#romantic bucky

[sjsmith56]

None Shall Sleep

Summary: Bucky comes to the aid of his neighbour one night when he hears her crying after breaking something in her apartment.

Length: 5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, named but not described OFC, minor OFC, Pepper Stark.

Warnings: Description of eye surgery (personal experience), trust issues, Bucky feeling inadequate, health insurance company assholes.

Author notes: Inspired by this video of a tenor who sang Nessun Dorma (from the opera Turandot) accompanied by a flash mob orchestra in a German bookstore. The video showed up on my FB feed but I’ve always loved this piece, as it’s full of passion. My description of the opera is taken from the internet. https://fb.watch/pE60YHrtsM/? I’ve been to one opera in my life (La Boheme) which I enjoyed. Bucky is a big softy in this one shot which ends very romantically.

👁️ 🎶 🌖

Sam carried the last box into Bucky's new Brooklyn apartment, taking note of the high ceilings and windows this place had, compared to his old place, the small studio apartment.  With the settlement for his back pay, and damages for what had been done to him awarded from the now unfrozen assets of Alexander Pierce and several other high ranking HYDRA officials, James Buchanan Barnes was finally in a position to live in a manner that he deserved.  Buying this apartment was the start of his new beginning.  He also had plans to take some college courses so that he could prepare for a life that didn't involve using just his physical attributes.

"This is really nice, Bucky," he said, as his friend came out of the bathroom with an empty box, pulling the tape off the bottom so he could flatten it.  "Pepper found this place for you?"

He looked around.  "Yeah, it is nice.  Still has enough of the old features like hardwood floors and finishes, vintage claw foot tub in the master ensuite bathroom, mosaic floor tiles in both bathrooms.  Feels familiar but it's mostly modern so it should last a long time.  Not sure how the other owners feel about me living here but no one's said anything yet."

"Why would they?" Bucky scowled without answering.  "Hey, your money is as good as theirs.  You're quiet, you're not a criminal, and honestly, it will likely make criminals think twice about trying to break in.  I'm sure you'll be attuned to everyone's coming and goings pretty quickly."

"You calling me a busybody?" 

At least he said it with a grin.  It was true.  His bad sleeping habits meant he was often awake at night, watching out the window for anything out of the ordinary.  Knowing his neighbour's habits came easily to him but wasn't always understood or appreciated by them.  Still, his previous landlord and Pepper Stark wrote character references for him when he first applied to buy in the building.

A week later he had met several neighbours, finding most of them quite nice.  It surprised him on the one night when he heard crying from his nearest neighbour's apartment, a woman he hadn't met yet.  At first, he listened carefully for any sounds of fighting or abuse, but it sounded more like frustration than anything else.  Then he heard the sounds of something breaking and jumped out of bed.  Approaching her door, he listened carefully again then knocked before speaking.

"Hello?  Is everything alright?  I heard the sound of something breaking."

He could hear the sounds of someone approaching the door.

"Who are you?" Her voice sounded both anxious and upset.

"Bucky Barnes.  I just moved in next door.  I could hear you crying but tonight sounded like you broke something.  I can help."

"Fuck."  He could barely hear her swear.  "Hope he's not an asshole."

With the sound of her locating the locks and turning them, he waited, only to be surprised by the sight of a woman with both eyes heavily bandaged.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she said, extending her hand outwards, not quite in the right direction.  "As you can see I have temporarily lost my sight.  I'm supposed to have someone to help me but they haven't showed up for the past two nights and that's left me trying to fend for myself."

He took her hand gently in his, squeezing it then releasing it.

"Well, I'm here and I can help you if you wish."

"I know I broke something, and I stepped on it."  She lifted one foot, that seemed cut open.  Spreading her hands helplessly, she began to cry again.  "Could you just help me?"

"I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom," replied Bucky.  "You have cut your foot.  I can take care of bandaging that.  Then I'll clean up what you broke.  After that, we'll see what more I can do for you, okay?"

She allowed him to pick her up in his arms, carrying her into her bathroom, where he placed her on the counter.  Returning to his place for his first aid kit, since she only had a kit of bandages for her eyes, he gently cleaned her foot in the sink, then checked the wound for any pieces of the broken glass.

"What's your name?" he asked, as he applied some antiseptic to it.

"Roberta," she replied.

"That's a pretty name," he smiled.  "How long have you lived here?"

"About a year.  I sublet from the owner.  You just moved in?"

"Yeah, a week ago.  If it's not too personal, may I ask about your eyes?"

She lowered her head.  "I was mugged, hit my head pretty hard on the pavement.  It gave me a concussion and partially detached the retinas in both eyes, so I had to have surgery to fix them.  It sounds kind of gruesome, but they had to empty the eyeball of the vitreous gel to do it, then used a laser to seal the tears, and then a bubble of gas to reinflate the eye was inserted to keep the retina in place.  As the gas is absorbed into the body, the eye replaces the gel with new liquid, but it takes about six weeks for it to heal properly.  This past week I had to sleep on my stomach at the hospital, face down so that the bubble stayed at the back of the eyeball and kept the retina from detaching again.  I had an aide to help me at night for the first two nights when I was released, to make sure I didn't flip over onto my back, but she didn't show up last night or tonight.  Since I can't see, I can't call my insurance company to find out what happened to her and the woman they got for the daytime doesn't speak much English.  She just cooks and cleans for me."

He listened, fascinated by the medical process that would restore her vision, knowing that during the 1930s the success rate for repairing that was abysmal. 

"When were your eye dressings last changed?" 

"Two nights ago," answered Roberta.  "I was trying to do it myself because it felt gross, but I knocked something over and it broke."  She lowered her head as if she was looking at the floor.  "I just feel so helpless.  I'm sorry I woke you up."

Once again, he took her hand in his.

"I'm a lousy sleeper and was already awake.  You stay here while I clean up then I'll see if I can help change your dressings.  Is that okay?"

She nodded, waiting patiently for her neighbour to return.  At least he sounded nice.  Bucky wasn't a common name, perhaps it was a nickname.  Carefully, she listened as she heard him sweep a broom over the floor and into a dustpan.  The running of water was followed by the sound of a cloth being wiped over the floor, presumably to clean up the blood from the cut in her foot.  Then she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Just me," he said, before he entered.  "Everything's cleaned up out there.  Now, how do I take care of your eyes?"

She told him to boil some water first and let it cool, then add a little salt to help with cleaning.  He left coming back a few minutes later.  He washed his hands, then unwrapped the larger bandage which released the plastic eye shields that protected her eyes.  Under them were gauze pads, which he carefully peeled off.  All she saw was the light of the bathroom, and the bubble of gas inside her eyes which kept her repaired retinas in place.  Everything else was blurred or distorted.

"It's pretty red," said Bucky, his face close enough to hers for her to smell his aftershave.  "Is that normal?"

"Well, it's pretty invasive eye surgery so I guess it is.  If you could take some clean gauze and dip it in the boiled water, as long as it's not too hot, you can clean the guck off, gently."

Patiently, she waited as he did as he was told, slightly surprised at how gently he cleansed her damaged eyes.  She noticed the sound of whirring and that one of his hands was warm and the other cold, which she brought up.

"I have a prosthetic arm and hand," he explained, hesitantly at first.  "It's a very high tech one.  I'm kind of the only person in the world with one like it.  It functions almost like normal, but they can't make it feel warm, or mask all the sounds it makes.  I'm thankful for it but I worry about how people see it."

Roberta smiled.  "Good thing I could only hear it and feel it then," she said.  "Although, I bet it's impressive looking.  Is it a prototype?"

"I guess," he admitted, then she was aware his face was further away.  "Okay, that looks better.  What's next?"

"There's a tube of ointment," said Roberta.  "If you pull the lower eyelid out, you can squeeze a small portion into each one and distribute it a bit.  That's to heal the incisions."  She waited while he did it.  "Okay, new gauze to cover my eyes, then the shields over top.  Just check that the shields are clean.  They can be cleaned with soap and water if they have anything on them."

She smiled as she heard the sound of water, assuming that the shields needed cleaning.  Then they were placed over her eyes, and she held them in place as Bucky wrapped the bandages around her head to keep them there.  By his silence, other than his breathing which seemed to shift slightly as if he was moving his head, Roberta assumed he was checking his handiwork.

"How is that?" he asked.

"Feels great," she answered.  "Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?  I'm guessing anything involving the eyes are out."

"I wouldn't mind listening to some music," she answered.  "My phone is around here somewhere.  If you could open the playlists, I could choose one.  You're welcome to stay if you're not sleepy."

She felt his warm arm circle around her waist as he helped her off the vanity, then he placed her hand on his arm as he led her out to the living room, telling her when they were a couple of steps away from the couch.  He joined her a moment later, as he placed her phone in her hand.

"Needs to be unlocked."

"Oh, it's set to Face ID which won't work with these bandages.  If I give you the code, do you promise not to go snooping?"

"Scout's honour." She could just feel the smile from him.

After giving him the code she waited while he opened her playlists, then he began listing them off.  When he got to her guilty pleasure one of opera, she told him to choose that.

"I'm a bit weird, I know," she joked.  "Not many people my age like opera but it was something my dad and I would do every time the Met put on a new one.  We always had discount tickets, would go for dinner, then to the opera.  Dad loved it and it was time well spent with him before he died."

"I'm sorry.  You must miss him."

"I do.  He died of cancer just five years ago." 

The sounds of La Traviata came on and he smiled as she relaxed, slightly leaning into him.  She quickly told him the plot of the opera and encouraged him to close his eyes and lose himself in the singing.  There were several other arias from other pieces that played then another came up and she straightened a bit.

"This is one of my favourites," she said.  "It's called Nessun Dorma, from Turandot.  A disguised prince falls in love with a princess who is indifferent to him.  To win her hand a suitor must solve three riddles, but if he gets any of them wrong, then he will be executed.  The prince succeeds but she still refuses him, so he challenges her to guess his real name, which would allow her to put him to death.  If she doesn't then she must marry him."

"Does she?" asked Bucky.

"That's the mystery behind this opera," said Roberta.  "The composer, Puccini, didn't finish it as he died, so no one really knows if he meant this to have a happy ending or a tragic ending.  This piece, Nessun Dorma, means none shall sleep, as the princess commands everyone to put aside sleep and find out the prince's real name.  Whether she found out and chose to reveal it or not is one of the great mysteries of Turandot.  Both endings have been used, written by other composers."

He listened with her, finding it a stirring piece of music.  As they listened to several more, he became aware of her breathing becoming deeper and more regular.  Roberta had fallen asleep.  Gently, he extracted himself from beside her then remembered what she said about sleeping with her repaired eyes.  Going to the linen closet he pulled out some towels and rolled them into position on her bed, to surround her face, keeping it off the surface of the sheets.  Then he returned to the couch and gently lifted her into his arms.  She whimpered a little and buried her face in his chest.

"You smell good," she whispered, sleepily.  "I like it."

"Thank you," he whispered back.

Gently, he positioned her face down, making sure that she was set in a way that was comfortable but allowed her to breathe.  Then he covered her up with her bedcovers and turned off the light.  Returning to his apartment, he laid on the couch, falling asleep until the morning.

Knowing that Roberta wanted to phone the insurance company about the aide not showing up, Bucky woke up early then listened carefully to any signs of the young woman getting up.  When she did, he went over and knocked on the door, waiting as she approached.  Instead, it was another woman who opened it and he looked at her a little surprised.  She spoke Spanish, identifying herself as Maria, the daytime helper who cooked for Miss Roberta.  Addressing her in Spanish, Bucky identified himself, waiting while she checked with Roberta before she let him in. 

"I thought you might want me to help phone the insurance company," he said when she came out of the kitchen.  "Find out what happened to your night-time aide.  I also speak Spanish if you want me to tell Maria anything."

"Yes please, to both," said Roberta.  "Thank you for putting me to bed last night.  I actually had a good sleep because of how you arranged the towels.  How did you know how to do it?"

He shook his head.  "Just seemed right."

She gave some instructions for Maria, which he passed on, then dialled her insurance company for her, placing the phone on speaker so she could talk to the agent.  When she told them the aide hadn't shown up for two nights they disputed her account, saying the woman had clocked in.  Bucky frowned as he listened then asked if he could speak.

"Hi, I'm Roberta's neighbour," he started.  "I can't say about Monday, but your aide was definitely not here last night because I heard Roberta crying after she broke something and cut her foot open.  I looked after her, cleaning her eyes and changing her dressing.  She wouldn't be phoning to complain if your employee actually showed up, don't you think?"

"Well, our employees are very professional and whose to say that you aren't lying on behalf of Miss Paxton?" said the woman on the other end.

Roberta's face reddened when she heard that, and Bucky felt his own irritation grow at the insinuation.

"Well, why don't I give you the name of someone to verify my identity," he said.  "If you would be so kind to contact Pepper Stark at Stark Industries, I'm sure she can vouch for me."

"Your name, sir?"

"Bucky Barnes, currently one of the Avengers.  My full name is James Buchanan Barnes."

There was no sound from the insurance agent for a moment.  Then there was a little cough, and she came back on.

"I will make that call and get back to you, Mr. Barnes," she said.  "Will you be at this number?"

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere." 

He hung up and placed the phone on the table.  There was silence between them until Roberta extended her hand towards him.  Gently, he took it and held it.

"You're really him?  I didn't quite hear your last name when you came in last night."

"Yeah, I'm him, the former Winter Soldier.  Once we get this cleared up, I won't come around anymore, if my presence makes you uncomfortable."

"No, I mean, I would like it if you came over.  I enjoyed your company.  You were kind to me and let me talk about opera and never once interrupted.  That's more than most men have ...." 

She coughed, then began to cry and Bucky reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, then looked at it, realizing her eyes were still bandaged.  Maria looked at him, whispering in Spanish that perhaps an arm around the young woman would be acceptable.  With a slight smile to her he did just that and pulled Roberta close.

"I'm sorry.  I'm kind of predisposed to being rejected and kind of jumped the gun on your reaction to who I was."

His phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket, seeing that it was Pepper.  He explained to her why the insurance company was calling, smiling as she expressed dismay that they would leave a woman without home care when she was basically helpless because she couldn't see.

"If they don't send anyone, I'm happy to help her," he said to Pepper.  "Roberta is very nice, and we got along just fine."

"Well, if they don't send someone, or if no one comes, you let me know, and I'll hire a small team myself to help her out."

He passed on the message to Roberta, who thanked Pepper profusely, then hung up, expecting to receive a call from the insurance company.  When it still didn't come an hour later, they phoned again, were put on hold then the call was dropped.  At that time, Maria came out of the kitchen with her phone, looking like she had bad news.  With a halting voice, she told Bucky she was laid off, as Miss Paxton's insurance policy had been cancelled.  Worriedly, she looked between Bucky and Roberta.

"Hold on, Maria," he said in Spanish.  "You won't be laid off, I promise.  Wait with Miss Paxton while I make another call."

After telling Roberta he had to make a private call he headed out to the hallway and called Pepper to pass on what he had learned.  She swore profusely, then he heard a large exhale of breath from the executive. 

"Alright, I'm assembling a team to take over Miss Paxton's care, and you tell Maria she now works for Stark Industries starting at twice the measly pay they were probably giving her.  Then I'm calling my lawyer and getting them on the sudden cancellation of her policy.  They can't do that, and I won't let them get away with it if I have to buy the company myself.  Don't you worry, Bucky.  We'll take care of Miss Paxton while you're on mission."  She hesitated for a moment.  "Okay, I wasn't supposed to say anything, but you'll be getting a call shortly."

Returning to the apartment, he broke the news gently to Roberta, then assured her that she would be looked after.  He also told Maria she still had a job, with Stark Industries, sending the woman into her own joyful expressions that someone would do that for her.  As she thanked him enthusiastically for his help, he received his mission alert from the Avengers and looked at the readout.  He had six hours to report for duty.

"Well, I have some sad news," he stated.  "I'm being called out for a mission, but you can take Pepper Stark's insistence on a team to look after you as the complete truth.  She'll make sure you're taken care of while I'm gone."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know but we can talk whenever I have a chance," he replied.  "Give me your phone and I'll put my information in."

He entered his information in her phone then did the same to his.  Then they sat together on the couch.  Her hand slowly inched its way towards his and he held her hand while they waited.  An hour later, the doorbell rang, and the first member of Roberta's care team, Julie, arrived, along with a contract for Maria to sign that she explained fully to the woman.  He stood up, then began to walk towards the door.

"Bucky, can I see you privately for a moment?" asked Roberta, then she blushed and grinned.  "You know what I mean."

Julie took Maria into the kitchen, leaving the couple alone.  Hesitantly, Robert lifted her hands towards Bucky, and he took them, holding them in his hands.  She stepped closer, until there was barely any space between them.  Raising one hand to his face, she cupped his cheek as he watched her intently.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she murmured.  "You're a very nice man."  He began to protest but she placed her fingers on his lips, and he instinctively kissed them, bringing a smile to her lips.  "You are a nice man and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  When you get back, I would like to see you again.  I don't know many nice men and I kind of want to keep you around."

If she could have seen it, his smile likely would have dazzled her.  With his free hand he brushed some hair over her shoulder then leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I would like to see you again, Roberta," he answered.  "You're a very nice lady and I don't know many.  You let them take care of you while I'm gone, okay?"

She nodded and they kissed again, for longer and with some feeling.  Then he caressed her face and left to get ready for his mission. 

Two months later.

Carefully, Bucky looked at himself in the mirror of his apartment, satisfied with his haircut and the trim of his beard.  After making sure his tie was right and that there were no white cat hairs on his black suit, he turned towards the window.  Alpine, the stray kitten he found on the mission and brought back with him, watched from her cat tree in front of the large window.  He confirmed he had his wallet and his car keys, then checked the inside pocket for the tickets, smiling at how excited Roberta would be when he told her where they were going.

"What do you think, Al?  Do I look good?"

A cross between a meow and a trill greeted him, confirming that he did indeed look good.  Leaving a light on in the living room, he gave the kitten a quick stroke on the head, then left, locking the door behind him and walking to the apartment next door.  He could hear opera playing in the apartment and smiled, then knocked loud enough to hear the music stop and footsteps approaching the door.  It was opened and for a moment he was dazzled at the vision in front of him.  Roberta was in a form fitting black dress that seemed to glitter like the night sky.  Its open neckline highlighted her collarbones, and a hint of décolletage completed the top part of the dress.  A long slit on one side showed off her shapely leg, along with the strappy-heeled sandals she wore.

"Wow!  You look amazing," he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.  "Pepper helped you get that dress, didn't she?"

Roberta blushed.  "Maybe.  We've become good friends, I think.  So, we must be going somewhere fancy because you're looking good as well."

"Darlin' I always look good," he grinned, then his face grew soft as he came closer.  "I mean it.  You look like a dream and I'm the luckiest guy alive."

They kissed and she used her thumb to wipe off the lipstick that transferred to his lips.  Taking her lipstick out of her clutch she reapplied it then waited as Bucky approached with her coat, helping her put it on.  They held hands on the elevator down to the parking garage, where Bucky held the car door open for her until she was belted in, and he got in behind the wheel.  As they passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, he told her to close her eyes so that it was a surprise.  When he pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Opera House, he reminded her to keep her eyes closed.  After helping her out, he handed his keys to the valet, then whispered in her ear.

"Open your eyes."

She opened them, ignoring the camera flashes from the paparazzi and seeing they were in front of the Metropolitan Opera House.  A big smile appeared on her face, and she looked up at him.

"It's Turandot, isn't it?" she asked.  "You got tickets?"

He nodded, then took her hand into the crook of his arm and began to walk to the entrance.  There were several calls of his name, and he stopped once, to the sounds and flashes of multiple cameras going off, then they turned away and continued inside.  After dropping off her coat at the coat check, they went up the staircase to the Parterre, where they were shown their seats, two in the front row of the left center box.  Two programs were already waiting for them, and he watched with an amused smile as she excitedly read it through.  When the music started, she watched the performance intently, occasionally glancing at him and squeezing his hand. 

At the intermission, they went out and ordered champagne for her, bourbon for him, sipping it as several celebrities approached them, introducing themselves.  Bucky was polite but reserved, his attention directed all towards Roberta.  The second half of the performance was just as enthralling as the first, especially when it came to the performance of Nessun Dorma, which drew a standing ovation and cries of "Bravo" for the tenor who sang it.  Bucky watched Roberta's face as she sat, enthralled at the whole experience.  When it ended and the theatre started to empty, she sat bright eyed, still staring at the stage until she turned to him.

"That was amazing," she enthused.  "I've never seen it before, and it was everything I ever hoped it would be.  Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, standing and offering her his hand.  "Now, we can go to dinner, or we can pick up some takeout and have it at your place.  I'm good either way.  Which do you prefer?"

"You really don't mind takeout?  These sandals are beautiful, but I'm not used to them, and I wouldn't mind changing into something more relaxing."

"Takeout it is," stated Bucky, as they approached the coatcheck and he helped her on with her coat. 

On the drive back to the apartment building, they held hands, stopping only when they picked up some Chinese food.  They were both quiet on the elevator ride to their floor.  Inside her apartment, Roberta left Bucky to open the containers as she disappeared into her bedroom, coming out in a pair of leggings and a soft tunic.  He took his jacket off, draping it over the back of the chair, then slipped his shoes off.  They both ate a good portion of their food, then Roberta winced when she stretched her one foot, noticing she had a blister forming.  Putting his food aside, Bucky switched positions on the couch and gestured for her foot, gently massaging it.  As he ran his hand over her foot, he rubbed her ankle then her calf muscle, watching her intently.

"Stop," she whispered.

He stopped.  Carefully, she shifted closer to him, ending up on his lap.  Looking at his tie, she loosened it enough to raise it over his head, then unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt, placing one of her hands on his upper chest. 

"Stop," he murmured.

She stopped, still perched on his lap, close enough that she was well aware of the warmth of his body radiating through his shirt and the hands that rested on her thighs, in addition to the bulge already forming in his pants.  They gazed at each other then Roberta leaned closer.

"None shall sleep," she said softly.

"You're sure?"

"Very sure."

Slowly, he ran his right hand up her body to her neck.  Placing his hand at the back of her neck he pulled her closer then wrapped his arms around her as they kissed passionately.  They explored each other's lips and mouths thoroughly, before pulling away, each of them a little breathless.  Lifting herself off of Bucky, Roberta went over to her phone and brought up the opera playlist then turned off the light and stood in front of the couch, offering him her hand.  He kissed it, then raised himself off and picked her up in his arms.

"You smell good."  Her eyes were luminous in the dark that was lit only by the moonlight coming in the floor to ceiling windows.  "I love you."

He smiled softly, kissing the top of her head.  "I love you, too."

To the sound of her favourite arias, Bucky carried Roberta into the bedroom where neither of them slept until much, much later.

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One shots Masterlist.

[sibylsleaves]

This is genuinely apropos of nothing but I am thinking about how annoying I find it when people insinuate that shipping is like, somehow diametrically at odds with being invested in a narrative for its own sake because like……I have rarely ever been interested in a ship that was not itself an expression of the narrative themes and character arcs. Investment in the narrative IS the very reason I care about a ship.

I feel like it makes no sense to pretend like these are entirely separate activities (although I understand for some people they are/can be) when to me MOST of the time, for most of the things I seriously ship, they are inextricable.

[kayberrie]

he was sunshine I was midnight rain

[imasexypotato]

John, drunk and trying to flirt: You look so biteable tonight

Gale, sober and enjoying this: How did you stay single for six years?

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?” 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*To anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

Series Masterlist

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This has been a fill for:

@anyfandomdarkbingo

Card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square N3: Body Swap

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[alienoresimagines]

*Buck and Bucky skipping stones* Buck: What a beautiful evening Bucky, whispering: take that you fucking lake

[punkbarnes2]

I made this little Mermay themed art for you, after struggling almost and hour to come up with a good idea and sketch, but it turned out very good, i loved the result and the process ✨ 

Fisherman Steve finds a different kind of creature in his net

- a little update on the art: i put some blue on the water splashes on the bottom, in comparison to the one i posted on Instagram

Support me on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/derwassermann

and commissions are open <3 see details here: https://punkbarnes2.carrd.co

[captaincapsicle83]

The Little Pests

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary- Sam’s friend, an IT worker for Stark Industries turned new recruit, has a crush on an avenger. Being a good wingman (hehe, get it?) does everything he can to get the reader and Bucky closer, even enlisting the help of other avengers.

It’s almost obnoxious actually.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (main romance, rest platonic), Sam Wilson x reader, Clint Barton x reader, avengers x reader

TW: Cursing, Sam and Clint being silly, “suicide” but like, it’s a bobs burgers reference (you’ll see)

A/N: I was bored, so I pushed aside EVERY OTHER WIP I should be working on (about eight separate ones), left all my drafts open, completely ignored my old, geriatric ideas, and wrote something off a whim

Behold, my capricious work of art

“And, this is our kitchen, that’s our toaster. The toaster is always broken don’t try to use it,” Sam says. His right arm is on your shoulder, the left gesturing around the room, showing you around he compound.

“Why doesn’t it-” You’re cut off by a man with light brown hair swatting the toaster with his fist.

“You whore! I want my poptart!” He grunts.

“He’s why,” Sam shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. Clint Barton; Hawkeye, Destroyer of toasters.

Clint whips around, disgust evident on his face, “Oh, no, no, no, Sir. Don’t act like I’m suddenly the only one to blame here. Take a look at Mr. Banner and his anger issues, the cyborg, or, better yet Sammy, look in the fucking mirror.”

You decided right then and there that you liked Clint. “Sammy” scowled at Barton, before motioning for you to sit at the table. He had already shown you around the rest of the compound, including your room, making the kitchen your last stop.

As Sam rummaged through the cupboards, Clint sat in a chair across from you, groaning and huffing like an old dad with aching joints (Clint couldn’t be more than in his thirties or fourties’).

“Are you here to fix the toaster?” He asks you, his voice sad and his eyes even sadder. He was like those little animals with big eyes of pleading in Disney films.

“No, I’m sorry. I could try,” you suggest the last part, and he perks up. He sits up straight in his chair, rather than sprawling, and shifted to drumming his hands on the table.

“Met anybody else yet?” He asks, Sam still looking for food with not much luck.

“Nada, just you and Sam,” You say, truthfully. You had honestly expected more traffic, but were just the same grateful to be mostly undisturbed.

“Oh, good, you’re lucky. After us, it all goes down hill,” He “tsk-tsk”’s. “Let’s give you a run down. There’s Bruce and Tony, they’re our brains. They don’t sleep. They’re, like, tier two after Sam and I. Also tier 2, we got Natasha and Wanda. They’re scary. I will not elaborate. Tier 3, Vision, Thor, Rhodes, Spider-Kid. Mostly uneventful around the compound, Visions here the most, other three not as much. Then there’s our senior citizens in the bottom tier. Steve and Bucket. If they were a spice, they’d be flour.”

The way Clint was talking, it felt like the scene in mean girls where Janice and Damien find Cary in the bathroom. You were giggly at his little hand motions and theatrical way of painting the scene.

“What makes you and Sam tier 1?” You ask, Sam coming over with two jars of peanut butter, spoons sticking out of them.

“Birds!” They both yell to each other. When you make a face at Sam’s offer of a jar of peanut butter, Clint takes it right away. You watch in wonder as the two bicker with each other, getting the feeling they were the only ones who found themselves to be “tier 1.”

***

You had been with the avengers for, say, about 7 months, finding it easy to make friends and have fun between missions and SHIELD duties.

“Well,” Clint was saying to you and Sam, the three of you sitting at the compounds dining table, coloring with crayons on printer paper. “I’m glad you two are having fun, because I am going to kill myself.”

He holds up a poorly manufactured picture of a duck. You all convulge into a set of late night giggles.

It was four am, and you had all just returned early from a mission. After a mission, especially one where you could sleep on the way back, you sometimes found it nice to unwind with your teammates.

As you all tried to compose yourselves, you didn’t even notice someone else enter the kitchen part of the kitchen, not until Sam called out to them that is.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?”

“Hmm? Nothing. Coffee,” He looked startled, then straight back to basically being dead tired. The bags under his eyes looked like they just took a trip to Costco.

He looks reluctant, and like his mind has to do a lot of mental gymnastics to convince himself to do so, but ultimately he sits down at your table.

You’re drawing a picture of some birds (well, what was supposed to look like birds) in a little bird house. Your heart was beating about 10 decibels faster, and your hands became more unsteady.

Clint and Sam both privately took note of your change in demeanor. The way instead of using circle motions either your crayons, as you had been, you were pressing harder and going up and down. And how you simply just layer them on the table rather than back in the box. And the short sweet glances sent to one new person at the table….

***

Private messages between Sam Wilson and Clint Barton that you should never have seen, had you not been playing candy crush on Clint’s phone one Saturday morning. You’re a snooper, you snoop, it’s what you do.

Wednesday 5:36 am

Clint: Are you sleeping bbb

Sam: that best better not stand for what I think it does…

Clint: Y/n left me after you and Bucky did. Think the girl needed time to fantasize

Sam: YOU NOTICED TOO

Clint: I see everything, always

Sam: ominous

Sam: Clinton have you ever watched the bachorlette

Clint: I loveeee where this is going

Sam: I think she has a little crush

Sam: we should set them up

Clint: I can already see the kids

Clint: they’ll be names Sam and Clint of course

Clint: after us

Saturday, 9:29 am

Unread

Sam: did you destroy my fucking coin master village 17 times???

Sam: Barton, your ass is grass and I’m gonna mow it

***

Dead. You promised Clint and Sam they were dead.

At first, you thought it was just a joke. Until the advancements started.

It was Thursday, the team gathering for a dinner, as they did every once in awhile. As soon as you entered the room, you saw Clint and Sam basically playing musical chairs to keep an empty seat open next to Bucky Barnes.

“Are…Are you two okay?” Steve asked, genuine fear and concern on his face.

“Totally.”

“One-hundred percent.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’re acting weird captain.”

Steve sits, slack jawed, at a loss for a response. As you walk towards the table, your shoulders are grabbed by Clint, who is saying in a sickeningly sweet and chipper voice, “Y/n! Goodness, great to see you! Sit here! There’s a spot next to Bucky! You know Bucky! You love Bucky!”

You were a *mess* the entire dinner, unable to completely focus on anything but breathing patterns.

As the evening was coming to a close and others were dismissing themselves, you made cold hard eye contact with Clint, seated directly across from you. His hands were folded on the table like an innocent school child.

“Barton,” you said, your voice stern. “Wanna play Chinese Checkers?”

He shakes his head violently, but says, “Sam does too.”

Sam gets up from the table, so fast, his chair knocks over and silverware clatters.

You quickly jump up, chasing him down the hall. Clint follows, brandishing a phone camera, a will, and a way.

The rest of the group was frozen now, looking in bewilderment at what was going on. Or rather, their lack of knowledge of what the hell was going on?

“Anybody have input?” Tony asks after a long silence. Everyone looks equally lost.

They all look when a thud sounds in the direction your trio went.

***

Bucky and Steve are walking track to their rooms, later that evening. Steve had mission reports to do, and Bucky had thoughts to process and a diary to write in.

“So, what do you think of the new girl?” Steve pokes the bear, hoping to get a rise out of his friend.

“Hmm, oh. I dunno. She’s nice, I guess,” Bucky shrugs, and Steve’s goofy little smile grows like the grinch’s heart.

“Really? Because you look liked you were having an awful lot of thoughts tonight at dinner. And, you know, you stare at her long enough every other day…”

“Do not.”

“Do so.”

Bucky stares at Steve, unknowing of what to do in this situation. He shrugs again.

“So what?”

“So? So you should, oh, I don’t know, have a real conversation with her instead of just breathing into each others general directions. It’s nauseating having to watch Sam and Clint push you guys into the same space.”

Tonight may have been the first time you noticed, but in truth that kind thing happened in many many scenarios. Even before Clint and Sam connected that dots that you liked him.

They wanted their ship to sail.

***

“You took a shower!?” Clint says to Bucky, in a low and shocked voice. He held an incredulous look on his face, one Bucky wanted to smack right off.

“Yeah, try it sometime,” Bucky quipped.

“Y/n’s in her room,” Clint took a sip of his coffee. She has loads of paperwork. Probably will be in there all day.”

Bucky’s mouth opens and then shuts, not wanting to know why Clint was helping him. In truth, he wasn’t. Clint was helping you.

Within minutes, Bucky was outside your door, giving himself the cutest, peppiest of peptalks. Albeit, in his head because he could not handle the embarrassment of the e door opening to you seeing him babbling like a madman.

So when you did open the door, he tried flashing a warm smile. At the sight of it, you thought you would simply just faint. Right there, thud on the floor.

While your brain was debating whether you would prefer internal or external bleeding of the skull (internal, you decided, wouldn’t mess up your hair) Bucky cleared his throat.

You looked into his blinding blue eyes, the way a deer looks into headlights (meaning any minute you would get hit by the car…)

“Hi,” Bucky breathes out.

“Hi,” you say, your voice cracking.

You wanted to choke yourself out.

“I have something to tell you,” he starts. “Or- or I wanna talk to you.”

“…oh…” FUCKING CHRIST! Oh?? That was the best you had???

“Look, y/n I’ve sorta…I like you, quite a lot. And I’ve been nervous to talk to you or tell you about it, because I really don’t like opening up about my feelings. But-”

You cut him off by pouring out, “Ilikeyoutoo!”

“You- oh…Well…this wasn’t as bad as I had thought then.”

You let out an awkward chuckle, “Yeah, guess not.”

He doesn’t say anything, the two of you staring into each others eyes. He starts to lean in, his perfect face getting closer to yours. The action feels magnetic as you lean closer.

You take in his features. His brow, his chiseled jawline. The symmetrical two sides to his face, like if you took a meat clever down the center, you’d have matching halves.

Just as you can feel his breathe on your lips, right before the two of you can make contact, you both jolt apart at the sound.

Clint falls from your ceiling, Sam landing on top of him. The metal grate that filtrated the air in your room was below them, broken ceiling tiles, pink insulation and regret strewn about your flooring.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

[willowsages-blog]

A sudden kiss: Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x Y/N reader

warnings, none just fluff. argument, making up

The rain poured down mirroring the emotions between Y/N and Bucky standing under the streetlight, soaked to the bottom your argument with bucky echoed into the quiet night but your frustration bubbled and with each word, 

You waved. your arms exclaiming ‘’i can't believe you won’t listen to me bucky you just want me to go home! And you're not even listening to me bucky 

He sighed, irritation ‘’Y/N you will catch a cold let’s talk about this when its not pouring down raining your just standing in pouring rain,

Determined to make your point bucky, you rant, rain mixing with your tears, then struggling to say something realizing arguing with you might be totally stupid.

Having reached his limit, Bucky stepped forward hands gripping your shoulders 

Y/N listen, i get you’re mad but this isn't the time or place, bucky says’ let’s just home, and dry off and we discuss it calmly,

Shaking your head frustrated with Bucky still’ no you never understand! You always just dodge the real issues Bucky’

His gaze softened watching you, filled with frustration he cupped your face.

In the rain’s witness he kissed you passionately. 

The taste of raindrops mixing between the mix of his kiss breaking away he stared deeply into your eyes. I understand Y/N,  I hear you.

But let's get out of this rain so we can talk about this at home where we can be both heard,

thank you so much for reading. Feel free to like and follow me for more stories like this,

[z0mbie2b0y]

It's always punk steve and Robin but never GOTH STEVE AND ROBIN.

Imagine Steve and Robin meeting someone who's goth (idfk how but they do), and they basically guide them through the outfits and culture, and soon Steve and Robin are now the weird goth freaks (that's at least was someone gay awaking...) OH and Steve are robin are like opposites- like Steve wears more of a Romantic Goth look while Robin is more of trad goth look (don't fight on Steve harrington being Romantic Goth I said what I said.)

[sjsmith56]

For Once and For All, Chapter 24 - Eyes of the Father

Summary: Bucky and the Dora Milaje figure out a way to defeat the traffickers at the castle. His return to Barton’s farm sets the stage for the next phase of his and Lacey’s life.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Almost everyone.

Warnings: Minors - DNI - contains sexual content, p in v, praise, and minor dominance. Violence causing injury.

Author’s note: More heroic Bucky, followed by romantic Bucky. Everyone knows you don’t mix bleach and ammonia. I figured if the two ingredients were put into a pressure cooker and heated to a dangerous level the gas released would do a lot of damage. I found a reference on the internet that a Dora Milaje spear could release a significant electrical charge so made that the means of heating up the pressure cookers.

<<Chapter 23

🏰 🌓 🌾

Several of the other captives who were listed in the catalogue as agents had listened to Ayo's assessment and began checking the kitchen, beginning with the stoves and ovens. They found all the knives were gone and the gas lines all turned off with no way to start them back up. They looked through cupboards; one of them came back with two containers, bleach and ammonia. Bucky looked at him and shook his head. That would kill all of them just from the fumes if they mixed them. Another one brought the first aid kit to Ayo and Bucky took his jacket, then dress shirt off so she could remove the four bullets that had managed to hit him in the right shoulder and his back, three embedded and one graze. Meyer, the former HYDRA scientist noticed the different arm.

"How did you get a new arm?" he asked. "What is it made of?"

"The Wakandans made it for me in 2018," replied Bucky, "before the Blip. It's vibranium."

"Doesn't vibranium absorb energy?" he asked Ayo, who nodded as it was common knowledge. "Can a small piece from the Soldat ... sorry, Barnes' arm absorb enough energy then release it to blow this wall out and take out anyone waiting outside for us?"

"Only if it is hit hard enough to destroy the piece, releasing the energy in the process," she said. "How would we do that and keep ourselves safe?"

"This kitchen isn't part of the chateau," replied Meyer. "It is an addition to it. Look at the doorway we came through. It was cut through the original outside wall. We wait in the salon, inside the castle. There has to be a way to feed energy into some vibranium, then trigger a heavy enough weight to fall on it causing it to release its energy and destroy this outside wall."

"Electrical power?" asked one of the agents. "We can connect the power supply to it."

"Vibranium conducts it," said Ayo, "then dissipates it."

"I can hit it," said Bucky, looking around then spying a fire extinguisher. "If I hit it enough times with a heavy object like the fire extinguisher it will reach a critical mass and explode. It means I'll have to remove one of my fingers to provide the vibranium then risk injury from the blast."

"You would remove your own finger?" asked Meyer. He shook his head, both impressed and bothered that Bucky would make that sacrifice.

Ayo shook her head and smiled at Bucky. "That won't be necessary," she said, as a thought occurred to her. "Our spears are vibranium. Together Nomble and I can generate an electrical discharge from the base of our spears. If we mix that ammonia and bleach into a sealed pressurized container, then aim our electrical beams at it to heat up the mixture to the right pressure the resulting explosion should take out that wall and anyone standing near it. You won't have to mar the workmanship of the technicians who spent months creating your arm."

She said the latter with a little smile and Bucky smiled with her. "Okay, we just need something that we can pressurize to hold the ammonia / bleach mixture," he said. He looked around and grinned. "This is a kitchen. There has to be a pressure cooker."

Everyone spread out to search the pots and pans. They found two pressure cookers. Getting everyone back into the salon, except for himself, Ayo and Nomble, Bucky positioned the cookers on the outside wall, near the gas lines, hoping there was enough residual natural gas in them to explode. He divided the ammonia equally into the pressure cookers. Bucky poured half the bleach into the first pressure cooker and quickly sealed it with the lid. He coughed briefly saying he did get a whiff of the fumes. Then he poured the remainder of the bleach into the second pressure cooker, sealed the lid immediately and placed the two pots beside each other. He looked at Ayo.

"How close do you have to be?" he asked.

She shrugged slightly. "Unknown," she replied. "It's about twenty feet to the salon. Let's try half that distance."

"I'm going to grab your clothing from behind," he said. "As soon as it looks like it's going to blow I'm going to yank you both backwards, hopefully fast enough and far enough away that none of us will be injured. You ready?"

He had already tossed the rifle to Meyer in the doorway, and he stood behind the two women, firmly grasping their clothing. Then he began to count down from five. At the count of one both women activated the electrical charge on their spears and aimed it at the pair of pressure cookers. It only took about 10 seconds before Bucky realized he could hear a rumble coming from the pressure cooker and he began to walk the two women backwards away from the two pots, telling them to keep up the charge. To his ears the rumble grew louder and he suddenly yanked both of them through the doorway into the salon, all of them falling backwards. The resulting explosion was spectacular, taking out the entire wall of the kitchen. Bucky sat up and saw the carnage outside as it seemed there had been a small army waiting for them. Most of the guards were laid out in various states of injury. Standing up and taking his gun back from Meyer he stepped gingerly through the debris and advanced towards the injured. As he checked the various chateau guards he noticed a man in a military uniform lying face down. Pulling him onto his back Bucky recognized General Viktor Orlov who was alive but in no shape to give orders. As the other captives joined him outside Bucky aimed his rifle at Orlov, noticing he was coming around.

"General," he said to the man at his feet. "I await your total surrender."

The General sneered at Bucky. "Soldat," he spat. "By now, my people have your woman and your son. I await your surrender."

"Yeah, no you don't," said another voice that came from the sky. Bucky looked up to see Sam landing. "Sorry, General, that little stunt you pulled at the farm didn't work either." He smiled broadly at Bucky. "Nice work, Buck. That explosion lit the sky up for miles. Made it easy to find this place. We've got emergency services en route. Why don't you lead your party out to the front to be treated. You just broke one of the biggest Russian mafia outfits. They may have to build a second Raft just for them." Bucky turned to lead the others and Sam touched his arm. "Put a shirt on will you? You're making us normal guys look inadequate."

Both men grinned and patted each other on the shoulder. By the time he and his group walked around to the front the ambulances were there. Bucky allowed himself to be checked over and one of the paramedics gave him a scrubs top to put on. Both Ayo and Nomble had contusions from the explosion debris that hit them as he pulled them through the doorway. He watched as their wounds were seen to. A hand on his vibranium arm caused him to turn around. A young woman who had been part of the viewing looked up at him, almost in tears.

"Thank you," she said. "I didn't think I was ever going to see my family again. You saved me and the others. They say that you used to be the Winter Soldier but now you're an Avenger. I'm glad because I can see you're a good and brave man."

She kissed him on the cheek and went to one of the police vehicles to be taken to the American embassy for repatriation. Several others, both male and female came to him and said similar things, making him feel self-conscious but appreciated.

"Feels pretty good, doesn't it?" said another voice at his side and he looked at Everett Ross, who appeared to be a little roughed up. "They rounded us up within a few minutes of our arrival. We put up a fight but it wasn't until the reinforcements arrived then the explosion happened that we got the upper hand."

"You should get checked out," suggested Bucky.

"Nah, I'm good," said Ross. "The biggest injuries were to my dignity and my ego. They called me short. I hit the guy who said that pretty hard when the explosion happened. Made him drop like a sack of bricks. What the hell did you blow up?"

"Ammonia and bleach in a pressure cooker," said Bucky, "placed beside a gas line and heated up by electrical discharges from the spears of two Dora Milaje warriors."

Ross laughed. "That'll do it," he commented. He offered Bucky his hand to shake. "I heard you're staying with the Avengers. That's good. You'll be a big asset to them." Bucky winced at the term. "Sorry, you're a good man to have in a fight. If you ever need help from a friendly face call me. I'll be there."

He nodded at Bucky who nodded back and Ross walked away. Sam landed next to him, holding the remains of his dress jacket. Bucky looked at it sadly.

"I don't like suits, but that suit felt great," he said. "The Wakandans don't spare any expense on their undercover work." He looked at Sam seriously. "They attacked the farm?"

"Yeah, the guy on the jet put a tracker in Lacey's arm," he said. "I think they expected you would find her and assumed you would reunite her with Tommy. Your safe house here is probably compromised as well. Orlov wanted both of you, father and son. At the same time he sent a force after us at the compound but we made short work of them there. Wong took care of the farm intruders then Strange opened a portal for all of us to get here. They slowed us up in the front with a small army. He's here now if you want to go straight to the farm."

"I should get cleaned up first," said Bucky, looking down at his torn pants. "Maybe to the safe house, have a shower and change my clothes." He looked at Sam and grinned. "I signed the contract. I'm an Avenger."

"Fury announced it," replied Sam. "We need you. I don't think there is anyone else who would have the balls to blow up a chateau. Where are you going to live?"

"I don't know," he answered. "It's something I have to talk to Lacey and Tommy about. I'm going to marry her, Sam, as soon as I can. Then I'll adopt Tommy legally, and we'll figure the rest out. You could be my best man."

"I would be honoured," smiled Sam, offering his hand. "She's a good strong woman. Any one who would wait that long for you has to be worth it."

"Hey Cap," called a soldier from a few feet away. "We have word of a couple of guards from this chateau about a mile from here. Think you can find them from the air?"

"On it," said Sam and with a wave to Bucky he lifted up and flew into the darkness.

Ross pulled up in one of the cars with a couple of the Wakandans. "Hop in," he said. "We're going back to the safe house and pack up before moving to another one that hasn't been compromised. You can shower, get changed and pick up your gear. Dr. Strange said to text him when you're ready and he'll open a portal to the farm."

Bucky sat in the front. Nothing was said on the trip back to Germany but it was obvious they were pleased at the work that freed two dozen captives. At the safe house he showered, then looked at the stubble on his face and decided to shave it off. Once he dressed and packed his bags he went down the stairs to where Ross and the other Wakandans were already going over documentation for another trafficking mission. He started looking at it but Ayo pulled him away.

"Go to your beloved and your son," she ordered. "They have waited for so long to have you to themselves. Your help tonight was invaluable, but we will continue the fight without you for now. White Wolf, you did Wakanda proud tonight."

She, the other Dora Milaje and the King's Guard all stood to attention to honour him and he crossed his fists in front of his chest in response. Pulling his phone out he texted Dr. Strange and a portal opened behind him. He walked through it without looking back.

It was dusk in Iowa, which surprised him. He didn't realize it was so late in France. He looked around him at the darkening sky, seeing a few stars beginning to appear, and hearing the sound of frogs in the distance. It felt better than that night when he left Lacey in her bed and hid in the barn, ashamed of his actions. A soft glow of light came from the windows of the house, and he stepped onto the front steps quietly. The door opened revealing Tommy, having heard Bucky's approach from inside the house with his superior hearing.

"Dad!" he cried, jumping into Bucky's arms.

Holding him tightly Bucky buried his face into his son's hair. "I'm back, Tom," he said. "My mission's done, and we'll have time together until the next one."

"Did you hear we were attacked?" asked Tommy, pulling away. "Us kids hid in the storm cellar while the adults armed themselves. All we could hear was gunfire and then an explosion. Then there was the sound of people falling and Uncle Clint opened the cellar door, saying we could come up. Wong was here. He took out all of the gunmen with magic. It was amazing."

As Tommy explained everything to him Bucky was distracted by the presence of Lacey. She was wearing a dress, just a simple blue and white cotton sundress that showed her shoulders and a bit of her cleavage. Her face was soft, as was her hair, hanging loose around her shoulders.

"We heard you were coming back tonight," she said quietly. "I figured I should dress up for the occasion."

"You look great," said Bucky, looking at her with tenderness.

Clint grabbed his bags and slapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Okay, enough lovey dovey talk," he said. "We've been holding supper for your arrival and I'm starving. Beer?"

Bucky nodded and Lacey came to him, putting her arms around his neck and raising herself on her toes to kiss him. He lifted her up and kissed her in return, a long, soft, sweet kiss that made up for everything that happened that night so many months before. The others went into the house to sit at the table while he and Lacey stayed out on the porch. Suddenly the porch light went off and they were left in the darkness.

"I got more memories back," she said, when they finally broke the kiss. "I remembered receiving your fan letter and you telling me to find a good man, take a chance on love with him, and running with it. I'm taking your advice."

"Am I the good man?" he asked, his voice lower than normal. The sound of his voice made her warm inside and she gasped lightly.

"Oh yes," she replied. "You are. There's no doubt about it." Even in the dark he could see the love in her eyes. "You shaved for me."

Bucky smiled and kissed her lovingly again before he put his mouth near her ear whispering. "I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything."

She laughed sweetly and it sounded like music to him. "Virginia Woolf, Night and Day," she exclaimed. "God, I love you."

"Then marry me," he said softly. "I'll do the proposal properly, with a ring, but just so I know that you're mine right now, this instant, tell me you'll marry me."

"Wait a minute, did you read my book?" she replied immediately, knowing that line was similar to one from a scene in her third book. His smile was her answer. "I'll marry you, Bucky."

Their lips crashed together with feeling, as they both continued to express in person what had resumed in the safe house. When they finally pulled away from each other Clint yelled from inside the house to please come in for dinner and Bucky put his arm around Lacey. Together they walked towards a huge spread of food that was more of a feast. As he loaded his plate, they asked him what happened at the chateau. When he told them about Ayo's plan of heating up the ammonia / bleach mixture in pressure cookers that blew up the kitchen and injured almost all of Orlov's force that were standing behind the chateau waiting to pick them off Clint looked at him with admiration.

"I'm sorry I didn't see that," he stated. "Outstanding, Bucky. Really. Talk about making a statement to the criminal underworld, especially after taking out the traffickers in Brooklyn and the Power Broker in Madripoor. A new sheriff is in town, two new sheriffs. You and Cap."

Bucky blushed and tried to underplay his contribution, but he could see Tommy's face looked so proud. He felt a swell in his chest that he hadn't felt for a long time, pride. It was a good feeling to do something right. Dinner was full of conversation, as both Terry and Lacey described their contributions to the defence of the house. Terry, in particular, joked about the secret room in the barn. Clint got all serious at that point.

"You mean to say you never found it during the Blip?" he asked. "There's an arsenal in there."

"Never found it," answered Terry. "Although I realize now that Natasha knew about it because she went looking for your katana during the Blip. Lacey said you kept a quinjet in one of the other buildings. What's with that?"

Clint smiled mysteriously. "Even though I'm retired I still help out from time to time," he said. "Fury always knew. If he really wanted it all he had to do was ask for it. Not that I have it now. After I was arrested in Leipzig they kind of took it away from me."

"What about the one you flew here after you defeated Thanos?" asked Lacey. "I don't remember it being returned."

"Shhhh," said Clint, dramatically.

"Do you think they would let me have one?" asked Bucky. "I mean, if we buy a farm. I know everything there is to know about raising goats from my time in Wakanda."

Clint looked at him. "Really, goats?" he asked. "How was that for a city boy?"

"They're fun," replied Bucky. "They each have their own personality. I made goat cheese as well. Got pretty good at it. It's up to Lacey though. I don't have any money other than my army pension, or a credit score for that matter."

"We'll talk about it," said Lacey with a smile. "I think we'll stay in Philadelphia for now so Tommy can finish out the school year. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Tommy nodded. "When are we going back?" he asked. "How long were we kidnapped?"

"A week," replied Bucky. "Seems longer, doesn't it? We can go back tomorrow if you're all up to it. Terry, are you okay if I live with you in Philadelphia?"

"Absolutely. Hopefully I still have a job," said Terry. "I told them about the kidnapping, but I haven't spoken to the coach since."

"I'll have to make a trip to the compound first," added Bucky. "Make my mission report and my motorcycle is still there. I have some things in a storage locker in Brooklyn as well, although they can stay there until we find our own place."

Tommy's eyes grew wide. "You have a motorcycle?" he smiled. "Cool. Will you teach me to drive it?"

Bucky said "sure" at the same time Lacey said "no." He winked at Tommy. "You heard your mother," he said. "Not until you're old enough."

Clint laughed, recognizing the conversation that all parents seemed to go through. "So, any idea when you two will get hitched?" he asked.

"I have to propose properly first," replied Bucky. "As soon as we can, I hope. I'm adopting Tommy legally even though I'm the father on record. Steve said you put me down as the father."

"About that," said Laura. "Fury set her up as Mrs. Lacey Chapman, married to James Chapman, not Barnes. He might be able to get that changed but did you put Chapman or Barnes on the birth certificate?"

Lacey made a face. "Chapman," she replied. "Sorry, Bucky. We were trying to keep under the radar and we figured the CIA would figure out Tommy was your son if we registered the father as James Buchanan Barnes."

"It's okay," smiled Bucky. "We'll get it sorted it out. Where do you want to get married? Philadelphia, New York?"

Lacey blushed then looked at Clint and Laura. "I lived here for so long that it will always feel like home," she said. "Would you let us get married here? I figure we could have the ceremony outside then if we clean out the barn we can have the reception in there. It will be mostly Avengers, except for my family. Your location will still be pretty secret."

Clint and Laura studied each other for a few long moments. "Of course," smiled Clint. "We could even rent a bunch of those glamping tents or a few RVs for people to stay in, so they don't have to drive or fly home under the influence. If you wait until Tommy is finished school, you can have it in June. That gives us more than enough time to clear out the barn."

It was Lacey and Bucky's turn to study each other. It was later than he had hoped to tie the knot but he also wanted her to have a real wedding. "June it is," said Bucky.

"Alright," exclaimed Clint, raising his beer. "Here's to a June wedding on the farm. I'll walk the bride down the aisle. Laura will be Lacey's matron of honour. Bucky, who's your best man?"

"Sam, but I would like Terry to be a groomsman, as well as Tommy," he said, looking at the two. "What do you say?"

"It would be my honour," said Terry, while Tommy just had a big grin on his face. "You need another bridesmaid, Lacey."

"My sister Nancy," she replied immediately. "Lila, would you be a bridesmaid as well, so it's even on both sides?"

Clint's daughter blushed and nodded her head. With all of that settled the rest of the meal went quickly. Bedtime came soon and this time Bucky willingly went with Lacey to her room, which was Clint and Laura's old bedroom.

"This isn't the same room," he noted when the door was closed.

"No, when we moved to Philadelphia, Clint and Laura took the suite he built for me and Tommy," she said from near the bed. "That was the plan all along. We don't have our own bathroom with this room."

"So no shower after," he said in his low voice. "That's too bad. I was planning on us getting quite sweaty then helping you get clean in the shower."

"Me too," replied Lacey, feeling the warmth building in her core. "I guess we could tone it down a bit."

They met in the middle of the room, their lips hungrily searching out the other. Reaching for the bottom of the T-shirt Bucky was wearing Lacey pulled it up and over his head. Immediately she noticed the dressings on his bullet wounds.

"What happened?" she asked, touching one gingerly.

"I got shot four times," he said, standing quietly with his head bent over her. "Ayo took the bullets out and they've already started healing. In a few days they'll be fully healed. In a few weeks the scars will be mostly gone."

"You had terrible scars on your shoulder with the other arm," she said, stepping back a little so she could look up at him. "Why didn't they heal?"

He took a deep breath. "Because they were caused by me," he said. "The pain was so much that I tried to pull it off at the shoulder many times and they couldn't heal. There isn't pain with this arm, so the skin was able to heal quickly."

Tears began to form in her eyes and her lips quivered as she tried to speak. "It wasn't just physical pain, was it," she whispered. "It hurt you deeply inside."

Bucky licked his lips, feeling a bit of anxiety at the memory. "That arm had one purpose," he answered back. "To kill. Even before I got away there were times I didn't want to kill anymore and I tried to rip it off of my body. Having it was always a reminder of what they made me do. They never treated the inflammation I caused because they wanted to reinforce that they had all the control and I had none."

"Shuri speculated that you might not accept this arm," replied Lacey. "That you might associate any prosthetic arm with death and destruction. Why did you accept it?"

He was quiet for a moment, then touched her hair gently. "King T'Challa talked with me, alone in the garden where I often took the calls with you," he answered. "We talked about his cousin who had challenged his rule and defeated him. All legally, according to their laws. I was still in cryostasis at the time, and they hid me from the cousin because they knew if he found out I was there he would awaken the Winter Soldier and use me to keep him in power. He planned to dominate the world apparently. I told T'Challa that I could never be used in that way again and he agreed. He did ask that if he needed my help to defend Wakanda in the future I would agree and I said yes, because they had done so much for me. When Thanos arrived T'Challa came to me with the arm and I knew I had to put it on."

"You haven't taken it off since," said Lacey.

Bucky laughed. "Not until I found out it could be removed," he said. "During the Flag Smashers I helped an enemy of Wakanda break out of prison. We needed his help and I fully intended to return him to prison after. Ayo and two other Dora Milaje came for him at the same time John Walker was there. They started fighting and it looked like they were ready to kill Walker so I intervened and Ayo removed my arm. She swore at me. I was shocked as I had no idea it could come off. At any rate, this arm feels normal. Within minutes of wearing it I forgot it wasn't flesh and blood. It's part of me now and is nothing like the arm I used to have."

As if to prove his point Bucky gently caressed her face with the prosthetic hand, then moved it down her throat to her chest where it lingered. It felt smooth and its soft touch was an invitation to proceed with what they had started. Crossing her arms in front of her Lacey lifted the dress off over her head, revealing she hadn't worn a bra. Smiling, Bucky pulled her close to him, so the skin of his chest touched hers. Kissing her deeply he ran both of his hands down her back enclosing her tightly. She smiled at him as she felt his body respond to hers.

"Yes, I want you," he whispered. "I won't stop this time, I promise."

They got on the bed and Bucky placed himself over her, supporting himself on his elbows. She raised herself to his lips, kissing him as he began to caress her breasts. As he ground his hips into her she felt his cock pressing onto her and she began moving with him.

"Take them off," he whispered, touching her panties, pulling back to allow her to do so.

Lowering his face to between her thighs he kissed the skin softly as he ran his hand over her pubic mound. Immediately Lacey gasped and he opened her folds giving kitten licks, holding her leg down as she writhed in pleasure at his touches. Slowly he brought her closer to coming then stopped and removed his briefs before lying partially on her.

"You're a bad man," she whispered. "Stopping when I'm so close."

"Darling, I'm a good man," he said in her ear as he kissed just below it. "You'll feel so good after."

Gently he took one hand, kissing the palm then moved it above her head. She smiled at him and put her other hand up, crossing them together.

"Good girl," he whispered again, then mouthed down her neck to her collar bone.

Grasping himself he eased into Lacey, going slowly. When Bucky bottomed out he placed his artificial hand on her wrists where she had crossed them. Slowly and deliberately he began thrusting into her, making sure he made contact where she was most sensitive. Her eyes were dark and luminous as she gave herself over to him. When she got closer to coming her mouth opened, gasping and whimpering with each thrust. Her cries became louder and he pressed his mouth on hers, thrusting his tongue deeply into her mouth as he increased the pace and force of his thrust. He could feel her around his cock, feel the pressure on him as her climax neared then she suddenly tightened all around him, screaming in her throat as she came. He released her hands then and continued thrusting and burying his mouth in her neck and throat until he finally came with a loud release of his breath. Lacey's hands ran down his back then to his chest enjoying the touch of his hot skin. Finally he stopped and laid on top of her before slowly pulling out. Bucky kissed her again, gently and tenderly this time.

"Am I still a bad man?" he asked.

"The worst," she said, smiling. "You'll have to try again."

As they resumed their heated connection with a chuckle both thanked whatever had brought them together so many years before. Much had happened since then, but they were together now, and both vowed never to be torn apart again.

Author's note: A reminder that Lacey's third book, referred to in this chapter, is available to be read. It's titled His Blue Eyes and can be found on my Wattpad platform. It is not an MCU fanfiction, although I assigned MCU actors (and others) to the moodboards in them. It is a romance and a bit of a slow burn thriller.

Chapter 25>>

Series Masterlist

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[starboybutler]

college au gale sitting on john's face and cumming so hard he can't stop shaking, only for john to hold him in place and keep eating him out until he's shaking and crying

[morganxwritess]

i'm definitely relapsing on my marvel era rn... i forgot how much i love steve and bucky. let's just say you've got some great stuff coming your way that features my two favorite super soldiers (and maybe even both of them at the same time???) (;

[flying-ham]

its still insane that the russos tried to make dream a little dream of me into a steggy song when its so clearly a stucky song

[imasexypotato]

Gale: I don't know how to flirt so I'm just going to stare at you silently until we get married

John, getting down on one knee: Oh my god it's working!

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

10. S'mores

It’s the “sex play” (God, that term is so cringe) thing being on the table that builds the tension in the apartment, all of them knowing about it but none of them talking about it. Mary sure as shit doesn’t have the guts to break that ice, and now Bucky’s always deep in thought and quiet around her. And Steve, well.

Steve is like a big, mopey golden retriever who knows its humans are upset but doesn’t know how to help besides headbutting things affectionately.

Mary’s feelings for him only grow when she realizes that he really hasn’t told Bucky about that night in the kitchen: the things she’d confided about the razor and her nightmares and sneaking out to the gym. Knowing that Steve’s stuck by his word like that makes her like him and trust him a whole heck of a lot more. 

But it doesn’t solve the underlying problem. 

There’s a court hearing in front of a judge next month to revisit the custody arrangement—Next month. And one afternoon while Bucky’s out of the apartment, Steve gently informs Mary that Dr. Linda is recommending the order be extended. Jesus fucking Christ. 

And then the results to that test Linda made her take, the “Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment”, arrive in the mail (addressed to Bucky, because of course they would be), and Mary gets her hands on them after Bucky and Steve read them, and she’s mortified at what it says about her.

Tendencies: Passive aggression (reactive aggression in lieu of submission), emotional outbursts, low self-esteem, impulsive sexual promiscuity, self-harm, alcohol use disorder, possible co-morbidity (OCD, EDNOS, BDD). Dynamic Preferences: single dominant authority figure, structured domestic routine, service, discipline, monogamous relationship, emotional bonding. Recommendations: Following assessment review, patient is most likely to benefit from continued domestic control in a consistent (24/7) environment. Transfer of custody not recommended. Continued therapy sessions and educational courses at CDP highly recommended. Most beneficial therapeutic modalities include limited corporal discipline, sex play, and reward-based service routine.

There’s a ton of infuriating psycho babble bullshit packed into those results that she could get upset about, and she does, but Mary’s eyes track over that one, most-horrible phrase over and over again: 

“Transfer of custody not recommended.”

Fuck.

She loses sleep over it, sneaks out of the apartment in the middle of the night and does cardio at the gym until she’s exhausted enough to head back home and pass out. It pisses her off that this is such a thing now. She doesn’t want to be special needs, she should have the right to choose whether she even wants treatment or not! She resents the hell out of Bucky and Steve for having custody of her the way that they do. They’re clearly expecting her to blow up or something, after the news from Linda and the SSITA results come in. It’s so obvious that they’re walking on eggshells around her, Mary halfway wishes they’d just do something. One way or the other, it’d be better than this.

Linda claims that they’ve expressed “positive feelings” about a sexual dynamic, but if they have, they sure aren’t expressing it to Mary. She suspects that most of that positivity has come from Steve, and probably only because he’s a golden retriever in human form who just wants to do what’s right and good, not because he or Bucky are particularly attracted to her.

While she has managed to clean herself up quite a bit since moving in with them, Mary isn’t delusional: she realizes that Steve and Bucky are very attractive men, whereas she’s just average. She tries to tell herself she’s fine with that. She knows Bucky and Steve could probably get like, a supermodel to sleep with them if they really wanted to. Mary’s not in their league, and that’s okay. 

But if they’re not attracted to her that way then they should at least have the decency to just say so! At least then she could find someone else, get back on Tinder, or even sign up for one of those ProDoms that the CDP has. Darcy said Thor was good, so maybe Mary could request him? The way that Darcy had described the guy, he sounds like he's a hunka hunka burning Nordic god. Mary could go for that.

She brings it up casually over dinner, framing it lightheartedly, and Bucky literally crushes his water glass in his prosthetic hand. “What?” he snaps, frowning down at the mess he’s just made. “No.”

Mary huffs and goes to fetch the desserts while Steve gets the waste bin and begins scraping the broken pieces of glass into it like it’s just another Tuesday. “I don’t see why not,” Mary complains from over at the counter. She’s pulled the plates out from the fridge and grabs the butane torch for the meringue.

“Jesus,” Bucky exclaims when he sees the industrial sized torch she's wielding. “Where’d you get that?”

Mary purses her lips as she focuses on achieving the perfect amount of toastedness. “Hardware store,” she mutters. “So why can’t I go see one of the ProDom’s again?” She purposefully over-torches Bucky’s meringue, because she can tell that this isn’t going to go her way. “Sounds like a win-win. You don’t have to deal with me, I can meet new people, and insurance pays for it. What exactly is the problem?” She’s trying to force him to admit that he doesn’t want to Dom her sexually, trying to get him to see that something’s gotta give and he’ll have to let her use one of the ProDoms eventually if that’s what the severity of her “condition” requires (gigantic ‘Ew’). 

But frustratingly, he refuses to engage with her on the topic. “It’s a no, Mare,” he tells her sternly. “Pros are for people who have more experience. You don’t.”

Mary seriously doubts that. “Linda didn’t say that,” she argues, carrying the plates over to the table and handing the nice one to Steve and the burnt one to Bucky. 

He pulls it closer to himself and raises an eyebrow at it. “Linda’s being diplomatic,” he mutters. “I thought you said you were making s’mores?” 

Yesterday, Bucky had been talking with Steve about how much they both missed their old camping trips they used to take. The two of them must’ve waxed poetic over campfire s’mores for ten whole minutes. So Mary thought this would be an excellent way to butter them up. Apparently not.

She sniffs and picks up her fork. “They are s’mores. It’s a plated dessert, Bucky. An interpretation. It’s not literal.”

He grunts and peers at his portion, poking it dubiously with his fork. “What’s it made of?”

Mary heaves a sigh and snottily recites: “Honey Sablé, 70% Valrhona cremeux, cold-smoked Italian meringue, torched ‘mallow, Graham crumb streusel, and tempered chocolate stick for garnish." Both Bucky and Steve stop poking at their plates and just stare at her for a second. 

“Sounds good,” Steve chirps, and digs into his.

Mary stares Bucky down, until he too, deigns to eat the apparently too fancy for him version of a  s’more. “Oh, damn,” he says after the first bite, looking taken-aback. “I can taste the smoke.”

Mary preens, then asks again about the ProDom. “Well if I’m not getting it there then who the heck’s supposed to fuck me?” she winds up blurting out of frustration.

When that direct reference doesn’t elicit any response from Bucky besides a barrage of bossy instructions for after-dinner cleanup, Mary loses a bit of the hope she’d been holding onto that maybe Linda was right about them being attracted to her. She just gave him the perfect fucking opening, and he didn’t take it. She gets the kitchen cleaned up from dinner, resigning herself to another evening of platonic domination that doesn’t quite hit the spot. 

Nightly drops are nice. Not as nice as they were in the beginning, the effects having waned quite a bit from what they once were, but still better than no drops at all. 

Mary sits on her pillow on the floor, head on the couch cushion next to Bucky’s thigh, listening vaguely to the sound of the television while she enjoys the feeling of his fingers carding through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. It’s been a while now, and she doesn’t think she’s going to get any deeper. It’s late, already they’ve watched two full episodes of their show, and Mary’s got work tomorrow. It’ll be bedtime soon. 

A big yawn works its way up in her throat, and Bucky chuckles when it finally breaks free. “Tired?” he asks.

“Mmhm.” She inhales deeply and sits up, sleepy and squinting. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and Bucky’s form sitting right in front of her. Wow, she’d been really close to him, hadn’t realized just how close. Had she been … hugging his shin? God, she hopes not. Not like she hasn’t spent whole evenings fantasizing about rubbing her face all over his thighs and his— Nope. Not gonna think about that when he’s sitting right there. She tears her eyes away and forces that train of thought to stop right in its metaphorical tracks. 

“You good, Hon?” Bucky asks, his soft voice drawing her attention back from her own head. She looks up and sees his fond expression, his relaxed posture. Wonders if he’s in Domspace at all. Probably not.

Then her eyes land on the line of his cock at the front of his pants. 

He’s hard. Not very, but some. Underneath his sweats his dick is chubbed up enough that it creates a slight bulge against the fabric. Mary freezes, staring for too long before she’s able to tear her eyes away. When she does, and she looks up, Bucky’s watching her with an inscrutable expression. Her breath catches and her mind goes absolutely dumb.

Does he want ..? Should she ..?

She looks back down at it, at the relaxed splay of his thighs. She wets her lips and thinks about reaching forward and sliding her hand over it, what it would feel like, if it would twitch, if Bucky would shiver or make a sound. She wants to touch it, and seriously considers doing so, but when she looks up at Bucky again, he doesn’t look like he’s excited, or anticipating her touching him. He looks … resigned. 

“Tired?” he asks kindly. "Do you maybe ... Do you need anything else tonight? From me?"

Mary's lips part, heart leaping at what that might mean ... but then Bucky looks over at Steve with visible yearning in his eyes, and the two of them share one of their silent conversations, brows pinched and expectant. 

Oh. Right. Bucky’s just horny and eager to get Steve into bed, wants to wrap this up. Mary wonders if he really can’t tell that she's not far down like she used to get. Maybe he thinks this is all she needs and he really isn’t going to take Linda’s advice seriously. Mary should be happy about that. After all, it’s what she wanted. Isn’t it?

She balls up the hand that she’d been imagining touching Bucky with and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m tired. Think I’m gonna … go get ready for bed.”

She glances over at Steve, but he looks mopey and eager to get out of the room just like his husband does, cementing the notion in Mary’s mind that they don’t want to be with her that way. No doubt they will if push comes to shove, because Linda’s told them Mary needs a sexual dynamic, but it’s not something they’re excited about. Mary knows men: They’re not the sort to sit around and wait for a girl they like to make the first move. And certainly not a man like Bucky, of all people. 

She tries not to be hurt by it, but still gets a little weepy while brushing her teeth, the unintended rejection stinging more when she’s down in the tingly, vulnerable throes of subspace. She spits, rinses, flosses, rinses. Grabs the mouthwash that she hates to use but that Bucky has ordered her to always use after brushing her teeth at night. 

She says goodnight to Steve and Bucky through the safety of her closed bedroom door, and despite her voice being warbly, neither one of them knocks on the door to see what’s up. That drives the point home, and Mary tucks herself into bed with the mindset that she’ll let them know they don’t have to sleep with her just to be nice or to help her or whatever. She’ll just find a way to convince them that she really is fine with going to one of the ProDoms, and that it really is a better arrangement.

Better than a pity fuck, at least.

It’s disappointing to know that Mary prefers the ProDom, that she doesn’t want to make their relationship sexual, but Bucky gets it, and he knows that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not exactly an easy person to get along with, after all. He’s prickly as fuck, grumpy, bossy, selfish. And aside from her natural submission, Mary’s personality clashes with his horribly. Steve is essential, but he just isn’t enough to successfully buffer between the two of them—not enough to make her want them that way, at least. 

Bucky can see the profound disappointment in Steve’s eyes that night, as Mary doesn’t react the way they were both hoping, doesn’t take the offerings Bucky puts out.

They have to let it be her choice, of course, having planned it out and discussed it between just the two of them. It's all anybody ever talks about in the D/s community these days: making sure subs are the initiators at key moments like this, not letting domination creep in and become manipulation-so easy to do with how naturally vulnerable and people pleasing submissives are. Gone are the days when Doms like Bucky were encouraged to guide new partners in the "right" direction. That leads to too much trauma, too many subs in situations they don't really want. Mary has to be left to make the choice on her own, it's her right.

But it's still the hardest fucking thing for him to do, to just sit there and wait passively. And it still stings when she looks straight at his erection and declares that she’s ready for bed. Well, if it wasn’t clear before.

Steve looks like a friggin’ kicked puppy, as he stands outside of Mary’s closed bedroom door and bids her goodnight. Bucky nudges him in the direction of their own room and murmurs, “Come on, Sweetheart.” 

In their bedroom, they each get undressed. Steve continues to mope, so Bucky goes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder and rubs. “Hey. Don’t sulk. You’ve still got me.” Steve’s mouth twitches in a small smile and Bucky’s heart flares with fondness for him. “You wanna play a game?” he offers, leaning in and kissing him once on the lips. “Mm?” He looks down pointedly to both of their boners that haven’t completely lagged since tv time ended.

“Okay.” 

Bucky hums and turns, putting his left shoulder out. “Lend a guy a hand?” Steve obliges. He removes the prosthetic arm with practiced motions. Bucky moans quietly at how good it feels to get the heavy weight off. “Fuck.” He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck each way with a blissed out groan. “Yes.”

“You’ve been wearing it more than usual, lately,” Steve points out, going over to set it on the table at Bucky’s side of the bed. “Why?”

He already knows: Bucky can tell from the way he asks it. He grunts and looks away, refraining from answering. He normally only wears the arm to work and to the gym, skipping it around the house or when he’s just got simple errands to run. There’s a surprising amount he can do just fine without the use of two arms, and he’s been confident about being seen in public without it for a long time now, thanks to Steve and their friends at the V.A. Being self conscious about it again after all these years isn’t something Bucky wants to admit out loud or think about, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can put two and two together. 

“Babe,” he says softly, walking back over to stand behind him. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and noses into his neck. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bucky inhales deeply. “I know. I’m not.” Steve makes a sound that clearly says he doesn’t believe that. But Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it, so he reaches back with the only arm he has to grab playfully at the side of Steve’s ass. “Go in the bathroom. Get the water going how I like.”

Steve groans and thunks his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck. “Not that game,” he complains, though there’s no conviction to it. He slinks off towards the bathroom to go do as he’s been told. “I hate that game.”

“Fuck you. You love that game.” 

Steve shoots him the finger from over his shoulder, but something about his naked body and tight little ass being on display strips the gesture of its animosity. He disappears into the bathroom and Bucky walks over to their bedroom dresser to grab a hair tie, still snickering. He sobers when he takes one from the valet tray and realizes that he’ll have to have Steve tie his hair back. That’s one thing he never could figure out how to do one handed. He stands there and looks in the mirror above the dresser, studying the left side of his body in a way that he rarely does anymore. 

He���s gotten so used to it: his life with Steve, whom he knows down to his bones accepts him unconditionally. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be self conscious about his body. Bucky hasn’t known how to talk about it, and Mary hasn’t asked. She’s seen him with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, or in tee shirts at the gym, but that’s all so far. Sometimes he’ll catch her looking, but he’s got no clue what she’s thinking. He considers his reflection, looks at the scars and puckered skin, the implanted base of the arm where his stump used to be. He doesn’t like the uncomfortability of being critical of his body again. In a way, he almost resents Mary for it, for making that feeling come back after all these years. Silly, he knows. 

“Babe?” Steve’s voice calls out from the bathroom. Bucky’s ears register the sound of rushing water. “You coming?” 

Bucky inhales deeply and decides it doesn’t matter anyway. Mary wants a ProDom, not them, so he doesn’t have to stress over what she thinks about any part of his body, let alone the one part he doesn’t have.

“Yeah.” He turns his back to the judgmental mirror and heads towards his very non-judgmental best guy.

“Okay. Stop clenching.”

Steve exhales shakily, but he does obey, body slumping back against the end of the tub as he relaxes his muscles. “Fuck,” he breathes, overwhelmed.

“Hand too, Baby.”

His hand abandons his dick in the bathwater. “Ungh.”

Bucky smiles lazily and rubs the side of his foot against Steve’s hip in praise. “Good boy.”

They’re in the bathtub together, opposite ends, legs tangled. Their combined bulk displaces the water all the way up to above their shoulders, but that’s part of the game: they’re not allowed to splash on the floor, so they can’t jerk off very hard or fast. First one to splash water on the floor is the automatic loser and has to bottom the next time they fuck (Bucky added that little caveat because he’s very good at not splashing, whereas Steve is hopelessly clumsy and overeager ). “How you doing, Sweetheart?” he asks, drinking in the sight of Steve with his lips parted, chest heaving, squirming. He’s pink from temple to tits, flushed from the bathwater and arousal both, and Bucky loves it. “You’re not close already, are you?” he tuts, grinning. “So sensitive.”

“Buck,” Steve croaks, heated eyes dragging over Bucky’s body at the other end of the tub where he’s still gently jerking himself off. “Please.”

Bucky affords himself another toe-curlingly good swipe over the head of his dick before he nods. “Okay. Slow. Just like me”

Steve huffs and wraps his hand back around himself, stroking his dick in slow, measured strokes, just like Bucky said. Bucky’s guts warm and another heady rush of dominance swirls low in his belly at watching Steve do exactly as he says. “You can start workin’ it again, too,” he says.

Steve moans gratefully. “Thank you. Fuck.” His abs start clenching, his body straining again with visible tension as he works the Aneros that’s seated up inside him. Under the water, his knees move in and out in that instinctive motion as he tries to rock it just right. But it’s hard to do it with the water so high, and more than once he catches himself and holds back at the sight of the bathwater sloshing precariously close to the lip of the tub. At one point he gasps and his eyes slam shut, and Bucky figures the toy must’ve shifted to press even more directly against his prostate. 

“Ooh, does that feel good, Stevie?”

Steve peeks his eyes open, glaring across the way at him. “You know it does.”

Bucky does, in fact, know exactly how good it feels—because he’s got another of the exact same toy inside of himself, right now. “I don’t know why you still agree to play this game,” he taunts, grunting from the effort of holding back his own moan as his prostate gets a firm prod from the head of the toy. “You—nngh—you always wind up losing.”

“Yeah, well …” Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows heavily. “Maybe I don’t mind you coming out on top, sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Bucky scoffs, but he’s breathing heavier than he was thirty minutes ago, his composure slipping the longer he works the toy inside himself and jerks himself off agonizingly slowly underneath the water. In fact, he’s not even sure it even counts as jerking off at this slow a pace.

Edging is something he’d introduced Steve to early on in their relationship, as soon as he’d realized how delightfully sensitive his new boyfriend was. And Steve, the big idiot, had worried Bucky wouldn’t like it, had actually thought of it as a negative! An absurd notion that Bucky promptly disabused him of. Watching his ungodly sexy blond behemoth of a husband whine and squirm and struggle to hold himself in check is one of the fucking hottest things Bucky’s ever seen—and he’s seen a lot. He’d been a bit of a manwhore back in his heyday, racking up the bodies as he fought to find himself as a Dom and accept the body an IED had left him with.

Steve, his overly-sensitive, glorious hunk of a then-boyfriend, had helped him to do both. And it’s times like this where Bucky remembers just how goddamn lucky he is. Having Steve to love and fuck around with feels like the best gift in the world. 

At the other end of the tub, the water sloshes as something he’s done to himself makes Steve’s breath hitch in another helpless moan. He tosses his head back for a moment, eyes clamped shut as his expression crumples beautifully and he whimpers. Bucky’s ass clenches down hard in arousal at the sight, which only makes the toy in his ass rub over his prostate that much better. His cock throbs as his pleasure flares dangerously high. Fuck, he wants to come. 

Licking his lips, he decides it's time to end this. His balls are pulled up too close to his body, taut and full and aching for release. Trying to school his breathing into something resembling nonchalance is a lost cause, and his face feels almost as flushed as Steve’s looks right now. Bucky decides to call it, because even though he’s the automatic favorite to win this game every time, he is capable of losing, if he gets too caught up in ogling Steve’s body and reactions and doesn’t focus enough on playing his cards right. “Okay,” he finally says, smirking when Steve’s head jerks back to attention, his irises visibly flaring in excitement. “Yeah, Baby. It’s time.”

“Fuck.”

“You ready for the home stretch?” He waggles his eyebrows and lets his head rest back against the tub, spreading his legs wider and keeping his eyes on Steve. “Gotta keep up,” he instructs, even though Steve already knows how this goes. When Bucky tightens his hand and speeds up the pace of how fast he’s jerking himself off, Steve copies him. That’s how it is at the end of this—totally-rigged-in-Bucky’s-favor—game. They both jerk off at the pace that Bucky sets, and the first one to splash water on the floor or come is the loser. It’s not very fair, but Bucky never claimed he was a fair guy. He is, in fact, selfish as fuck. 

Lucky for him, Steve’s into that.

“Fuck,” Steve pants from his end of the tub. He slides down lower, keeping more of his body under the water in an attempt to prevent splashing. It’s a futile effort, though, because he’s doomed to lose anyway with the faster pace that Bucky’s set. Already, he’s going lobster red in the face, brow pinched and desperate, knees knocking the sides of the tub as he compulsively works the toy in his ass. 

The arousal in Bucky’s gut coils tighter at the sight. “Watch my hand,” he warns, when he notices Steve slacking off. “Gotta match it, Baby.”

“I am.”

“Tighter,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And stop avoiding the head. I can see you cheatin’ over there, Punk.”

Steve whimpers, and Bucky knows that he really wasn’t going as tight as he is, because Steve’s hand changes its hold and he starts getting the head of his dick with the same intensity that Bucky is. Bucky grins open mouthed, panting. “Atta boy.”

“You should—ugn.” Steve grimaces. “Should get a penalty, for being cut. I should get an extra, nnnh, th-thirty seconds, at least.”

Bucky laughs, because trust Steve to think of a sportsman’s solution to the inequity of their dicks. Steve being uncut means that it takes less intense stimulation for him to come. They both know this, Bucky loves this, and again: he never claimed the game was fair. “No penalty,” he grunts, speeding up his pace even further. Steve’s eyes widen but he matches it. Bucky grits his teeth. He can hold out long enough. Steve’ll blow in seconds at this pace. 

And sure enough, it’s not even twenty seconds later when Steve is crying out, body tensing and muscles straining gorgeously as he seizes up and starts to come. “Agh!” His knees fling out hard and hit the sides of the tub, splashing water over the lip to the floor below. But he hasn’t even noticed, he’s so lost to his orgasm. His asshole is twitching, sucking on the Aneros as the contractions of his body pull the toy up against his prostate again and again, drawing the pleasure out. He shoves down hard in the water and shouts louder, as though he’s getting a second orgasm on top of the first. “Ohnfuck …” 

Bucky groans as he watches it happen: Steve’s gorgeous face and juddering hips, big hand wringing up hard underneath the head the whole way through. The fucking sounds he makes, Jesus wept. It’s leagues better than any porn Bucky’s ever seen. “Fuck, Baby,” he praises. “Yes. Fuck that’s so hot …” 

Steve’s hand keeps working the whole way through, only abandoning his cock once it’s fully spent and softening, the cloudy ribbons of his cum floating away in the bathwater. “Fuck,” he exhales hugely once it’s done, letting his body go lax and slump so far down that only his face is above the waterline.

Bucky grunts and spreads his legs wider, not heeding the splashing rule now that he’s already won. The water splashes precariously as he shoves his hips down and down and down, squeezing the shape of the toy inside so fucking perfectly. Fuck, it feels fucking good working over his spot like that. “Oghnnn,” he pants, grunting and groaning and jerking his cock hard. “Fuck, Baby. You’re so fucking pretty. Fuck. M’gonna cum …” 

Steve gives a sated hum from his end of the tub. Bucky can sense him shifting in the water, and then gasps when he feels the ball of Steve’s foot gently press up on his balls. His eyes fly open and he looks down. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”

Steve grins and rubs his foot against him. And Bucky doesn’t have that fetish, but there’s something so fucking perverse about seeing Steve’s toes up against his balls that it turns his brain to mush anyway and pushes him right on over into orgasm. He shoots off beneath the water, stroking and thrusting and moaning—and probably splashing water all over the floor just as badly as Steve ever has.

Series Masterlist

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