampled the thought before it could take shape. She was not going to that place just minutes before going out “Come on, Buck. It’s getting late. I’ll make you those garlic snacks you like for tomorrow’s movie night, deal?”

She clasped her hands together, bowing slightly in mock pleading, only to instinctively adjust the hem of her skirt as she straightened. She saw his eyes flick down again, lingering just long enough on the exposed skin of her thighs to make her heart stutter.

Clearing his throat, he tried to sound unaffected. “And you’ll buy me a six-pack. The expensive kind.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Want me to clean your windows too? You know what, give me that.” She took three steps, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and took a generous swig of liquor. ‘Screw it. If he’s going to act all tough, so do I.’  She felt his eyes on her again as she tipped the bottle back, and the weight of his gaze, combined with the burn of the whiskey, made her feel bold, maybe a little too bold.

He clenched his jaw as the amber liquid caught the light, the movement drawing his eyes to the curves beneath her blouse. A heat surged through him. Frustration, arousal, and something raw he didn’t want to name.

“Sure,” he said gruffly. “Help yourself.”

She smirked, handing the bottle back. “What’s with that frown? I thought we had already cleared the phase of that staring thing of yours. Besides, sharing is caring.” She cleaned a stray drop on the corner of her mouth and winked. She fucking winked at him.

Bucky grunted, playing off the moment with a scowl. But his mind was racing by the way she waltzed back in, drinking his whiskey completely unfazed by his presence and ready to go out with some random people to do whatever in a club. He tried to reprimand himself. She was his friend, his neighbor. They had a dynamic: a light-hearted, sarcastic friendship that worked. And now, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to just reach out, close the space between them, and…

“It's nothing,” he lied. “Just thinking about stuff I have to do with Sam.” Suddenly conscious of how closely he was observing her, Bucky forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

She noticed the stare this time but decided to let it pass. “If that’s the case, that door’s not going to open itself, so move your firm 106-year-old ass and open it, will you?” she quipped, her voice carrying a playful edge. It was the kind of comment that would normally pass between them without much weight, but this time... she felt it hang in the air a little longer than usual.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a second, something playful sparked in his blue eyes. “Firm, huh? Seems like someone’s been staring.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She cursed herself for slipping, but quickly waved it off with a flick of her wrist. She wasn’t about to let this turn into any kind of flirting after all that self coaching about auto-preservation. “Tic-toc, Bucky,” she said, keeping her tone nonchalant as she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the hallway. She added a little authority to her voice, more for her own sake than his. She had to steer the conversation back to normal.

The spark dimmed at her response. He nodded stiffly and brushed past her, tensing his shoulders as he headed toward the door. Guess I read that wrong. He told himself it was for the best. Safer.

As Bucky knelt to inspect the lock, she couldn't help but glance at his broad back. The way his muscles flexed under the thin fabric of his shirt was almost hypnotic, her gaze briefly drifting lower before she caught herself. Stop it, she mentally scolded, forcing her eyes to a safe, innocuous spot: a blank patch on the wall that suddenly seemed fascinating.

With a screech of protesting metal, Bucky shoved the old lock using his vibranium finger. The door creaked open, and he stepped back, making a dramatic flourish with his arm. “There you go,” he said, almost indifferent. “If you don’t need anything else, I’d like to get back to watching the soccer match.”

She smiled, hoping to keep things light, even when feeling a weird tightness in her chest. Without thinking, she quipped, “Well, go watch your soccer, then, and wish me luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone!”

Bucky’s hand, still resting on the doorframe clenched slightly, the wood almost creaking under the pressure. The pang of jealousy was immediate and sharp, a wave of possessiveness that he had no right to feel hit him hard. He swallowed, forcing himself to play it cool. “Good luck,” he responded tersely, managing a strained smile on his lips. It was a pathetic attempt to mask the truth. Luck had nothing to do with what he wanted for her that night. He wanted her to return home alone and unclaimed, just as she had left.

------

Alone in his apartment, with the TV long forgotten, Bucky paced restlessly on the old wooden floor. Each step echoed the growing anticipation and anxiety eating him from within. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more painful than the last. He could almost picture her with some faceless guy, laughing, dancing, maybe even kissing him. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, he knew that. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Across town, she stepped into the club, momentarily overwhelmed by its sheer size. Neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy bass, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The whiskey she’d downed at Bucky’s apartment warmed her blood, taking the edge off her nerves.

She grinned, letting the electric atmosphere seep into her. Liquid courage, she thought, ordering two tequila shots when she reached the bar.

The sharp burn of the tequila was quick and welcome, igniting a spark of confidence. She laughed with her coworkers, the energy of the room infectious, and allowed herself to be pulled onto the crowded dance floor.

The music thumped through her veins, the bass so loud it felt like a second heartbeat. For a while, she let herself go, the weight of her thoughts about Bucky -about them- fading into the kaleidoscope of lights and sound. Each rhythmic beat seemed to push her farther from the strange tension that had been lingering between them, leaving her free to revel in the moment.

Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, his strained smile lingered like a ghost she couldn’t quite shake.

------

Bucky found himself awake, staring at the ceiling, restless as he checked the time on his phone more often than he’d like to admit. The thought of her out there -dancing, laughing, maybe already with someone else- had him teetering on the edge of something raw and unrelenting.

Finally, he sat up from his nest on the floor with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck it." Patience wasn’t his strong suit on the best of days, and tonight was no exception. He wasn’t about to sit there letting his mind spiral, conjuring images that made his chest tighten and his teeth grind.

He stood and grabbed his jacket, moving with a quiet, focused purpose. He wasn’t being possessive, he told himself; he was just concerned. Nothing more. He’d check on her, make sure she was okay, and leave. That was it. No ulterior motives.

The cool night air bit at his skin as he slipped out of the building, heading straight for the club he knew she had gone. The monstrous neon-lit structure came into view, its pounding bass audible even from the street. Bucky melted into the shadows as naturally as breathing, years of training guiding his steps.

This wasn’t a mission. He wasn’t stalking a target. He was just... checking in. ‘Just to see how she’s doing’, he repeated in his mind, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Inside, the club was a sensory overload: pulsing lights, bodies moving in sync to the beat, and a sea of unfamiliar faces. Bucky’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd, his chest tightening as his search dragged on longer than he’d expected. Then, finally, he saw her.

Her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair told their own story, a story that stirred something primal within him. His chest tightened as he watched her throw herself into the rhythm of the music, her body swaying effortlessly to the heavy bass, her face lit up in carefree abandon. Bucky's gaze lingered, drawn to her in a way that he couldn't fight anymore. The pulsing lights of the club flashed around them, but his focus was solely on her, everything else fading into the background.

The pull was undeniable. His feet moved before he could think better of it, closing the distance between them until he was standing just inches behind her, his tall frame looming over her smaller form.

She sensed his body immediately, a presence that seemed to engulf her. Startled, she opened her eyes, prepared to spin around and tell some stranger to fuck off. But when she turned, her heart skipped a beat.

"…Bucky?"

Her voice was a mix of confusion and something else, relief, maybe? It broke through the haze clouding his thoughts.

His breath hitched as he took her in up close: the flush of her cheeks, the strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. And then there was the feel of her under his hand. His gaze dropped to where it had landed instinctively: on her hip.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, and then reality crashed over him all at once, releasing her as if burned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes darted away, scanning the crowded room as if it held an answer. “I just... needed to make sure you were okay,” he admitted. His voice was low, rougher than he intended. The excuse felt hollow even to him, but it was all he could offer.

Despite the awkwardness hanging in the air, her heart warmed. Bucky had actually left his apartment, and crossed the city, just to “check” on her. Maybe her situation wasn’t as hopeless as she sometimes thought. Either that, or they were due for a serious conversation about boundaries.

She smiled, trying to ease the tension. “That’s sweet of you, Buck, but completely unnecessary,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. “That’s a new one for me.”

He exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening before he spoke again, slower this time, as though weighing every word. “Look, it’s... complicated. But the truth is, I couldn’t stand the idea of you being here, alone, in a crowd like this.”

His voice carried a rawness that caught her off guard, the admission revealing more than he likely intended.

Her teasing smile faltered for a moment as his words sank in. There was something unspoken lingering just beneath the surface, and it was enough to make her heart ache. "Well," she said softly, her tone shifting, “I’m not alone… but if it bothered you that much, why didn’t you just ask me to stay?”

Her question hung between them like a challenge, and for a moment, their eyes locked. His stormy blue gaze held hers, and she saw it, the conflict, the walls he’d built so carefully starting to crack. He wanted to say something, to let her in, but the fear of rejection or exposing too much kept him frozen.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped before he could muster a response, his defenses kicked in. His expression closed off, and he abruptly turned away, as if running from the crushing weight of his feelings.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she watched him pull back, the sudden distance between them far more than physical. ‘No. Don’t shut me out now.’  Before she could stop herself, she reached out, wrapping her hand around his gloved metal one, the cool leather stark against her warm palm.

“Wait.”

He froze, every muscle in his body going taut. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t turn around, didn’t even breathe, it seemed. He stood there, caught between the magnetic pull of her touch and the ingrained instinct to retreat into the safety of solitude.

“You came all the way here just to startle me like some creep and then leave?” she joked, her voice light as she tried to break through his stoic exterior. Her hand tightened around his, grounding him, pulling him back into the moment. He didn’t move, but the tension in his body was undeniable, the silent battle raging inside him clear from the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

A long, awkward silence stretched between them before Bucky finally spoke. “Look, I don’t want to make things weird between us,” he said, his voice low and earnest, with just a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually controlled stance. "But… promise me one thing.” He turned slightly toward her, leaning in closer, close enough that only she could hear what came next. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with intensity. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid while I’m not around, okay?”

His closeness overwhelmed her senses. The scent of cedar, leather, and something undeniably him filled the space between them, making her pulse quicken. Heat flushed through her skin as she felt the full weight of his presence, intoxicating, magnetic. She cursed herself for how easily he affected her. Her resolve, the careful wall she’d built to keep things casual between them, was crumbling. At that moment, it was impossible to pretend she didn’t want something more. "Actually, Buck…” she started, “Since you’re here… I’m getting tired, and I want to go home. Will you take me?” Her words hung in the air, simple but heavy with unspoken meaning.

Bucky’s gaze widened her suggestion. The offer was unexpected, yet in the charged atmosphere between them, it felt inevitable, like the tension that had been simmering for too long was finally bubbling to the surface. "Alright then,” he murmured. “Let's get you out of here.” Without hesitation, he slid his arm around her waist, his touch was firm but cautious, as though he were testing the waters. The warmth of her body against his heightened his awareness of every subtle movement she made.

“Ready for the ride home?” he asked, his voice huskier than he intended as he raised his hand to hail a cab. His fingers brushed lightly against her side, an unconscious gesture that felt more like reassurance, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was meant for her or himself.

She nodded, and without another word, Bucky guided her toward the waiting car, his hand still resting on her waist as if that physical connection between them had become essential, something he wasn’t willing to break. Once inside, he slid in beside her, their thighs pressing together in the tight confines of the backseat.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as he turned slightly toward her, “what exactly did you have planned for tonight before I crashed the party?”

She tilted her head back against the seat, eyes closing as though she were unwinding from the pulse of the club. A soft, wry smile played on her lips. “Dunno,” she began, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath the casual tone. “Getting loose, maybe meeting someone... and feeling wanted, for a change.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, her words hitting him in a place he didn’t want to acknowledge. Feeling wanted? The thought of her searching for that validation in someone else sent another surge of possessiveness through him.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone, “considering how much trouble I’ve caused tonight already...” His fingers, tentative but bold, trailed slowly along the curve of her thigh, the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her skirt. His touch was deliberate, slow, igniting something raw and unspoken between them. “...you’d better believe you’re wanted right now.”

The weight of his words, paired with the slow, burning sensation of his fingers against her thigh, made her bit her lip. He wasn’t just saying it, he was showing her, in every deliberate move he made, exactly how wanted she was.

She gasped at the feel of his touch continuing upwards, her body reacting instinctively as her legs parted slightly. She turned her gaze to him “I didn’t think that you…” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice was rough and low, thick with barely contained desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying not to want you... and failing miserably.” Without another word, Bucky shifted closer, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, seeking and finding the warmth he had long denied himself.

Feeling the brush of his hand on her thigh, she suppressed a moan as heat started pooling between her legs. Then her eyes darted to the rearview mirror and realized the driver was stealing curious glances toward their activities. She felt a flush of embarrassment and hastily grabbed Bucky’s wrist. “Wait,” she whispered, nodding subtly toward the mirror. 

Bucky followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the driver’s prying eyes on them. A dark, irritated look crossed his face as he made eye contact with the cabby. His fingers hovered on her thigh for a second longer before he reluctantly withdrew.

She quickly crossed her legs, the movement causing her skirt to ride up, offering a tantalizing glimpse of soft skin. Swallowing hard, he turned his attention back to her face, his eyes dark with lust, but remained composed the rest of the trip. 

As the cab pulled up to their building, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. He opened the door and stepped out, offering his hand to help her exit the vehicle. The cool night air and the stillness of the street seemed to break the spell that had enveloped them, grounding them momentarily.

On the elevator, the silence between them was heavy. They exchanged fleeting glances through the mirror, but neither could hold the other’s gaze for long. Their minds swirled with thoughts, mostly Was this all a mistake? 

When finally, the doors slid open, he stepped out ahead of her, leading the way down the hallway to his apartment. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet space, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Once inside, Bucky turned to face her, his expression a mix of uncertainty and raw, unbridled lust. "So..." he started, looking for the right words. "What happens now?"

She bit her lower lip, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. This is it, she thought, her heart pounding hard enough to echo in her ears. The heat between them was almost suffocating, her skin prickling under the weight of his stare. “I want you to… continue what you started in the car,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Relief and raw hunger washed over his features as his broad frame loomed closer. Without a word, his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough, desperate, and possessive. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the embrace.

Time stilled, the world beyond his dimly lit apartment faded into irrelevance as his metal hand gripped her hips. He pulled her flush against him, and the unmistakable press of his hard cock against her belly sent a rush of slick arousal pooling between her thighs.

When their lips broke apart, gasping for air, Bucky’s mouth didn’t stop. He trailed along her jawline, his scruff scratching deliciously against her flushed skin, before lowering to the sensitive skin behind her ear. He nipped, earning a soft gasp, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail down her neck.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice thick and hoarse with barely restrained need. The heat of his breath sent shivers racing down her spine. “And I’ll give it to you. Anything. Just say the words.”

Her head fell back instinctively, exposing more of her throat to his wandering mouth, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. Her body moved on its own, grinding against the firm ridge of his hardon, seeking friction. A breathless whimper escaped her lips, her hands roaming the expanse of his broad chest, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as she pushed it upward, desperate to feel him.

“Bucky…” she whispered, her voice shaky, barely audible over her heart pounding. “I want you. All of you. Right now.”

His lips stilled against her skin for a split second before he pulled back, his eyes locking onto hers with such fierceness that made her knees weak. “You have me,” he growled. His hands moved to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing.

Pinned between him and the nearest wall, her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. His hips rolled against her, the hard length of him grinding against her soaked panties, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through her body as his hands roamed the curve of her waist.

“You had to wear the damn blouse, hm?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once. His lips captured hers again, his teeth grazing her lower lip before his tongue delved inside, deepening the kiss. Her back arched into him, her body desperate for more as the heat built between them, spiraling out of control.

Bucky’s hands moved with practiced ease, tugging the hem of her blouse upward. Instead of wasting time with buttons, he pulled it over her head in one deft motion, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid away. Before she could catch her breath, his fingers found the clasp of her bra at the front, flicking it open with a sure twist.

The garment was discarded to the side, forgotten, as his intense gaze dropped to her newly exposed skin. The cool air brushed against her hardened nipples, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they slid up her sides to cup her breasts.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he muttered like the words were torn from him without permission. He leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat and lower, until his lips wrapped around one pert nipple and sucked.

The wet heat of his tongue sent a shockwave through her body, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him. “Bucky…” she whimpered, her voice barely recognizable, thick with need.

A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him, the hardness pressing between her thighs sending shockwaves of need coursing through her. Bucky growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as his lips traced a fiery path down her neck.

“What about this, huh?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once as he roamed the fabric of her skirt on her hips. The accusation in his tone thrilled her, but she couldn’t resist firing back.

“You don’t like it?” she teased breathlessly.

“Didn’t like other men looking at you in it,” he growled, tightening his grip. His blue eyes were stormy, fixed on her face with a mix of frustration and want. “You put this on, asking for trouble, didn’t you?”

“Well…” She smirked, with a flicker of defiance in her gaze. “That was the idea, yes.” she shot back, her breath hitching as his lips claimed hers again in a rough and possessive kiss.

His brows furrowed, and without warning, he grasped the hem of her skirt. “So trouble, huh?” he rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. With one sharp tug, the fabric gave way, the sound of the seam tearing echoing in the quiet apartment.

“Bucky!” she gasped, looking down at the ruined garment now discarded on the floor. “That was brand new!”

His smirk deepened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as his hands moved to her hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. “Well,” he murmured darkly, “you wanted trouble, sweetheart.” With one smooth motion, he tore the delicate lace, the ruined scraps joining her skirt on the floor. “Now, you’ve got it.”

Before she could respond, Bucky downed her to the floor and dropped to his knees before her, his broad shoulders aligning with her hips as his hands gripped her firmly. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, locking his gaze.

With a steady, almost reverent motion, he guided one of her legs up, draping it over his shoulder. His hands slid down to her other thigh, gripping and spreading her gently but firmly, holding her steady as he settled between her legs.

“Stay still,” he rasped, his voice low and commanding, the timbre sending a shiver through her body. His fingers dug into her thighs just enough to steady her, with a mix of strength and care that left her dizzy with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he muttered, as his gaze burned into hers. “Fucking gorgeous.”

The first brush of his lips against her was featherlight, a tease, but it sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her core.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair as her knees threatened to give out beneath her.

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, his tongue darting out to taste her. The wet heat of his mouth made her cry out, her hips instinctively bucking against him. His grip on her tightened, holding her in place as he worked her with a mix of deliberate strokes and teasing flicks, the rhythm of his movements driving her higher. Then, he sucked hard at her clit.

Her head fell back, her nails scraping against his scalp as the coil of tension in her belly tightened. “Oh my God, Bucky…” she moaned, her voice breaking.

He growled against her, “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his words muffled against her, before diving back in with renewed fervor.

She was trembling, her body on fire, every nerve ending alight under his relentless attention. “Bucky… I-” she gasped, unable to finish the sentence as her world shattered around her, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her boneless.

He didn’t stop until her trembling eased, his hands steadying her as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh again, his scruff grazing her sensitive skin. Standing, he cupped her face in his hands, before his lips found hers again, this time with a slow, simmering heat that promised this was far from over.

With one last lingering kiss, Bucky pulled away and took her hand, his calloused fingers warm against her skin. Wordlessly, he led her down the hallway to his bedroom.

Inside, the soft light of the street spilling from the window cast long shadows across the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, his lips were on hers again. His hands eagerly roamed her body, while hers found the hem of his shirt, tugging at it insistently.

“Not fair,” she murmured against his mouth, a teasing lilt to her voice as she tugged the fabric higher. “I’m the only one without clothes.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to let her lift the shirt over his head. As the garment came off, he hesitated for a split second, his gaze dropping, the faintest flicker of self-consciousness crossing his features.

Her eyes softened as she took in the scars that marred his chest and shoulder, where flesh met metal. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing gently over the jagged lines of his scars, trailing soft kisses along the seam of his prosthetic.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.

The words made his throat tighten, and his cheeks flushed with warmth. “If you say so,” he muttered, with a rough voice and an emotion he didn’t quite know how to express.

She smiled, her fingers grazing his jaw as she kissed him again, slow and deep.

Gently, he guided her toward the bed, the back of her knees meeting the edge before she sank onto the mattress. He followed, climbing on top of her with a careful but commanding grace, his weight settling between her thighs as he braced himself on his forearms.

“You are the beautiful one,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers as his hand slid up her side, exploring every curve with deliberate care.

Bucky’s lips trailed down her neck, his hot breath igniting her skin as he moved lower. His mouth found her breast, and his tongue teased a hard nipple before he drew it into his mouth. The way his teeth grazed just slightly the sensitive skin to suckle on it after, sent a jolt of pleasure that had her back arching off the bed. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him closer as he feasted on her, his free hand kneading the soft flesh of her other breast. He alternated between them with, relentless attention and when he finally pulled away, with his lips glistening, he shifted his weight back onto his knees, moving his hands to his belt. With a quick flick, he unbuckled it, the metallic clink cutting through the thick silence of the room. He made short work of his pants and boxers, discarding them onto the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Her eyes widened as he revealed himself, unable to hide the surprise from her face.

Bucky noticed her reaction, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. He quirked a brow, saying nothing, though the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

Without breaking eye contact, he positioned himself between her legs, his broad hands sliding up her thighs to spread them wider. His gaze softened slightly, his confidence faltering just enough for a faint blush to creep up his neck. “I, uh… I should warn you,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”

Her chest swelled at the vulnerability in his voice, and she reached up to cradle his face, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. “That’s okay,” she murmured with a small smile, her voice warm and reassuring. “We’ve got all night to practice.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at her words, and he let out a soft laugh, the sound rough and filled with affection. “Well, that is certainly reassuring,” he muttered, leaning down to capture her lips again, aligning his body with hers as he began to guide himself into her, slow and steady.

The tight, wet heat enveloped him, and a deep and guttural groan escaped his lips. His body tensed, his breath hitching as pleasure slammed into him with an intensity he hadn’t anticipated.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, freezing in place. His jaw clenched as he willed himself to calm down, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

She watched him, her hands resting lightly on his forearms. “What is wrong?” she asked with concern.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Give me a second,” he rasped, “I almost -fuck- almost lost it already.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his flushed skin. “Take your time,” she whispered, her voice soothing and full of warmth.

He opened his eyes, the stormy blue depths meeting hers, and he gave a small nod. He pulled back slightly, taking a deep breath before pushing in a little farther. The sensation overwhelmed him again, his hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as he cursed again under his breath. “Goddamn it,” he growled, stopping once more, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he fought for control.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as she whispered, “It’s okay. We’re not in a rush. Just... feel it, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a low, shaky laugh. “You’re too fucking good to me,” he muttered, lifting his head to look at her again. He took another breath and moved slowly, inching deeper this time, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. He paused twice more, cursing softly each time, but her patient touches and words made him feel like he could take all the time in the world.

Finally, with a low, satisfied groan, he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He stilled, his head dropping to rest against hers as he breathed heavily. “Jesus Christ,”

She was doing her best to be patient, to let him take his time, but the throbbing heat of his cock buried deep inside her was becoming impossible to ignore. Her body ached for more, for movement, for relief from the unbearable tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Biting her lip, she gazed up at him, his eyes still closed, his jaw clenched as he worked to steady himself. The sight of him like this -raw, vulnerable, and completely consumed- only made her need intensify.

Tentatively, she shifted her hips upward, a subtle roll that sent a jolt of pleasure sparking through her body. The sensation drew a soft gasp from her lips, and she couldn’t suppress the small whimper that followed.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, the sharp inhale he took betraying just how much he felt her movement. His gaze locked on hers, dark and full of warning, but there was no mistaking the desire burning behind it.

“Careful,” he rasped, “You’re making it real fucking hard to keep control here.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her patience finally wearing thin. “Maybe I don’t want you to keep control,” she whispered, as she rocked her hips again, just enough to feel him twitch inside her.

Bucky groaned deeply, pressing his face into the crook of her neck as his composure continued to crack. His body trembled against hers, his restraint unraveling with each passing second. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice low and strained, teetering between a warning and surrender.

Her response was to arch her back, her body molding against his as her nails dragged lightly down the sculpted planes of his back. “Stop holding back,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. “It’s like you’re punishing yourself.”

Her hands moved to his nape, fingers brushing softly through the short hair at the base of his skull. “What’s wrong with cumming, Buck?” she whispered, with a tender voice.  “Let go. Next time-”

Her words were cut off by a sudden, hard thrust, his hips snapping forward and burying him so deeply inside her that the blunt head of his cock kissed her cervix. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her head falling back against the mattress as pleasure and shock rippled through her.

When she met his gaze, his blue eyes burned with steely determination. His jaw was clenched, his face tight with a focus that seemed almost unshakable, as though he’d summoned every ounce of his training to suppress his body’s overwhelming need for release.

“Next time,” he murmured, his voice rough and deliberate, “I’ll make it last.” His hips snapped forward again, hard and precise, pulling a cry from her lips as her body arched beneath him. He grit his teeth, his breath ragged. “I’m not… a fucking teenager. I won’t just… soil myself. I won’t do that to you, doll.”

She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for air, the meaning behind his words sinking in. His old-fashioned masculine pride wouldn’t let him lose control, wouldn’t let him spill before ensuring her satisfaction.

Her lips parted as a rush of understanding -and desire- flooded her. Sliding a hand down between them, she touched herself, her fingers finding her slick folds and swollen clit.

His thrusts faltered slightly as he realized what she was doing, his eyes widening briefly before darkening with renewed hunger. “Fuck, doll…” he rasped, his voice hoarse and laced with awe as he watched her.

Her fingers moved with purpose, working in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. The added sensation sent sparks of pleasure racing through her body, her moans growing louder as she climbed higher.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her free hand clutching at his back as the tension coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight. Her movements grew more frantic, and she cried out as the release she craved finally shattered through her, her walls clenching hard around him.

That was all it took. With a guttural groan, Bucky’s restraint broke, his hips slamming against hers as he buried himself deep, spilling into her with a force that left him trembling. He collapsed against her, his breath ragged and uneven, his body a heavy, satisfying weight on top of hers.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. Finally, Bucky lifted his head, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he looked at her with a mixture of relief and adoration.

A soft smile curved her lips as her hand caressed his stubbled cheek, "You okay?" she asked softly.

Bucky nodded, his steel-blue eyes searching hers, with a certain vulnerability flickering beneath the surface. "Yeah," he murmured. "Are you?"

Her answering smile was all the reassurance he needed. "More than okay,".

He exhaled a shaky breath, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, pulling her against him, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

She lay quietly in his arms, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, as their breaths gradually evened out. But even in the calm, she could feel certain tension lingering in his body.

“What’s on your mind, Buck?” she asked softly

He hesitated, “I’m just… thinking.”

Her brows knitted together, “About what?”

Bucky sighed, his hand pausing its movements. “About how much of a goddamn mess I still am,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and most days, it feels like I’m one bad decision away from falling apart again.” He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “But then there’s you.”

She remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

“I can’t stand the idea of you with someone else,” he continued, almost bitter as if the confession cost him. “It’s selfish, I know. You deserve someone who’s got their shit together, not someone like me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face so he had no choice but to look at her. “Bucky,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion swelling in her chest. “You’re not a mess. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here, still trying, and that says more about who you are than anything else.”

He sighed, his hand moving to cover hers, holding it against his cheek. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m broken.”

“Maybe,” she conceded softly, leaning closer. “But it isn’t have to be forever. You just need time. And you’re not alone in this.

His stormy blue eyes searched hers, raw with emotion, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he pulled her down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft, reverent, and full of unspoken promises.

A faint breeze filtered through the open window, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the distant hum of the city settling into the night. Bucky closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath that seemed to carry years of tension away with it.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, the words so low she almost missed them.

“You don’t have to,” she replied softly, her voice muffled against his pulse point. “Just let yourself have it.”

Headers by @/strangergraphics

[tweedcola]

I'm very new to posting here but please enjoy 4.1k words of soft Bucky smut!

Do It Properly

You’re not sure what wakes you in the end. Whether it’s a creaky floorboard, a rustling of your sheets or merely the change in the air that another person brings. Whatever the reason, you open bleary eyes and squint into the darkness, reaching for your phone to check the time. You only notice another presence in your bedroom when he clears this throat and steps forward to the end of your bed.

You let out a tiny ‘eep’ of surprise before your mind registers who the shadowy shape belongs to, but you recover quickly enough to ask, “Bucky?”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes; centenarian, former Winter Soldier and current cat-dad stands looking defeated by your feet.

“Hey,” he responds hoarsely, and you scramble for the switch on your lamp, desperate to see him properly.

The light starts low, gradually brightening the room as it warms up, bringing Bucky into visibility. He looks… well. You’ve seen him worse, definitely. He has this issue (you think it’s an issue, he doesn’t see the problem) in which he throws his whole body into fights with reckless abandon, his own well being taking a backseat when you’re not on missions to remind him that he should look after himself. That he needs to look after himself so he can come back home to you.

His right hand is bandaged which means it must have been pretty bad – they generally don’t bother wrapping up the super soldiers as most of their injuries have faded by the following morning, but it’s his face that really makes you gasp.

“Buck!” you whisper, horrified, as he shuffles forward, bashful under your gaze. “What happened?”

He shrugs off his jacket and you’re hit with the scent of gunpowder and smoke as he chucks it unceremoniously on the floor by the desk chair where Alpine is curled up. Al activates with an inquisitive puurp? arching his back in an elongated stretch to greet his daddy. Bucky turns to scritch the feline’s ears, rolling his shoulders at the same time. You take that to mean, don’t ask but you can’t ignore the angry red welts around his neck, the dark purple blooming under both eyes and Bucky’s wince when he huffs a laugh at Alpine when he kicks his back legs against his fingers as he tickles his tummy.

“Bucky…” you try again, shucking back the covers and reaching for his shoulder. You kneel on the bed and run your hand down his back soothingly, pretending that you’re not looking for further injuries. “You get your nose broken honey?”

Bucky ducks his head and looks at you through his eyelashes pitifully.

“Sam set it back already. Took the shield to the face,” he admits slowly, enjoying your touch as you ease the muscles in his shoulder and at the base of his neck with your fingers, searching out the pressure points that make him groan.

“Why, what’d you say?” you tease, gently.

Bucky huffs again, then cringes as it causes him pain, slumping close to lean on you.

“Wasn’t my fault,” he mumbles into your neck, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His left hand comes up to play with the strap of your tank top and you shiver against the cool metal. “Steve doesn’t enunciate. He only warned me to duck after he threw the damned thing. Jerk didn’t stop laughing the whole way home.”

You press your lips together and stroke the back of his head, making sure he stays buried in your neck so he can’t see how you’re struggling to hide your amusement.

“And this? You get on Sam’s bad side too?” you stroke his neck lightly, brushing against the vicious bruising that decorates the delicate skin there. Bucky stiffens almost imperceptibly, and you realise that he can’t talk about it. Not yet anyway. You know he’ll come to you when he’s ready.

You heave a sigh and push at his shoulder until he straightens, tilting his chin up to look you in the eye. “You just let me know if I need to go kick bird-boy’s ass, yeah?” you grin, peppering kisses over his eyebrow, betting that it’s a pain-free area before pulling him close again.

“Thanks baby,” Bucky answers on a heavy sigh. You continue threading your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, knowing the comfort of your touch is what he needs right now, rather than a dissection of his latest mission. You need the contact too, the physical reminder that he’s safe in your arms for the time being, though you make a mental note to ask the Captain why it looks like someone tried to garrotte your boyfriend. Honestly, what good is Steve if he’s not watching Bucky’s six when you’re not there?

You remain kneeling on the bed, letting Bucky use you as a crutch for as long as you can bare the weight of the 240-pound super soldier but eventually you have to push at his shoulder to get him to draw back. He harrumphs disappointedly but you know he’s not serious when his eyes drop from your face to skim along the length of your body, his right eyebrow raising appreciatively at the thin camisole and itty-bitty lace panties you’re wearing to counter the heat.

“Damn babydoll…” he begins, his hands hooking around the backs of your thighs to tug you along the bedspread, slightly closer to the edge. “You look good enough to eat.” He gives you a wolfish smile that has you admittedly a little weak in the knees and goes to duck towards your tits but you push at his forehead with a scoff.

“Uh-uh Barnes, don’t even think about it. You need a shower.” With your hands on his hips, he allows you to keep him at arm’s length while you slide from the bed and steer him towards your bathroom, his expression shifting from predatory to a dopey pleased grin as he allows you to take care of him.

“You gonna join me, sugar?” he asks, leaning against the sink as you turn the knobs and crank up the heat to a frankly dangerous degree because Bucky really doesn’t like the cold. You turn to catch him stifling a yawn into his fist, still fully dressed and you gesture at him impatiently.

“I don’t know, you gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself Sergeant?” You start unbuckling and tugging at his clothing, fighting with the supple leather that moulds to his arms as Bucky endeavours to stay awake. It’s a testament to how tired he actually is when you drop to your knees to wrestle his trousers down his legs and he doesn’t make a lewd joke, though you do see his half-hard length give a valiant twitch in his boxers before you tug those down too.

You help him into the shower, thankful that you don’t see any other bruising on his body but knowing that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurt before you go to gather his clothes up into your arms. You don’t get that far though, as the glass door slides back open behind you and you’re tugged into the near-scalding water still in your sleep clothes.

“Buck!” you squawk, pressing yourself away from the water ineffectually as the spray soaks the front of your vest anyway. He crowds you up against the tiles that are already slick with condensation, effectively ensuring that no part of you has stayed dry.

“Mmm, you said you’d join me…” he mutters into your shoulder, nuzzling against your damp skin as his hands play with the lace covering your backside.

“And you said you’d keep your hands to yourself,” you huff playfully, reaching for the bar of Imperial Leather soap because old habits die hard and for Bucky the saying is doubly true. You lather the soap between your fingers and start moving it along his shoulders and back where you’re able to reach.

“No…” he drawls, slipping his fingers beneath your panties to stroke over the skin of your hips and ass as he presses his now very interested cock against your lower stomach and rocks you against him. “I didn’t answer and you interpreted my silence as agreement,” he murmurs. “I was very careful about that.”

You draw back and are faced with his incredibly pleased smile, almost impish in his glee that he’s managed to wrangle you into the shower with him for him to do as he pleases. You don’t have the heart to shatter his illusion with the truth, that you’d follow him anywhere under any conditions.

He tickles the soft skin between your thigh and hip and you squeal. You love seeing this side of Bucky, almost child-like in his mischief, even if the activity that you’re doing is very adult.

“Hmm, very clever…” you muse, drawing the soap down his right arm before sliding it up the other, ridding his skin and left arm of two days of sweat and gunpowder before starting to work on his chest. Bucky lets you work for a few quiet moments, watching your movements with half lidded eyes. You glance up at him and snort at the expression on his face; he’s hard for you but obviously can’t decide if he’s more sleepy or horny.

“Relax Buck,” you implore, working soap over his hips and kneading the bone there before making your way down his lower back, eliciting a sinful moan when you hit a knot and the muscle releases.

Bucky mumbles something into the skin of your neck between sweet kisses and you use one hand to tilt his head to the side when you ask him to repeat himself.

“Magic hands,” he slurs, rocking himself in time with your ministrations. “Magic, angel hands. Y’so good to me darlin’.” He pulls back and busies himself with playing with the strap of your tank top. “Wanna be good to you too.” Bucky’s hands drift southward to the waistband of your underwear, dipping his fingers in and teasingly raking his nails over the sensitive skin of your pelvis.

You shudder and feel his cock jump in response. Abandoning your task, you let the soap slide from your grip, ignoring the dull clunk as it hits the porcelain of the tub and instead wrapping your hand around his length and giving him one firm stroke from root to tip.

Bucky grunts, his hips jerking forward towards you. His hand slips fully between your thighs and you let out a sigh when his clever fingers part your folds to trace over your clit gently. Your natural slick mixes with the hot water still beating down on you both creating a heavenly slide that Bucky uses to his advantage, his movements becoming slightly rougher as you pant in his ear.

“That’s it baby, that feel good?” his voice is gruff as your desire heightens and he dips his forefinger into your core up to the first knuckle just to feel you clench around him when he strokes over the top of your clit just right. “Mmm, certainly seems like it feels good.”

You just have the wherewithal to register the slightly mocking tone in your boyfriend’s voice and retaliate with another firm tug on his member, the soap suds lingering on your palm making the glide smooth and slick, cutting off the rest of his sentence when it devolves into a whine.

You continue to jerk him slowly, reveling in the stuttering mess that you’re able to reduce him to with such a simple touch.

“Mmm, so sensitive honey,” you coo into his ear, increasing your pace incrementally. Bucky is completely at your mercy, his hand slackening in your panties and the coil in his stomach tightening with your movements. He rocks upwards on a gasp before straightening and grabbing desperately at your wrist.

“Stop – stop,” he pants, squeezing the base of his dick to stave off the orgasm that had crept up unexpectedly. “Fuck, almost made me blow my load in your hand baby, shit.” Your giggle sets him off with a growl and Bucky hoists you up into his arms, shredding your underwear with a wolfish grin.

“Bastard,” you say playfully, nipping at his bottom lip as he steadies you on a convenient shelf that you’ve only needed to replace three times since Bucky moved in with you.

“You gotta learn doll, none of your underwear is safe around me.”

As if to prove his point Bucky grabs a fistful of your top at chest level and you can see the gears turn in his head as he gets ready to yank and separate the body from the straps –

“Wait!” you call, throwing out an arm to catch his. “Just gimme a minute, damn,” you mutter, peeling the offending piece of clothing from your body and letting it drop to the floor with a wet thwack. “Running out of pyjamas thank you very much, some hopped-up super soldier keeps shredding all my clothes.”

There’s no remorse on Bucky’s face as he eyes your tits hungrily and you wonder when you lost your soft, sleepy boyfriend to this sex-starved menace. Deciding to tease him just a little more, you cup your chest, stroking lightly over your nipples and watch as his pupils dilate fully.

Bucky feels barely restrained, watching as you enjoy the delicate grace of your own touch and damn near drooling, desperate to get his mouth on your tits. He’s captivated by your movements.

“You okay there, Sarge?” you question, punctuating your words with a soft gasp as you apply more pressure to the sensitive peaks of your breasts. You arch your back a touch, your chest lifting just an inch or two closer and Bucky is salivating.

“More,” he requests, the whimper in his voice dampening the order. He recognises the tone for what it is – a plea – and he’d give almost anything to have his hands on you but – god – the way you’re writhing and panting before him, the slick folds of your cunt on display when you let your thighs fall open – Bucky can’t help but think you’re a goddess. He watches you for a minute longer, his body so tense that even the slightest touch might shatter him but what’s a goddess for if not to be worshipped? And Bucky will supplicate at your feet for eternity for you to rid him of his wrongs and cleanse the days before you. He’s been the luckiest son of a bitch for over a year now and he knows he’ll find heaven within you, that you lay peace and forgiveness down before him with simple caresses and erase his guilt with your lips.

You gift him a coy smile and let your hands drop, twining your fingers with Bucky’s and drawing him close until he’s stood between the ‘v’ of your legs, sharing your breath and feeling the heat rolling off your skin.

You tilt your head up and slant your lips against his, dragging his hands up your body to replace where yours had been on the mounds of your chest, encouraging him to squeeze and play as he wishes as you hook your calves over his hips and urge him closer still.

You chance a quick glance up at his face to find that he’s completely enraptured with your chest, snorting a laugh even as he feathers his thumbs over your nipples, raising goosebumps up your arms.

A shudder runs through Bucky’s body when he feels the tip of his cock brush against the heat between your legs and he tilts his hips forward to glide his length along you, delighting in your gasp when he grinds down against your clit.

“You want this?” Bucky asks, his expression split between cocky and desperate as he rocks against you, spreading his hands over your lower back and digging his fingertips into the meat of your ass.

“Mmm,” you whine, your head lolling back to rest against the shower tile, waiting for him to start pushing forward, for that first divine stretch that feels like nothing else –

But it’s not forthcoming. You crack your eyes open and lift your head questioningly.

“Please baby,” Bucky whines, pressing his hips into yours again. You reach up to stroke his cheek and just stop yourself from frowning.

“You need me to say it, Buck?” you ask softly, still running the tips of your fingers along his stubbled jaw, enjoying the scruff that pulls at your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah –“ each breathless plea is punctuated by an eager grind against you and you bite your lip against a moan when you feel his cock throb from where it’s trapped between your bodies.

“Okay honey,” your voice is shaky with desire for your man but you fight to keep your tone clear so he knows exactly how much you want him. “Please fuck me Bucky – I want it so bad, needed it the whole time you were gone – ah!”

You’re barely through your sentence when he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt before stopping just as quickly as he’d begun.

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

“Mmm,” you whine in response. “Need you to move honey.”

He raises his head and shoots you a look. It’s one that you don’t get very often but you cherish the pinched eyebrows and lip trapped between his teeth as he fights to stop himself from coming prematurely.

“Needja to be patient baby,” he gasps out, his hands clutching at your thighs bruisingly as his Brooklyn accent slips into place. You can almost see his thought process as he runs through baseball statistics and multiplication tables in his head. You’re sweating by the time the tension finally drains from Bucky’s shoulders and you can’t stop yourself from clenching down on him when he gives a couple of gentle test-thrusts.

“You’re not helping,” he grunts, as he gets a better grip on your slippery skin to hoist your legs higher, and you’re honestly not sure if he’s speaking to you or your pussy.

You don’t have time to dwell on it though, as Bucky lets you know he’s ready with a sharp snap of his hips and a grunt from deep in his chest when you dig your nails into his shoulders in surprise.

“Careful with the claws, kitten,” Bucky groans before really laying into you.

You cling to one another as his hips snap into yours orchestrating a rhythm of skin hitting skin that is only amplified by the water. The bathroom echoes with your lovemaking, even as you bite at your lip – it’s still the middle of the night and you share walls with two other apartments in this block, not to mention your poor downstairs neighbours.

It only takes a few moments for Bucky’s rough strokes to build your pleasure high enough for you to stumble and a sharp moan of his name escapes you.

“Oh god honey,” Bucky pants, uncurling his left arm from around your waist to reach out and grab the top of the shower door for stability. “That good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you pant, “S’good Buck, it’s good.” Your words escape you in a staccato, hiccoughing rhythm that he punches out of you in time with the movement of his hips. You tip your head back and Bucky takes the opportunity to litter a series of sweet kisses against your neck, whispering words of devotion in between the brushes of his lips, drinking in the ecstatic sounds that you’re making.

“Fuck sweet girl, you’re so good, s’good, don’t wanna leave, never gonna leave ya again, love you so much baby,” Bucky’s inner monologue escapes without direction as your pleasure climbs, his words encouraging your end almost as much as his movement.

“Please – please Bucky,” you stutter out, dropping your hand between the two of you to stroke at your clit, your desperation for an orgasm acute after being without him for too long.

“Me, honey, let me,” Bucky insists, leaning his upper body away from you slightly to find the best angle. His practiced fingers find you easily and you feel yourself clench involuntarily around him when his thumb massages you in just the right pattern. The moan that you let out is quiet but so desperately needy that Bucky hisses when his cock throbs in response but by that time it’s too late for you anyway.

You dive off of the precipice, arching your back and feeling your pussy pulse uncontrollably as you’re ignited from the inside. Bucky pushes in to the hilt one final time before he too lets go, whimpering quietly as he joins your bliss.

You remain entwined beneath the water for a few long moments, relishing in the feel of one another before Bucky tilts his head back to look at you, his eyes still hazy with lingering pleasure. You know he’s not able to get drunk but if you saw him like this at any other time you’d assume he was intoxicated. You snort internally and go to make fun of his pussy-drunk expression when –

“Marry me.”

You slap your hand against the shower wall, groping desperately for the button that will halt the stream of water beating against the glass because you think that you just heard your super soldier boyfriend propose to you while he’s still very much inside you.

“What, Bucky-what?!” you finally locate the off switch and shower ceases, leaving the pitter-pattering of water droplets as the only sound in the room while you and Bucky stare at one another. “Did you just – ”

“No.” His response is short and sharp, cutting over the end of your question, as though he can’t bear to hear the words leave your lips. When you blink at him, he has the gall to look guilty and his shoulders drop in defeat. “I said – I – ” he takes a moment to clear his throat twice before speaking again.

“I said marry me. I’m sorry.”

Silence reigns again while you absorb the shock of his words.

“Bucky…” you begin slowly, wriggling back slightly to bring attention to his cock still buried to the hilt and his hips still fit snuggly between your thighs. “…are you proposing to me while you’re still balls deep?”

Bucky groans and lets his head drop to your shoulder as your laughter rings out but you wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze him as close to you as you possibly can, hooking your ankles one over the other at the small of his back so he can’t escape you.

“I – I had a plan, and a ring –” he starts to explain into your neck but you silence him with a tug to his hair so that you can meet his eyes. The concern etched on his face disappears almost as soon as he sees your joyful expression and he gifts you the softest, sweetest smile in return before taking a deep breath in and you just know what’s going to come next.

So you reach up quickly and place the tops of your fingers over his mouth.

This man – this man who has been through so much more than anyone should have to, who has survived horror and death and the loss of his autonomy only to come through the other side still able to love – deserves to have exactly what he wants. He deserves to have this moment, his proposal, exactly as picture perfect as he’s always imagined. And so although you know you’ll say yes, that you’ll marry him in a heartbeat, you halt Bucky’s next words.

“Wait,” you instruct gently. “Just wait. Do your plan – give me the ring.” You don’t explain further but brush your lips against his once, twice and whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you sweetheart.” Bucky responds just as quietly, and you feel the full force of his devotion and adoration hit you when he rests his forehead against yours briefly.

The moment is ruined when he steps away from you to turn the shower back on to wash away the evidence of your lovemaking with a mumbled; “It’s a good thing you didn’t say yes, Sam woulda never let me live it down if I’d proposed like that.”

You shuffle under the warm spray and wrap your arms around Bucky’s waist to gaze innocently up at him. “Oh – I’ll definitely be telling Sam about this,” you state. “My pussy game is so good that I got a marriage proposal? Bucky, I’m telling everyone.”

Your squeal echoes off the tiles as Bucky growls and digs his fingers into your waist in retaliation, grinning wickedly, and barely able to stop himself from sprinting to his underwear drawer to recover the ring nestled at the back.

He’ll do it properly tomorrow.

[collaredsoldat]

Stained.

summary: Soldat continues to have nightmares.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD | Nightmares | Minor injury | Flashbacks

a/n: So sorry it took so long for another part. Been super distracted with other blogs and life stuff. There's a few more things I will write about for this 'series' then I will start another one with him. This one's a bit shorter but I have another one almost completed. Anyway enjoy comforting the baby <3 Unedited. ;; wc: 2.7k

His screams were so chilling.

They seemed to pierce through the very walls of your home. The haunting sound reverberated in the air, leaving an eerie silence in its wake that was almost as unsettling as the screams themselves.

Every single night, without fail, they never ceased. You could almost set your watch by their occurrence, anticipating the exact moment when the torment would begin. As the clock ticked closer to that dreaded hour, you'd find yourself tensing, waiting for the inevitable.

Then, right on cue, you'd hear him thrashing violently, desperately fighting against the blankets that enveloped him like a straitjacket. In a frenzied panic, he would scramble to the corner of the room, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. His eyes splayed wide with terror, darting around the room, seeing horrors that only he could perceive. His breathing came in ragged gasps, as if he had just breached the surface after being submerged in the depths of his nightmares, desperately gulping in air as if it were his first breath after a near-drowning experience.

The nightmares were a relentless, unyielding torment that plagued him night after night. They seemed to have a life of their own, cruel entities that delighted in tormenting him, forcing him to relive moments he desperately wished he could forget. These nocturnal demons dredged up memories from the darkest corners of his mind, parading them before him in vivid, terrifying detail, making him relive everything. It was as if his subconscious were punishing him for abandoning his previous affiliations, determined to extract every ounce of pain from his past experiences, leaving him raw and vulnerable each morning.

Just like its old handler had.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you began a nightly ritual of telling him goodnight every evening. He began to seek out your company, a noticeable shift from his previous isolation, over the previous few days. He would actually spend time with you, choosing to sit by you as you watched TV on the couch. Although he still maintained a certain distance, unwilling or unable to fully let his guard down, he would position himself near your legs, just close enough to feel your presence without fully engaging.

Occasionally, in moments of vulnerability or perhaps seeking comfort, he would lean against your legs. You would gently, almost hesitantly, reach out to touch his hair, those fleeting moments of him actually initiating contact were rare. The contact was brief, barely more than a whisper of touch, before he would inevitably pull away, retreating back into his shell. But even these small moments of connection felt like monumental progress, a tiny crack in the walls he had built around himself.

Tonight had been a bit rough.

The weather conditions had deteriorated as the season switched from fall to winter.

A fierce snowstorm had been mercilessly battering the exterior of the apartment building you lived in for hours without reprieve. The violent gusts of wind sent snowflakes, dense and numerous, into a frenzied dance through the air, creating an impenetrable curtain of white that obscured nearly all visibility. That meant anyone driving was pretty much driving blind, and some places in the city have closed until the storm stops.

The persistent howling of the tempest as it wrapped around the building created unfamiliar sounds throughout your apartment, though these disturbances never bothered you when you slept. You had slept through thunderstorms before, howling wind wasn’t anything to bug you. Soldat, situated in the other room, was experiencing quite the opposite reaction to the weather.

There were things he remembered from HYDRA, memories that haunted him like persistent shadows, but the cold remained the most vivid and haunting of them all. The experience of cryo was something permanently etched into his being, a sensation that lingered long after each freeze. He could still feel with crystal clarity the way the freezing process felt. The gradual slowing of his blood flow, the painful stiffening of his muscles, and the biting chill that penetrated deep into his bones.

The cold would wrap around him like an unforgiving blanket, creating an impenetrable cocoon of ice that sealed him away from the world. In those moments, he became more than just a prisoner of HYDRA - he became a prisoner of winter itself, trapped from which he could never fully escape. Even now, warmth felt like a distant memory, a comfort that his body had forgotten how to truly experience.

No matter how many blankets he covered up in, no matter how hot the shower was, he still felt cold.

You shifted position in your bed, consciousness gradually returning as you stirred from sleep, your eyes fluttering open while your hands instinctively moved to clear the lingering drowsiness from them. You were going to just roll back over, but the unexpected presence of a dark silhouette towering above your bed startled you wide awake. Pure adrenaline rushed through your system, causing you to let out an involuntary shriek as you scrambled away from the mysterious figure. You realized it was Soldat, and you let out a breath you had been holding.

"Fuck...y-you startled me!" You exclaimed breathlessly, your trembling hand pressed firmly against your chest where your heart continued to thunder against your ribcage like a drum.

The man watched you intently from across the room, maintaining his silence. When the wind howled against your window panes with renewed intensity, his cold, calculating eyes briefly darted towards the source of the sound before returning to fix on you again. Before you could break the silence between you, he moved forward and crawled up onto your bed.

His movements were awkward and cautious, like an animal discovering new texture beneath its paws. His every motion was measured and uncertain, acting like the bed was going to fall out from beneath him. The soldier finally settled himself onto the bed beside you, positioning his rigid body so that he was facing away from you.

This was really unexpected but...you weren't going to complain. He was clearly struggling with something so you decided to just be quiet and pretend he wasn't there. Hopefully that would somehow make this fragile moment less overwhelming for him.

When you finally drifted back to sleep, consciousness returned abruptly as his sudden movements jolted you awake. He had jerked and scrambled, pressing himself firmly against the headboard of the bed, his rigid posture betraying his distress. His eyes were wide with an unnamed fear, darting frantically around the darkened room, searching desperately through the shadows for phantoms that existed only in his mind. His breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling with an intensity that suggested he had been running for miles.

His fingers were wrapped so tightly around the bedsheets that his knuckles had turned white and his metal hand was whirring with pressure, the fabric bunching beneath his iron grip. When you spoke his name, his wild gaze snapped to your face, focusing on you with an intensity that was almost frightening. "Soldat...what's wrong?" Your words came out thick with sleep, barely audible against the war raging in his mind.

"What's wrong?" The handler's voice dripped with cruel sarcasm as his boot connected violently with the asset's stomach, sending a spray of crimson across the pristine floor as it doubled over, coughing and choking. "Can't sleep? I told you to quiet down." Its handler had a particular hatred for nighttime disruptions, especially the ones he deliberately orchestrated, taking perverse pleasure in ensuring the asset's nights were filled with terror while simultaneously punishing it for displaying any signs of disturbance.

The asset remained silent, managing only to expel the remaining blood from its mouth as it struggled to regain its upright position. Through its blurred vision, the handler's eyes stood out with terrifying clarity, piercing and unforgiving as they bore down upon the asset with unmistakable malice. His voice cut through the silence like a knife, the handler’s demeanor shifting to become much more threatening. "You stained my fucking carpet."

He shook his head vigorously, scooting away from you until he reached the edge of the bed and lost his balance. "Shit," you moved forward instinctively, witnessing his unsteady stumble and the harsh thud that followed as he tumbled off, he let out a small grunt as he hit the floor. "You okay?" You asked softly, your voice gentle as you carefully made your way down and knelt beside his huddled form.

Your bed was positioned close to the wall but not touching, creating a small, sheltered alcove that provided him with a sense of security. A perfect hiding spot where he could feel somewhat protected from the world, he had ventured from the small spaces in the spare room but he tended to resort back to them when he felt especially anxious.

"Hey, you're bleeding," you noticed with concern as a thin crimson line began making its way down his forehead and along his brow. His hand shot up immediately, pressing against the wound in an attempt to stem the flow. A flash of unmistakable panic crossed his features, causing your stomach to twist with worry. "It's okay, I'll go get something for it..." You reassured him gently, rising to your feet and making your way to the bathroom where you kept a small first aid box, tucked away under the sink.

When you returned to his side, you knelt back down and carefully held out some small pieces of sterile gauze. His lack of response to take them gave you an invitation, you took his stillness as silent permission to help. Your hand carefully guided his away from the injury, replacing his trembling fingers with the soft gauze, which you held there with the lightest possible pressure while maintaining a strong enough hold to stop the bleeding.

As you held the gauze against the wound, his eyes slowly trailed down to the floor by his feet. A deep frown creased his features as he noticed two tiny red droplets seeping into the little strings of carpet, expanding like delicate watercolor paint on wet paper. The crimson spots seemed to grow before his eyes, each fiber darkening as it absorbed the blood. "I...I'm sorry," He rasped, his voice so rough and broken that you almost flinched at the sound.

The words hung heavy in the air between you, and before you could register that he actually spoke to you again or even understand what exactly he was apologizing for, he spoke again, his voice growing more distressed with each repetition. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered, his gaze fixed intently on those small drops staining the carpet. He curled in on himself even more, the apologies falling from his lips over and over again like he were completely overwhelmed with a foreboding sense of incoming danger.

You followed his line of sight downward and observed the tiny marks yourself, finding yourself fighting back an inappropriate smile at the situation. Here he was, clearly distraught over what amounted to barely more than pinpricks of blood on the carpet. The whole concept almost felt ridiculous, that among everything else happening, this would be what concerned him so deeply.

You couldn't understand why he'd be so genuinely upset about such a minor stain, but his distress was clearly real and you didn’t want him to feel this way over something so minor. "Hey, hey. It's fine, don't apologize," you assured him gently, trying to draw his attention away from the floor. "It's just a few drops. No big deal..."

He looked back at the crimson droplets that had dripped down the soft carpet, then shifted his gaze towards you while carefully avoiding direct eye contact. His shoulders hunched inward defensively as he spoke. "I...I stained." The words emerged as barely more than a breath, his voice trembling and uncertain, barely managing to push the confession past his lips.

"And stains can be cleaned." You responded, keeping your voice steady and reassuring. "It's not a big deal at all. I'm not upset - they're just a few tiny drops. And honestly, even if it had been a much bigger mess, I wouldn't be angry that you bled on the floor. Getting upset about something like that would be completely ridiculous..."

"Ridiculous thing you are." Its handler spat with venomous contempt, "Clean this up immediately. The more you bleed, the more you are corrected for staining my goddamn floor."

It wasn't fair.

Soldat shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the vivid flashback that had seized him. As your words continued in their gentle cadence, so different from those memory-echoes, the sharp edges of panic began to soften and recede. You remained unaware of the depths of his psychological turmoil, but at the same time, your very obliviousness to his internal struggle served as an anchor that helped guide him back from the brink of his mounting anxiety.

If you had known earlier, your choice of words might have been different, more carefully selected to avoid triggering such a response.

However, for the moment, the situation appeared to have stabilized - his breathing had steadied and his trembling had subsided to occasional shivers. You gently finished cleaning and examining the minor abrasion on his forehead, the injury was superficial, requiring nothing more than basic first aid. Once you were satisfied with it, you helped him rise to his feet, "Would you like to try sleeping again?" you asked in a soft, reassuring tone, making sure to keep your voice steady and calm, "I can stay awake and keep watch, if that would make you feel better."

He remained silent, his eyes meeting yours with an expression that seemed vulnerable and childlike, caught between trust and uncertainty. The unfamiliar sensation of feeling protected and cared for seemed to war with his instincts to panic, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the realization that throughout this entire ordeal, you had been nothing but patient and had shown genuine concern for his well-being.

His response came in the form of a single, slight nod - brief but unmistakable. You accepted this minimal communication as a positive sign.

You guided him back to bed, allowing him to settle into a position that felt natural to him. Sleeping in a bed after literal decades of sleeping on the floor, cots if he was lucky, took getting used to again. Taking up your own position nearby, you reached for the television remote and switched it on, being mindful to keep the volume low so it wouldn’t be too loud. He assumed his previous position, curling up with his back towards you, creating a small barrier between himself and the world. The soft background noise from the television seemed to provide a comforting ambient sound without causing him any distress.

After an episode of the show you were watching passing by, he gradually shifted his position to face in your direction. Though his eyes remained closed, you had your doubts about whether he had truly drifted back to sleep so quickly. The distance between you had noticeably decreased as he moved closer and your heart ached with the desire to wrap him in your arms, yet you remained perfectly still, not wanting to make any sudden movements. The fear of startling him kept you frozen in place, patiently waiting to see if he would choose to close the remaining gap between you.

To your surprise, he continued his careful migration until his body was snugly pressed against yours, seeking comfort in your presence. You felt your throat tighten with emotion as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, touched by the fact that he had deliberately chosen to seek out your closeness. Slowly, you lifted your arm and positioned it behind him, keeping it relaxed and loose while he adjusted himself, eventually settling into a position where he used you as an impromptu pillow, his breathing steady and peaceful.

You eventually fell asleep after a while too, unable to resist. By now he had huddled against you, his metal arm draped across your form, the weight of it both reassuring and comforting against your body. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth radiating from his presence definitely helped you grow drowsy.

Knowing he was at last getting the peaceful rest he so desperately needed brought a sense of contentment to your heart and gave you enough comfort to slowly drift off too.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01 | @blackstabbath6 | @devilslittlehelper | @regics | @honeybee-hayes | @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I’m imagining Bucky having a hard time vocalizing “I love you,” to anyone, no matter how much he wants to.

While learning some basic ASL in order to better communicate with Clint, Bucky learns to say “I love you,” (🤟) to the reader.

I Love You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky has a hard time vocalizing “I love you” so he asks Clint for him to help him say it to you by using ASL.

Warnings: Fluff, language, tiny mention of HYDRA, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

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

Ever since Bucky met you, he knew that he’s in love with you. You and him have been on a few dates. He wants to take the next step in yours and in relationship by asking you to by his girlfriend and say “I love you” to you.

If Bucky is being honest, he’s been having a hard time trying to vocally say “I love you” to you. Ever since HYDRA and his days as the Winter Soldier, he didn’t think he’d find love. That was until he met you. He didn’t have trouble with finding love when he was younger. It’s like HYDRA stripped him of that.

Bucky wants to say “I love you” to you, but he needs some help with that. So he decided to ask Clint for help on it.

“Hey, Clint. Can I ask you something?” Bucky asks as he approaches Clint.

“Yea. What’s up, man?” Clint asks, putting his bow and arrow on the ground.

“You’ve been married for a while, right?” He asks.

“Yea. Why?” He asks.

“Well, you know that me and Y/N have been seeing each other, but we haven’t made it official yet.” He begins. “I was wondering if you could help me out with saying “I love you” without saying it.” He says.

“You’re in luck.” Clint put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You came to the right person. Me and Natasha used sign language to communicate sometimes when we were on missions and had to be quiet.” He said.

“I don’t know any sign language.” Bucky says.

“It’s easy, especially if you’re doing the sign for “I love you”.” He said. “Hold your hand up.” He says.

Bucky held up his right hand and then looked at Clint, waiting for more instructions.

“Now put down your middle and ring fingers.” Clint tells him.

Bucky did just that, leaving his index finger, pinky, and thumb up.

“That’s sign language for “I love you”.” He tells him.

“Woah, that’s easy.” Bucky says, looking at his hand.

“I told you it would be, man.” Clint smiles. “Let me know how it goes.” He says, giving Bucky a pat on his back.

Bucky looks at his hand again and smiles before looking for you. He found you in the lounge room.

“I was wondering where you were, Bucky.” You kissed his cheek. “I was thinking about our date tonight.” You say, smiling up at him and playing with the collar of his jacket.

“Me too.” Bucky smiles back. “But I have something to tell you.” He says nervously.

“What is it?” You asked curiously.

Bucky took a deep breath. He hasn’t felt this nervous about anything in years. He looked down at his right hand before lifting it up and holding up his index finger, pinky, and thumb. You looked at his hand and smiled widely.

“Are you trying to tell me that you love me?” You asked.

“Y-Yes.” Bucky answers with a stutter.

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his lips sweetly. You felt Bucky smiles before against your lips.

“I love you too, Buck.” You say softly, looking in his blue eyes.

“Does this mean you’ll be my best girl?” He asks.

“Of course I will!” You answered.

The smiles never left your faces. Bucky’s hands gently caressed your cheeks and he kissed you passionately.

“How about we change our date to now?” Bucky suggests. “I can’t wait any longer to take you out.” He says.

“That sounds great to me.” You smile up at him.

You then held your hand up, signing “I love you” to him. Bucky smiles and signed “I love you” back.

Hopefully Bucky will be able to say “I love you” to you. He hopes that’s sometime soon.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[arpicityandneed]

Asking for a friend re: dark content Bucky, are we talking Bucky-Bucky, or like, are you also down with some Winter Soldier? Because WOW what a great look. Scared my ovaries so good.

Like, imagine the Soldier gets a bodyguard assignment to the daughter or wife of some SHIELD official. You're annoyed about having this mostly silent, kind of unsettling hottie shadow you constantly. So you get bratty, act out to try and crack that ice wall. "Kay fine, you need to keep an eye on me, I'll leave the door open to shower!" or "hey they said to pretend you're not even here, guess that means I can masturbate!" And you're not really sure what you expected to come of it, but it definitely wasn't getting railed because you managed to wake up half a century of repressed lust.

author's note: I mean all the dark content, Winter Soldier, Bucky-Bucky, dubcon, incest, all the good stuff. please ref my rules and guidelines <3

18+ Dark Content. Winter Soldier!Bucky. brat!reader. dirty talk. creampie. dubcon (mainly 'cause hydra). rough sex.

"Новая миссия Солдат." New mission, Soldat. The HYDRA handler handed the assassin the file, your seductive smirk in your profile photo making his stomach tighten. The sensation was new to him. But his response was the same it always was, a low husky rasp with no intonation.

"готов подчиниться." Ready to comply.

~

You didn't like your new bodyguard.

No matter how hot he was, he never spoke two words to you. All you got was da or net. He followed you everywhere and carried your bags and never seemed to sleep. You knew your dad was important to some big guys, but to think it would mean you'd be stuck with this ghost of a man with no way to sneak off wasn't what you had in mind.

He was just a big, hunking, idiot. With a metal arm. (You may have had a thing for the metal arm.)

He wouldn't let you drink since you were technically only 20, and killed any party just by standing there- not dancing, not moving, just watching you with his icy blue eyes.

It made you want to crack that perfect control he had.

"So you're really not going to leave that spot while I shower." You looked up at him as he stood at the threshold of the large ensuite bathroom in the hotel you were staying at while your father was having a business meeting.

"Da." He didn't smile, didn't frown. His handsome face was just always deadpan.

"Then I guess its not a problem if I leave the door open right?" You grinned, impish and bold as you started stripping. You new you looked good. It was the utter shamelessness of it all that had the Soldat's eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Bending over to drag your panties down your legs, letting him see your bare pussy before unhooking your bra. You sighed with relief as your breasts bounced free.

"Be a good boy and do what daddy paid you for. Watch me." You grinned when you saw him take a step towards you, your pussy gushing as you imagined him grabbing you and fucking you senseless. But he seemed to remember himself and stepped back. Firmly planting both feet and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Coward~." You sang as you stepped into the shower leaving the door open, its glass side walls fogging up as you lathered up your body. Touching every inch of yourself as slowly as possible making damn sure he could follow your hands with his eyes. His pupils were blown wide but it was the only sign he as affected.

You'd have to try harder.

~

"Ah!"

The Soldat was in your room in an instant the next morning even though you never heard the door unlock or open. He was ready for a threat, door locked so there was one less escape route for any intruders.

But all he found was you, on the bed with your legs spread- naked as the day you were born. A pathetic excuse for a plastic cock sliding in and out of your gummy walls as you fucked yourself over and over. One tiny hand was twisting your nipple and you were crying out loudly with every intention of making sure he could hear.

"Fuck!" You moaned as you met his eyes, pure mischief in your gaze. "Shouldn't be a problem, right Soldat? Just, nngh, watch me."

You never even saw him move, but suddenly he was on you. Snatching the dildo and dragging it out of your pussy before throwing it across the room.

"Этого будет недостаточно для такой шлюхи как ты." That won't be enough for a slut like you. He growled as he quickly undid his zipper, you barely had a glimpse of his girthy length before he was lining himself up. He didn't even bother to take off his tactical suit before fucking into your slick hole in one overwhelming thrust. It knocked the air out of your lungs.

"M-more!" You whined as you clawed at his back uselessly, your tiny pussy stretched almost painfully wide as you strangled his cock.

"Заткнись и возьми это." Shut up and take it. He was hissing in your ear with ever balls deep thrust, groaning as he felt pleasure for the first time in over 30 years. Your pussy was heaven he was sure. And he was never letting you go.

Every squelch and slap of his hips on your ass filled the room until it was a symphony of decauhery. You were being used, and somehow the knowledge made your blood burn with desire.

"Use me, fuck, cum in me please-" you begged as you felt your orgasm growing. The blunt head of his cock was dragging against the spot inside you that you'd barely been able to reach with the dildo. Your eyes were crossing every time his fat cock bottomed out inside you, and you knew you were going to cum harder than you ever had before.

"Просто теплое место которое я могу использовать по своему усмотрению." Just a warm place for me to use. He purred the words in your ear, and you cried out when you felt his skilled fingers making quick tight circles over your sensitive clit.

You bit down on his throat, the only skin you could reach to stop yourself from screaming as you gushed around his cock. (It was only later, much later when you were being interrogated about where the Asset had gone, that you realized the bastard had made you squirt.)

His grip on your hip became bruisingly tight but you didn't care, not when his thrusts were getting sloppy.

"Do it, cum in me, get me pregnant I don't care just-" His other hand, still slick with your juices slapped over your mouth as he growled at you.

"Я сделаю тебя матерью. Я сделаю тебя своей." I'll make you a mother. I'll make you mine.

You shivered, not understanding anything but the possessiveness in his tone. Your hole clenching around him and he was done for.

His load was endless. He fucked you through it, stuffing his seed as deep inside as his cock could reach. In your lustful haze you realized you truly wouldn't mind having the child of a man like him. You knew he'd protect you both if it ever came to that.

You must have fallen asleep after that because when you came to the window was open, and there was a pillow under your hips.

He was gone.

(pt 2)

[malum-forev]

Dr. Bee

Summary: Bucky has quite the reputation but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.

Bucky x Nurse!Mom!Reader

Bucky Barnes has many names. James Buchanan Barnes, Buck, The Winter Soldier, Sergeant. 

But on compound grounds, and in hushed tones, he’s usually called an asshole. 

He’s developed quite the reputation. Being difficult is his natural state of being. 

Bucky is constantly late to meetings, doesn’t show up for media days and is always going rogue in missions.

He doesn’t know why he does it, Dr. Raynor says it’s a coping mechanism, but that doesn’t make Bucky want to change one bit. He stays away from people and makes it everyone’s problem when someone decides to talk in his vicinity. 

Sam has tried to talk to him but, as per usual whatever the Falcon says, Bucky does the opposite. Sam’s even tried to convince everyone that Bucky’s like an untrained dog, he needs some kind of exposure therapy. Having people stand up to him and flat out call him what he is, that’s what he needs. 

Sadly for everyone who works with Bucky Barnes, no one has the balls to do it. 

But, everything changed one day. 

Everyone scurried away once the quinjet landed at the Avengers compound. They’d gotten word from someone in Logistics that the mission had gone terribly and the agents had barely come out alive. 

Bucky stormed into the med bay, his heels digging into the floor with such force you’d think it break, only to find it desolate. 

He huffed twice, looking around for anyone who could help with a deep cut on his right arm. 

“Hello?!” He yelled out, his temples throbbing and his left eye twitching. 

Bucky Barnes waited for no one. 

“May I help you?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed at the meek voice coming from behind the nurse’s station. His confusion only grew deeper when he didn’t find anyone there. 

A few seconds later a tiny hand popped up, wiggling its chubby fingers at him. 

“I said,” The little voice drew out the last word, annoyed. “May I help you?”

Bucky leaned forward and peeked behind the large desk to find a little girl.

Standing with her hands on her hips, the little girl with pigtails looked up at him with raised eyebrows. 

Her expression turned to one of concern.

“Are you hard of hearing?” The girl spoke slowly and loudly.

Bucky almost had to cover his ears from the shrill and very high tone of the girl. 

“I am not hard of hearing.” Bucky finally responded. 

“Then why didn’t you respond?” Little miss pigtails crosses her arms over her chest. “I asked you: may I help you?” 

His right eye accompanied his left one in twitching.

After he didn’t respond, the little girl scribbled something down on a paper in front of her. 

“What are you writing?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, how can a person so small get on his nerves so quickly?

“I can’t tell you.” She said in a singsong tone. 

“Why not?”

“You’re not my patient.” She shrugs, rounding the nurse’s bay holding a pink unicorn lunch box, coming face to face with The Winter Soldier. Actually it was more like coming face to knee height. “Can’t talk to people who aren’t my patients. Doctor patient villigage.”

Bucky bit his bottom lip to conceal a smile. “I think you mean doctor patient privilege.” 

“How would you know? You’re not my patient.” The little girl swung her lunchbox, skipping all the way to the waiting room. 

He was equally shocked and impressed. This little girl had more balls than most of the agents he worked with. 

Bucky looked around the med bay for anyone who knew the girl. Mom, dad, cousin, hell he’d even settle for a dog. 

With a groan, he followed behind her. Sure, he was a dickhead but he couldn’t let a kid wander around the Avengers med bay all by herself. 

She sat down, opening the lunch box and taking the contents out.

Bucky couldn’t help but think it was cute how her feet didn’t reach the floor. As he came closer, her swinging feet hit him in the shins. 

He let out an obviously fake and over the top groan, throwing himself on the floor. 

The little girl covered her mouth but her giggles bubbled around the room. 

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” Bucky asked from his position on the ground. “That really hurt.”

“No it didn’t!” She laughed harder. 

“Yes it did!” 

“I know nothing can hurt you!” She said as her giggles died down. “I know who you are.”

“You do, huh?” Bucky sat next to her.

“Mhm.” She said proudly, taking a bite out of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “But my mommy says I can’t repeat the names she calls you.”

Bucky suddenly felt embarrassed. Dickhead, motherfucker, bastard, asshole had a whole different meaning now that he knew the little girl thought they were synonymous to Bucky.

“Well then,” Bucky cleared his throat. “I should reintroduce myself. My name is James Buchanan Barnes but people usually call me Bucky.”

The little girl placed her tiny hand in his and shook it. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name so, you can call me Bee.”

Bucky nodded his head once, he almost didn’t notice the peanut butter she’d smeared on his hand. “Well Bee, does you mommy or daddy work here?”

Bee shrugs her shoulders. “Can’t tell you.”

He takes a deep breath in. “Can you tell me how you got here?”

“Nope.” She takes another bite of her sandwich. 

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been here?”

“Nuh uh.”

Bucky runs a hand over his face. “Is this because of the doctor patient privilege?” 

“Yep.” Bee smiles up at him and this time Bucky can’t help but smile back. A blooming feeling erupted in his chest. 

Bucky looked down at his hand, trying to find his most surface level wound. Something that wouldn’t traumatize the girl who’s no more than seven years old. 

“Dr. Bee, I need your help. Do you have anything for this cut?” Bucky points to the small cut on his knuckle. She didn’t have to know how it came to be, or who’s cheekbone had caused it.

“Thertainly Mr. Bucky.” Bee’s missing front teeth were responsible for her lisp. She jumped off of the chair and hurried behind the nurse’s station.

She swiftly wrapped his knuckles in gauze. 

“Do you need me to look over your other arm?” Bee asked sincerely.

“I don’t think you can help with this one.” Bucky chuckled, knocking on the vibranium. “Unless you have anti rust spray.”

Bee threw her head back with laughter but the cute sound was cut short by a door slamming open. 

His mind went blank the second he saw her. Bucky couldn’t peel his eyes off of her, even his jaw went slack. He tried to memorize every single detail of her. Her hair, her eyes, her body, the blue scrubs she wore. 

“Bee!” She gasped, taking the little girl in her arms. “You almost gave me a heart attack, I told you to stay in the common room!”

“Don’t worry mommy!” She smiles up at the woman who’s taken Bucky’s mind hostage. “I’ve been with Bucky!”

The woman finally looks over at Bucky and he’s sure the world has stopped. 

But reality comes crashing down when her eyes lose some of their light. 

“Mr. Barnes.” She gasps, pulling Bee to stand behind her body. “I’m so terribly sorry about her, she wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bucky gulps down the nervous feeling in his throat. He can’t help but feel like the biggest idiot in this universe. 

All he’s done for the past few years is be cold, and rude, and now the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, who’s got the cutest most outspoken daughter in the tri state area, is apologizing. 

His brain runs out of words and he just stands there. 

Bucky keeps quiet as the woman sutures up the wound on his arm, he’d completely forgotten about it. 

“Bee’s your daughter?” He manages to speak up after a few minutes. 

The woman nods with a smile, keeping her eyes on his wound but Bucky begs the cosmos she looks up at him, even if it’s just for a second. He wouldn’t care if she messes up, if it means their eyes could meet.

Bucky’s kept himself away from feelings for years. He convinced himself he doesn’t need them. But in a quick thirty minutes, Bee and her amazingly beautiful mother have stirred up more emotions than he’s had in the last two decades. 

“She-“ Bucky clears his throat. “She mentioned you’ve got a wide array of names for me.” 

Her cheeks burned red. “Bee must be mistaken, she’s got a crazy imagination. Always coming up with the strangest things-“

Bucky bit his bottom lip. “I’m used to it.”

The woman gulped, finally looking up at him. 

“I’m really sorry about the names.” She whispers. 

“It’s okay, darling.” Bucky’s eyes travel from hers to her lips. “But for next time, ‘Bucky’ is just fine.”

She nods, looking back to his wound. 

“And you are-“

“(Y/n).” She says. 

Bucky’s sure he’s never heard someone with a name as beautiful as hers. 

“You’re all patched up.” (Y/n) takes a step away from Bucky. “I’ll finish your report, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do.”

Bucky stumbles on his feet as he stands up. Embarrassed, he walks straight to the door but stops before leaving the medbay. 

“(Y/n)?” He turns on his heel. “Would you please tell Dr. Bee I appreciated her help?”

The light in (Y/n)’s eyes returned as she nodded. 

Bucky left the med bay feeling lighter than ever before and he couldn’t help but think a certain little bee had everything to do with it. 

Comments and feedback is greatly appreciated!!

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play  nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks. 

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind  "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

[buckyalpine]

Edit to add: thought it saved with tw, non con, dark winter soldier

I wanna fuck the beefy winter soldier who uses me like a sex doll, just a hole to fuck. I want him to shove it in whenever he wants, fully focused on pleasuring his dick and nothing else. He’s chasing that pleasure at the tip of his pink cock that feels so good, grunting and groaning, wide touch hands holding you down in place.

Imagine he comes to finish a mission, breaking into a large mansion in the middle of the night only to find no ones home except the sweet little maid, still dressed in her tiny uniform, finishing up in the master bedroom.

You freeze on the spot, ready to beg him to spare your life as he shut the door behind him, swiftly locking it. He's programed to kill but you're evoking something new inside him. He feels pressure between his legs, his cock aching with need, a new desperate desire he needs to quench.

You know that scene with the red henley, his thick, muscular body throwing others around with 0 effort. I want that but with no clothes on. Clothes make his body feel too hot. He takes it all off when he stalks over to you, rock hard cock bobbing between his legs when he grabs and throws you over his shoulder. He might as well be an animal, precum dripping from the head down to the floor from your smell alone.

He’s absolutely unhinged.

Hasn’t had an orgasm in years.

Nearly nonverbal as he gets ready to take what he wants.

Your heart races, too scared to cry while he shoves your legs apart, groaning at your sweet scent. He tears your clothes off with his bare hands before experimentally pumping his cock, moaning at the bit of relief it gives him.

He needs more.

"P-Please-please no-Oh God!" You cry out as he shoves his cock in with one swift motion, pounding you with no remorse, grunting and panting, inhaling the scent of your perfect and something distinctly you as he snarls against your neck.

It feels so good, the serum in his veins making his cock swell with each thrust, thick drops of precum already marking you from the inside. His sole focus is to get rid of the achy feeling in his dick by using you, wanting to stop the heavy feeling in his balls. They're too heavy, too swollen, too full, it fucking hurts and your cunt feels so good, wrapped around his cock.

He moans louder with each thrust, pleasure licking up his spine, your needy little squeals just adding to how good it all feels. He loves the sting of your nails scratching down his arms, your tight pussy quivering and fluttering around him.

He sits back on his heels to watch the sight of his cock going in and out, your sensitive button throbbing between your legs. He gives it a flick, fucking you harder when he realizes touching you there makes you scream. He flicks and rubs at it wildly, loving how much tighter you get when he does that.

He gives you no warning when he pulls out and manhandles you till your face is pushed into the mattress with your ass high in the air, his cock reaching a much deeper angle in this position. He grabs onto your hips with both hands and slams you to meet the sharp snap of his hips, muttering something in a language you don't understand.

You can tell he's close, feeling him harden further inside you, his pace starting to falter. He's panting harder, head thrown back feeling that release get closer and closer. He gives you a final harsh thrust before burring himself in as deep as he could go, letting out a deep guttural moan as he starts to spill into you, his hot cum pouring out endlessly.

He wants to stop but he can't, waves of pleasure continuing to wash over him each time he thinks he's almost done, letting your body go limp while he flops on top and practically ruts and humps himself until he's finally soft and spent. He pulls out, searing the sight of his seed dripping out to memory before throwing his clothes back on. The empty feeling makes you whimper.

"moya khoroshaya devochka" [my good girl] he murmurs before leaving, already deciding he's ready to go rogue just to add this location to his list of places to revisit.

-

This wasn't meant to be part of the story but imagine he does come back to take what he wants and you let him. A few weeks later you feel insanely nauseous, throwing up every time you eat, exhausted and constantly wanting to nap.

When he sneaks in again, your scent in different and he knows. You're confused when he doesn't ravish you. Instead he wordlessly puts his hand on your belly. You look at him with confusion, especially when he picks you up softly and puts you to bed instead, keeping his hand back on your tummy.

"nash malysh" [our baby] he says softly and slowly, hoping you'd understand. Of course you quickly piece it together, only snapping out of your shock feeling his cold metal hand cup your cheek.

He makes love to you that night.

He's not sure why. He knows he has to be gentle with you. He should end you, end this mess before it goes any further but its too late. He's soft and slow. He holds you close and moves with such care, giving you deep thrusts with the roll of his hips. He lets his hands lace with yours, pinning you against the bed, squeezing them comfortingly as if to let you know he's not going anywhere.

He knows he doesn't have a lot of time. You'll be showing soon.

He'll figure something out.

Idk why tf I can't just write fics with the winter soldier where he fucks and leaves. It always ends with some stupid fluff which I didn't intend to add.

[slutt4lovee]

friends (b.b.)

𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒 - 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 - 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 2356

warnings: NO SMUT, just cutesy fluff, maybe just a tiny bit of angst but not really, nothing really to warn about. might be some typos and shit but at this point y'all should be expecting this from my dyslexic ass.

summary: After being friends with Bucky for years, you finally get the confession you've been dreaming of.

Being Bucky's friend isn't really as great as Steve made it seem. Sure, Bucky is caring and funny and fiercely protective of the things and people that he loves. Yes, he's funny and charming and everything good in the world, but he is also arrogant and cocky and so emotionally repressed that you're not even sure he knows what feelings are anymore.

Being Bucky's friend means that you're also the Winter Soldier's best friend and that is a horrible feeling. Not because of the fact that he is the Winter Soldier but more so because the Winter Soldier has a fucking martyr complex. Despite the fact that Bucky is an amazing person who you think encompasses every good aspect of the world, he's an incredible dumbass. Not just a regular dumbass, the kind of fucking idiot that thinks everyone else, everything else is more important than him. The kind of idiotic person that thinks everyone but him is worth saving, the kind who runs head first into danger because he genuinely doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he saves someone. Bucky is the type of imbecile that would run into a building, knowing it was rigged with explosives just to save a cat.

Bucky may be one of the best people you've ever met, but being his friend is horrible.

It's caring so intensely for someone who doesn't even care about himself. It's not being able to see or even speak to him for weeks or months because he's off on some insanely stupid mission to save the fucking world or something stupid like that. It's him constantly thinking he's some kind of invincible god and you having to remind him over and over and over that he's not. No matter how much he might look like one. It's trying to convince someone that hates his entire fucking existence that he deserves every soft, sappy thing in the world no matter how much he thinks he doesn't.

But worst of all it's being in love with a complete fucking idiot who doesn't even think he's worthy of love. You'd take all the anxiety, the panic, the dread, the crying and worry a million times over if you could just not be in love with that complete fucking dumbass. Or if you could maybe convince him that he deserves all the love in the fucking world.

—

You can't sleep, never can when he's gone. Some stupid romance movie you've seen about a hundred times plays on your tv—a feeble attempt to keep your mind off Bucky. To keep your mind from imagining what he's doing on his mission and all the ways it could go horribly wrong.

It doesn't really work.

It's almost impossible to keep him out of your mind. When you're not worrying about all the ways he could be killed, you're pining after him in the worst fucking way.

Just staring mindlessly at the screen daydreaming about him and the way his clothes always fit just right, just enough to give you a good view of his muscles without being too tight. And the way he looks in his stupidly attractive one armed outfits he wears on missions—which shouldn't be so fucking hot, but it is, it really fucking is. And his lips, just everything about them, their shape, their pretty pink color, the way they look so fucking soft all the god damned time. And that boyish, way too endearing, smirk of his that makes your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest. And his hands and the way they feel against your skin, rough calloused fingers with a touch so soft it sends chills down your spine. And—and, God you're so fucking fucked about him.

He's your best friend, really one of your only friends, and yet you can't stop thinking about him doing filthy things—that he would probably never do—to you. It's horrible and dirty and disrespectful but you just can't stop, thinking about Bucky's mouth and if it's really as soft as it looks.

You smell him before you even hear him, woody smoke, and honey, mixed with sweat. You smile softly to yourself as he drops his bag to the ground with a little grunt. Your mind moves slowly, struggling through your lack of sleep to put pieces together. You're clumsily climbing over the back of the couch the second you realize he's really there.

"Bucky," You start to say, stumbling a little at the ungraceful way you dismount from the back of the couch. "What the fuck?" You ask, waving your hands up and down in his general direction.

He's not sure if you're questioning his appearance or his presence...maybe both. You're not really sure either.

"I just got back," He mutters, words dripping with exhaustion as his arms slip lazily around your waist, making you trip over your own feet as he pulls you into his chest.

"You didn't text," You whisper, matching the soft tone of his voice as you slide your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He doesn't respond right away, he pulls you closer instead, grabbing onto your shirt to keep you there as if you had any plans on letting go. He makes a soft, barely audible noise, as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you to him like he's scared you're just gonna disappear and the thought makes your chest ache. You tilt your head, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose presses into the top of his shoulder, your lips just barely touching the leather on his jacket. Your nose floods with his scent, and you find yourself wishing you could capture it and keep it forever. He smells like camping in the summer, like searching for bugs and plants and pretty rocks in the woods, like staring up at the sky and pointing out the prettiest ones.

He smells likehome, warm and cozy and safe.

Slowly it feels like every ounce of worry and dread is leached out of your body. He's home, he's safe, he's here in your arms and nothing else fucking matters. This is the good part, this right here, all the worrying and sleepless nights are worth it just for this feeling. This happy sort of peaceful relief you get every time he comes back safe.

"M'sorry," He mutters after a few seconds, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. "Jus' wanted to get home."

Your stomach twists at that, a giddy sort of feeling floating around in your stomach at his words. He came straight from his mission to you. Didn't stop at his place, didn't go to the compound, he came straight to you. Straight home to you.

"Took ya long enough." You whisper against his shoulder, voice light and teasing as his grip on your shirt tightens.

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell this one must've been rough on him. It's obvious from the way he's clutching your shirt like a lifeline. Holding you to his chest like he thought he'd never see you again, like he's scared to let go. You don't ask him about it, he'll talk when he's ready, but you do hold him just as tight as he holds you. Rub your hands along his back, over his shoulder, up the back of his neck, lingering the softest touches everywhere you can reach because you know it calms him down.

"S'good you came home, you were gone so long I was about to come lookin' for you." You tell him, smiling softly against his neck at the little snort he lets out.

He's quiet for a bit longer, just standing there with his arms around your waist, his hands clutching at your shirt like he's terrifiedyou're going to vanish. After a while he relinquishes your shirt and before you can even think about pulling away, not that you would, his hands are running down to the backs of your thighs.

"M'sorry," He murmurs into your neck, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist like you weigh absolutely nothing. "Came as quick as I could, darlin', didn't even get to shower or anything."

"Did you eat?" You ask softly, holding onto him a little tighter as he hooks his arms back around your waist.

He shakes his head and you start to offer to cook him something while he showers but he's walking in the direction of your bedroom before you can get a single word out. He nudges your bedroom door open with the toe of his boot without saying a word and it makes you frown because Bucky is never silent around you. Talks so damn much you started to think he just liked the sound of his own voice (really he just loved the sound of yours but he's not about to admit something that sappy).

"Do you want to eat?" You ask, voice all soft and sweet in a way that makes his head spin.

He shakes his head again and without even letting go of you, he falls forward onto your bed, sandwiching you between him and your mattress. He's heavy, dense, thick muscle directly on top of you, but you don't complain. You wouldn't dare tell him that he's crushing your fucking chest because then he'd let go and you don't want that.

He settles with his head on your chest, his ear pressed up against the center of it. Listening closely to the sound of your heart like he didn't believe it was real. His hand slips a little under the hem of your shirt but stays resting on your hip as if all he wanted was just to feel your skin.

He's silent for a while, laying so still that you almost think he's fallen asleep. You don't say anything either because what could you possibly say? You could tell him about work or something but you're almost certain he doesn't want to hear that.

"Thought you were dead..." He whispers as he nuzzles his face against the center of your chest. His hands squeeze at your hips and you can't shake the feeling that he's trying to make sure you're real.

You don't really know what to say to that either. You stroke your fingers through his hair and you swear you feel your heart break a little at the pain in his voice.

"God, I thought you were fucking dead..." His voice cracks a little this time and his arms wrap around your waist tight, too tight but you don't say a thing. You're happy to just let him squeeze the life out of you if it makes him feel even a little bit better. "They...they got in my head, made me see things...and all I could think about was that I never got the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You ask and you think your voice comes out a bit strained because he immediately loosens his grip.

"That I'm fucking in love with you," He forces out, voice rough with emotion as he shifts a little so that he's looking down at you.

Your heart fucking stops at his words and all you can do is just stare up at him like a complete fool. Cheeks flushing bright red and eyes wide as you stammer and choke on 16 different failed attempts at speech.

He loves you. No. He's in love with you.

"I thought you were dead and all I could think about was that you didn't know I loved you." He tells you, voice softening some as his eyes scan over your face. "All I wanted to fucking do was hold you and kiss you and just fucking touch you again and I know that's so fucking selfish of me but...fuck."

"You...love me?" Your voice comes out all meek and unsure as you look up at him. You're not even sure if your heart has started beating again because it feels like you could, very well, drop dead at any fucking second.

"Of course I do you fucking idiot." Bucky laughs and the sound is utterly heart wrenching to you. He tries to smile but it just looks so fucking sad that you want to cry.

And maybe he's right and you are a fucking idiot because you can't think of anything to say. You want to tell him you love him too but the words won't come up, they stick in the back of your throat and make you choke. All you can manage is to reach out, grab his face, and pull it down to yours in a pathetic excuse for a kiss.

He kisses you back instantly, taking control of the kiss, somehow calmer than you. His lips are soft and sweet against yours and nowhere near as clunky and uncoordinated as you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. He smiles a little against your near frantic lips, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.

It's not your first kiss, not even close, but you're so clumsy with it that it damn near feels like it. He hums against your lips like it's the best damn kiss he's ever had, strokes his thumb over your cheek and laughs when your teeth hit his.

You think he'll pull away, you would if you were him, but he doesn't. If anything he kisses you a bit harder, trying to take control of the kiss and guide your lips to work with his and it works wonders, you practically melt into it. He makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when you finally relax and then his tongue slides over your bottom lip and you melt all over again.

You've never been the biggest fan of tongue kissing, it's always just so wet and slimy and forceful. But there's something about the way Bucky's tongue slides so so softly across your bottom lip that has you parting your lips without a second thought. And you don't fucking regret it at all.

It doesn't feel all slimy and gross like you're used to. His tongue is soft and wet and there's a faint hint of sweet mint as he kisses you. One of his hands squeezes at your waist under your shirt and he fucking groans like kissing you is the best thing he's ever experienced.

He kisses you until you're both breathless, until your lips are raw and swollen and slick with spit.

His forehead presses against yours and his voice comes out all hoarse and raspy as he says, "Fuck, I could kiss you for fucking ever,"

You laugh at that and the noise is so soft and sweet that it makes his breath hitch. You flutter your eyes open, thumbs stroking at the side of his neck as you look up at his flushed face.

"I love you too," You whisper and God, the way he smiles sends a jolt of warm heat through your body. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I really fucking do."

[lila-lou]

✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid���, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. “Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don’t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don’t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[shybluebirdninja]

Winter Shrink

Summary: When Bucky accidentally gets shrunk to the size of a cat by one of Tony’s gadgets, his girlfriend has to help him navigate life from a dollhouse while avoiding getting squished by her Roomba.

Pairing            : Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Girlfriend-Reader Genre             : Fluff

It started like any other day. Well, any other day when you’re dating a super-soldier who constantly gets roped into Stark’s science projects. You were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Bucky burst through the door with that serious look on his face — the one that usually meant some weird shit had gone down.

“Hey babe,” he called, his voice sounding... odd. You glanced up, expecting to see him in his usual towering, intimidating form. Except... you didn’t see him.

You blinked. “Bucky?”

“Down here.”

You looked down, and your jaw literally dropped. There he was, Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier himself, but he was no taller than a freaking cat. Maybe even smaller.

“Jesus Christ,” you gasped, covering your mouth in shock. “What the hell happened to you?”

Bucky, standing on your hardwood floor in his tiny combat boots, crossed his arms over his mini vibranium arm like he was still the most badass thing in the room. “Stark happened. Dumbass was messing with some size-reduction tech. Next thing I know, I’m fun-sized.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. Like, full-on hysterics.

Bucky’s tiny face twitched. “It’s not that funny.”

“Bucky, you’re like... like a doll!” you choked between giggles. “Oh my god, I can’t breathe.”

“Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” he muttered, looking thoroughly unimpressed as he stomped over to the leg of the coffee table. Which, at his current size, was basically the height of a damn tree.

You wiped away a tear, trying to regain your composure. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But seriously, how long are you gonna be like this?”

Bucky glanced up at you, his tiny hands on his hips. “Tony said a few hours, maybe more.”

“Oh great,” you said, trying not to laugh again. “So what, I just have to babysit mini-Bucky until he figures it out?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky grumbled. “I’m still the Winter Soldier, doll. Just… compact.”

You snorted. “Right, right. You’re so scary right now.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened, but before he could say anything else, you heard a low hum from the other room. Your eyes widened in realization. The Roomba.

“Shit, Bucky, move!”

“What—?”

You darted forward just as the Roomba rounded the corner like a robot assassin, heading straight for Tiny Bucky. He turned, eyes going wide as the thing came barreling toward him.

“Seriously? A fucking Roomba?!” Bucky yelped, diving out of the way just in time.

You snatched him up in one hand, clutching him to your chest like an action figure while the Roomba buzzed past. “Holy crap, you almost got squished.”

Bucky’s tiny heart was pounding against your fingers, but he quickly brushed it off, trying to act like he hadn’t just narrowly avoided death by robot vacuum. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” you teased, still holding him in your hand like a living GI Joe. “Should I get you a dollhouse or something? You know, so you have a safe base of operations.”

Bucky shot you a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But the idea of him living in a dollhouse was just too good to pass up. You carried him over to the coffee table and gently set him down, making sure to keep him out of Roomba’s range.

“So,” you said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, “what’s the plan, Mini Barnes? Just hang out and hope Tony doesn’t take his sweet time fixing you?”

Bucky, who had climbed onto a nearby book to avoid feeling like a speck on the table, shrugged. “Guess so. But if that thing—” he nodded toward the Roomba, still mindlessly circling the living room, “—comes near me again, I’m taking it out.”

You grinned. “I’d love to see that. You, taking down a Roomba with your tiny fists.”

Bucky flexed his mini vibranium arm like it was still the deadliest weapon in the world. “Don’t underestimate me just ‘cause I’m fun-sized.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not,” you said, smirking. “You’re still pretty intimidating... you know, for a dude who’s shorter than my coffee mug.”

He sighed, running a hand through his shrunken hair. “This is fucking humiliating.”

“Come on, Bucky, it’s kinda cute.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and if looks could kill, well, you’d probably still be alive because it was hard to take him seriously when he was that size. “Cute?”

You nodded, grinning. “Yep. Cute. Like a little tough-guy action figure.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully. “I’m taking pictures later, too.”

He glared at you again. “If you do, I’ll—”

“What? Glare at my ankles?”

“Doll.”

You giggled, leaning down so you were eye level with him, his tiny face practically vibrating with frustration. “Okay, okay, I’ll cut you some slack… for now.”

Bucky, finally giving up on the idea of intimidating you, collapsed onto the table like a dramatic action figure who just lost his day job. “This better wear off soon. I’m not built for this.”

“Well, you are built small now,” you teased, earning yourself another mini-death-glare.

You were still laughing to yourself when the Roomba buzzed by again, and Bucky, from his spot on the table, narrowed his eyes. “That thing’s mocking me.”

You had to physically hold yourself back from laughing again. “Maybe it is. Maybe the Roomba’s the real enemy here.”

Bucky crossed his arms, staring the Roomba down like he was ready to declare war. “First Stark, then the Roomba. Everyone’s out to get me.”

“Well, at least you’ve still got me, soldier.” You winked at him, leaning back on your hands. “I’ll protect you from the big, bad vacuum.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, sure, doll. Whatever you say.”