#sergeant barnes x reader

[atmostories]

Sergeant Barnes x Reader

A gift for @senka-mesecine 🚬🚬🚬

His Cog

The girls were scared of him. It couldn't have been because of his facial injuries, they'd been here at the city hospital longer than you had after all, seen much worse. You supposed it must have been his rough bedside manner. They loved the sweet boys, the charming ones, and from what you'd witnessed they must have spent half their time flirting and the other half actually providing care. But considering how the boys healed up, the flirting seemed to be part of the healing. Sergeant Barnes wasn't a flirt then. That suited you just fine. Coleen had shoved his file against your chest as you were restocking one of the operating rooms, making you take him as one of your patients. She barely gave you time to grab the file before the papers could spill out everywhere.

After reading through his rather extensive medical history, you headed to the step down unit with fresh bandages in hand. It was quieter in here than the intensive care wards or the floor units where patients were almost ready to be discharged. When you spotted Sergeant Barnes sitting up on his bed, his eyes were already on you. He didn't react to the polite smile you gave him as you approached, nor did he respond when you introduced yourself. The laceration on his chin went through his lip, it must have been painful for him to- “I need a smoke,” he ordered plainly, his hand reacting out, obviously expecting you to have a pack on your person like most of the other nurses did. “When I've finished changing-” “Now.” You blinked at his blunt interruption, suddenly understanding why Coleen had forced him on you. “Alright,” you replied slowly, placing down the bandages on the bedside table. He spoke again when you turned around. “You ain't got none?” “I. . .I don't smoke.” “You will,” he replied, his words nothing but a promise. You rushed off out of the unit, managing to plead for two cigarettes from Dorrie before hurrying back to him. He pointedly took both of them, tucking one on top of his ear. It was as if he was silently chastising you for not having them in the first place. “Well?” He was giving you an expectant look. You stared back helplessly. The hostility of his demeanour was putting you out of sorts. “What. . .you thought the passion of you wanting to help heal folk and such was gonna light this here cigarette?” Your gut rolled with embarrassment and you felt your cheeks redden. You mumbled an apology and left the unit once more, this time in search for a lighter. Thankfully you bumped into Dr. Foreman who lent you his lighter, appearing understanding when you mentioned who your patient was. You sucked in a deep breath before walking back to Sergeant Barnes in an attempt to compose yourself. Rather than taking the lighter from you, he jutted out his chin with the cigarette pressed between his lips, expectant and waiting impatiently. You lit it for him and he thankfully didn't criticise you any further as you got to work taking off the old bandage. The stitches looked messier than they should have been and the thick scabs on his upper and lower lips were bleeding slightly. While you cleaned the wound carefully, you were surprised he didn't blow the smoke right into your eyes. His jaw twitched, he must have been in pain. You slowed even further. "I ain't a damn china cup," he commented in annoyance. You ignored him and continued at the same pace, concerned that the future scar on his chin and his lips would be as prominent as the one going around his brow. He suddenly grabbed your wrist and wrenched you forwards, your nose almost bumping against his. "What did I just say?" He murmured softly, his voice juxtaposed the vicious grip he had on you.

"You're in pain," you explained, almost letting out a whimper.

"I can take the pain. You hurry on up and get to the other men, there's plenty of them, ain't there?"

"You're my-"

"I don't take back talk. That's your first and only warning. Now get to work." You stared at him for a brief moment when he released your hand, there was something almost hypnotic about his eyes and his cool, controlling demeanour that compelled you to obey. You resumed your work at pace, as he had commanded you to. Your hands were getting unsteady as Sergeant Barnes watched you intently while he smoked. Would he chastise you once more? Would he grab you again? Were you going fast enough? After applying a fresh bandage on his chin, you examined his swollen ankle and put an additional pillow underneath it to raise it even higher. He didn't seem to like that but said nothing on the matter, nor did he comment as you completed the nursing observations, timed his pulse and respiratory rate, checked his temperature and blood pressure. He'd finished the second cigarette by the time you got to the pain score. You purposefully left it until last, wanting to avoid further conversation with him.

He gave you a one out of ten for his face and also for his ankle. You hesitated to note down his answers because he wasn't telling you the truth. “If I uhh put down a one for your ankle, that means you can walk. . .but you can't just yet, not for at least a couple more days. How. . .how about a three?” You tried to negotiate with him, the Sergeant silently considered your attempt before nodding in reply so you quickly noted down a three. “Thank you, Sergeant,” you told him, managing to take back the lighter without protest and you hurried out of the unit, wishing that Coleen had cornered someone else before you. - - -

The next day you were prepared for Sergeant Barnes. You purchased a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, two of which were promptly returned to Dorrie, and you immediately had one lit before guiding it in between his lips. He thankfully said nothing as you got to work once more. When you'd returned Dr. Foreman's lighter yesterday, you expressed the need for Sergeant Barnes' pain relief to be reviewed. The doctor had merely chuckled at you, replying that Barnes had always denied pain medication and it wasn't worth the bother. You wanted to refute the notion, explain that the Sergeant was worth the bother, but you knew that you couldn't force the pain relief on him. From what he'd said yesterday, you assumed that he'd give some justification that the other men needed it rather than him. You wondered what was fostering that mindset. There were plenty of supplies here in the city hospital, there wouldn't be so many when you headed to the front next week. The swelling of his ankle was subsiding, another two days and you'd like to see whether he could put some weight on it. His pain score remained the same and you jotted down the results from your routine observations. He offered no critic or chastisement. Perhaps he was having a particularly bad day yesterday. On your visit the next day, when you had replaced his bandage he pulled off the bedsheets and swung his legs off the bed. “You said two days,” he told you before you could protest at his sudden movement. “Please could you wait for a moment?” You pleaded as you knelt at his feet, hands gently running over his ankle. Though the swelling was going down nicely, you'd prefer him to rest until tomorrow to be sure. But Sergeant Barnes was seemingly adverse to standard medical practice. As the thought crossed your mind, you felt his hand press down on your shoulder, he rose to stand on one foot and slowly began to put weight on the bad ankle. You stayed on your knees, conscious that moving would mean he'd be placing all of his weight on his feet rather than using you as a crutch. He was rather good at hiding the pain, and yet it was still evident as you observed him closely. There was tension in his jaw, his eyes flicked from the floor, across the ward, to the ceiling, he leaned even more against your shoulder. Considering what you knew about him, he'd probably start trying to walk around the unit. “Maybe. . .I can come back later today and we can get you back on your feet again? If you'd like?” You asked softly, trying to walk the fine line between placating him and not wanting to push his body too far. He gazed down at you for what felt like the longest time before he sat back down on the bed. “I'll hold you to it.” - - - Surprisingly you got used to Sergeant Barnes. You obeyed his previous commands, provided him with cigarettes on every visit and kept focused on your work, on helping him to his feet. He left you well enough alone, commenting only here and there about hurrying up.

He wasn't like the other patients, he was all business. He didn't chat, he didn't gossip, he didn't regal his stories of battle and glory. He didn't confide in you, he didn't attempt to persuade you to get him extra rations, he didn't try his luck trying to steal a kiss from you. It was almost as if he was waiting to get back to the front. He constantly pushed himself to recover as quickly as humanly possible. No matter his pain. The others dreaded the front, they'd push the thought of it from their mind, they'd chat with you and the other girls about their lives beyond the war, about what they'd be doing during their rest and recuperation time, about learning how to surf in Hawaii, going to the dance halls and partying through the night. Sergeant Barnes was fully focused on recovering and getting back. There was something. . .robotic about him, something relentless, something not quite human. You supposed it should have unsettled you more than it did. The day came when you traded your pristine white nurse uniform for fatigues. It was standard issue for medical personnel at the front, both male and female. You liked it in some ways, that it was looser and more comfortable to wear, that the men might see you more as an equal. And yet it dawned on you that were about to truly enter a war zone. Nurses before you had been killed, blown to bits by artillery fire. You supposed if you were gonna go, you'd hope it be quick. You told Sergeant Barnes that this would be your last visit with him, that you were flying out to the border area first thing in the morning and that another nurse would see out the rest of his recovery. “Tomorrow hmm?” He murmured and you nodded in reply. It was the only thing he said. You finished up your observations in the usual silence of his company and bid your goodbyes. You didn't sleep at all that night, mind filled with what was to come. At dawn, you were waiting at the back of the line with Dorrie to get into the truck, your one bag of possessions in hand. You and Dorrie were the only nurses heading out, the rest were soldiers. Two of them seemed to be competing for Dorrie as they both helped her climb up into the truck and were trying to convince her to sit next to them. You looked at the back of the truck with a sigh, wondering how you were going to climb up so high without breaking your neck. A hand reached then reached out, Sergeant Barnes was staring down at you. He wasn't wearing a bandage on his face. What was he doing here? “Up ya get, cherry,” he prompted. You held out your hand and he helped you up into the back of the truck, guiding you to the bench opposite him. Your knees brushed against his as you sat down, there was barely any space inside, you wondered how so many people could fit in such a small space. A duffel bag was on the bench next to you, so thankfully you were leaning right up against that rather than someone else. With your bag resting on your lap, you kept your legs pressed together. Sergeant Barnes' legs were spread, his knees either side of yours. You almost jumped when the back of the truck got closed up half way, you were too distracted.

As the truck got moving, your eyes flickered over to Sergeant Barnes who was already looking at you. “What are you doing here, Sergeant?” You asked him, having to raise your voice slightly because there must have been at least five different conversations going on. Dorrie was already laughing loudly. “Got discharged.” “But. . .I didn't recommend that.” “So?” He replied dismissively, shrugging a shoulder at you. “Well usually there needs to be a nurse recommendation and a doctor's authorisation for personnel to be discharged.” “Well. . .guess I skipped the unnecessary part and just got the authorisation.” There was an uncomfortable twinge in your chest at his harsh words. Was he purposefully trying to insult you by insinuating that you were unnecessary? Nothing on his expression helped you to determine his meaning. You didn't respond to him, and turned your attention to the view out the back of the truck as the city passed by. If only Dorrie had stayed with you, maybe you could have chatted together, make the journey go a bit quicker. In your peripheral vision, you saw him pull a cap out of his pocket. He put it on before pulling it down over his eyes and crossed his arms. That was something of a relief, to not have Sergeant Barnes stare at you the whole way. Every now and then, you'd glance over at him, taking in a detail here and there, looking at the watch on his left wrist. The roads started to get windier as you headed out into the countryside, rice field after rice field rolling past. His knee would knock into you when the truck turned. After an hour or so, one of his knees remained pressed up against you and he continued his leisurely nap, oblivious to what he was doing. Rain began to pelt down onto the top of the truck and Sergeant Barnes remained unperturbed. As the truck went around another bend, his other knee knocked against you, but then it didn't move away again. He had both of his knees pressed against yours, effectively boxing you in. For a moment, you thought about saying something, but the last thing you wanted to do was disturb him. Who knew what kind of wrath you could awaken if you woke him up? No, you wouldn't do that, you'd simply remain uncomfortable as you were. The rain had been over for a good half an hour when the truck arrived at the airbase. Three helicopters would take you the rest of the way to the base camp which you'd call home for the next six months. Sergeant Barnes pulled off the cap a few moments before the truck pulled up, finally moving his knees away from yours.

[buckyalpine]

High on meds Bucky who keeps howling about how you put bee bum juice in his tea.

"Bucky, it's just honey-

"BEE. BUM. JUICE"

You arched a brow at the prominent pout that stayed plastered on Bucky's face as he sat swaddled in a blanket on the couch with his arms crossed against his chest.

"You always like honey in your tea Buck, it's good for you, it'll help your sore throat-

"She's putting bee bum juice in my tea!" Bucky shrieked as Steve walked by, refusing to take a sip of what you'd made for him countless times before.

"Bee bum juice...?" Steve's face scrunched while his best friend huffed, still deeply offended at the tea spoon of sweetness you stirred into his drink.

"Honey. I put honey in his tea" You said in exasperation, "He's on antibiotics for a sore throat. Of all things to take him down, this-" You motined to the bundle of blankets containing 1 super soldier inside, "this is what does it"

"Here, let me try" Steve took the cup from you and sat beside Bucky, putting it on the table when Bucky shuffled away from him, wracking his brain over what he could eat or drink in his current state.

"Okay, how about some chicken soup-

"BOILED BIRD WATER"

"Buck, you love chicken soup, it's your fav-

"BOILED. BIRD. WATER"

"Fuck"

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Ugh i cannot stop thinking about this! Reader is in ovulation phase and she’s needy and wet first thing in the morning and bucky teasing her by just rubbing it, no penetration until bucky cannot resist too anymore so he slips in

First Thing In The Morning » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: You need Bucky first thing in the morning.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, needy!reader, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, Bucky being a teasing little shit, unprotected sex, praise kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the hot request, nonnie🩵 this might me the smuttest thing I’ve written in a while🥵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

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

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You woke up with wet panties and an ache between your legs. You rolled over, excepting your husband to be next to you, but he wasn’t. You whined and got out of bed. You found Bucky reading a newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee in the living room. You sat down on the couch next to him.

“Good morning, doll.” Bucky smiles.

Instead of saying good morning back to him, you took the newspaper and cup of coffee from him, putting both on the coffee table. You got on Bucky’s lap, straddling him. You kissed him hungrily. Bucky’s hands found their place on your hips.

“I need you.” You say.

“I’m right here, babydoll.” He says softly.

“I need you.” You say again.

Bucky got it that time.

“Oh yea?” He licks his lips and smirks. “What do you think we should do about that?” He asks in a cooing voice.

“Fuck me.” You say.

“Getting straight to the point, aren’t you, doll face?” He says lowly.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and stood up from the couch. He walked to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed. You spread your legs, revealing your wet panties to your husband. Bucky got on the bed in between your legs.

“Is all of this for me?” Bucky asks, rubbing his fingers against your wet panties.

“All for you.” You moaned, bucking your hips against his hand.

You lifted your hips just enough for Bucky to take your panties off. He threw your wet panties somewhere in the bedroom. Now, Bucky has an even better view of your wet pussy.

“God damn.” Bucky says to himself.

Bucky got off the bed momentarily to take his sweatpants and boxers off. You sat up just enough to take your -his- shirt off and threw it on the floor. He got back in between your legs. He was about to put his hard cock at your wet entrance, but he stopped himself when an idea popped into his head, which made him grin to himself. Bucky spread your legs wider and put his cock against your pussy.

“Bucky!” You whined.

“Patience, doll face.” He says with a smirk.

Bucky began to slowly move his hips, his cock rubbing against your pussy. Your slick got his cock wet.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl.” Bucky says.

“You!” You whined.

“Be more specific, doll face.” He says.

“I want your fat cock so bad right now, baby.” You say.

“Yea? You want me to fuck your pretty pussy?” He asks, moving his hips faster.

“Yes!” You moaned. “So fucking bad!” You say.

“Tell me more.” He says.

“I want-” You paused to moan when his tip bumped your clit. “I want you to put a baby in me.” You say.

“You want me to get you pregnant, huh?” He muses at the thought of you pregnant with his baby. “You wanna make me a daddy?” He asks.

“Yes!” You moaned.

“Want me to make you a mommy?” He asks.

“Yes please!” You moaned.

Bucky moans. He put his hand flat on your stomach, imagining what you would look like pregnant.

“Tell me how much you want it, doll.” Bucky says gruffly.

“I want it so fucking bad, baby! That’s all I want!” You say a bit whiny.

“I want that too, gorgeous.” He says.

Bucky looks down at his cock rubbing against your pussy. His cock was covered in your slick. His precum was smeared on your pussy. It’s fucking sinful and hot.

“Bucky!” You whined. “I’m going to cum if you keep doing that!” You say, referring to his cock rubbing against your pussy.

If Bucky is being honest, he wasn’t going to last that much longer either. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needs to fuck you and get you pregnant with his baby right now. He stopped rubbing his cock against your pussy and finally slid his cock in your pussy. A moan of satisfaction left yours and his lips.

“Better hold on, pretty girl. Daddy is going to give you what you want.” He says gruffly.

Bucky held your legs wide opened and started thrusting, fucking you at a fast and loving pace. Your hands grasped onto the sheets beneath the two of you.

“You really want me to make you a mommy, don’t you, gorgeous?” Bucky pants.

“So much.” You moaned.

Bucky’s hands left your legs to hold your hands, intwining his fingers with yours and pinning your hands above your head against the mattress. Not in a restraining way. In a way that he wants to hold your hands. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together. In this position, Bucky was hovering over you. His Army dog tags were dangling in your face, which you love. His thrusts were deeper at this angle. You could feel his cock hit that one spot inside of you with ease.

“James! Oh yes!” You moaned loudly.

“Say my name again. I want to fucking hear it.” Bucky almost growls.

“James!” You moaned again.

“God damn.” He moans at the sound of your voice when you moan his name and drops his head against your shoulder.

You felt heat in your stomach, feeling your orgasm build up more and more. Bucky could sense it from the way your pussy was squeezing around his cock.

“I can feel you getting close, doll.” He says in your ear.

“Yes!” You moaned.

“I am too.” He moans.

Bucky’s right hand let go of your hand to go down to your pussy. His fingers rubbed your clit in a fast circular motion.

“God damn. You’re fucking wet.” He moans, feeling your slick on his fingers.

You put your free hand on the back of his head, your fingers tugging at his soft and long hair. You placed kisses along his neck and marked him up. Bucky moans when he feels your teeth bite onto his skin hard enough to leave a hickey.

“I know you’re right there, babydoll. Cum for me.” Bucky pants.

Your toes curled and you let out the most pornographic moan Bucky has ever heard as you soaked his cock, your cum getting on his lower abdomen and thighs.

“That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He moans.

Bucky stops rubbing your clit to focus on his own orgasm.

“Ah fuck…” He moans.

Bucky cums inside of you shortly after you came. A white ring of cum formed around the base of his cock. He stopped thrusting and pulled out of you. You whimpered at the loss of his cock. Bucky watches his cum drip out of your pussy for a second before fingering it back inside of you. You moaned and squirmed at the feeling.

“Gotta make sure it sticks, doll face.” Bucky says softly.

Then he laid down next to you. After a few minutes, you got on top of him, straddling him.

“More.” You begged, playfully pouting.

“I’ll give you more, doll face.” Bucky begins lowly. “Let’s hope you end up pregnant by the time I fuck you in every single room of this apartment.” He says in a gruff voice with a smirk.

-Bucky’s Doll

[drdawnbreaker]

Here me out. Right after Bucky has finally settled into a routine at the compoud with the others now that he's a free man. He slowly starts to explore hobbies again and pick up old habits he used to have when he was younger in the 40s. One of those, being smoking.

Now, I'm not saying smoking is not good for you. And Bucky knows thats, but fuck does it feel nice to have a smoke right after a mission. One with a glass of whiskey and a vintage vinyl lowly playing as he sits spread leg on his nice leather sofa that Sam and Nat helped him buy.

And when he met you, oh he was fucked. You quickly became his little devil on his shoulder. He'd have a cigarette after sex (pun intended) with you, and he swore He'd never felt more relaxed. After a long mission, you could taste the whiskey and cigarettes on his tongue, driving you to ride him until he was near past out. He thought you were everything he needed in his life...

Until you convinced him to try weed. Oh boy. The team thought he was a different person the one time they caught him high. His filter, gone. His sass, tripled. and his sex drive... through the fucking roof!! He has you bent over the back of the couch, blunt between his plump lips as he pounds into your dripping cunt. Your fogged brain high and happy as you feel Bucky send you over the edge again and again. Both of you would be fucking like rabbits before, either A) you both pass out. Or B) someone would come looking for you two. God forbid the poor sap that walks in on you two going at it.

Double points if it's steve. He's either joining or becoming a tomato and running away. Noting in-between.

Guess what.. i made a lil imagine of steve joining -> Enjoy teehee.

[mandoalorian]

crimson fever [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Synopsis: In the icy shadows of 1944 occupied Europe, you uncover a dangerous Hydra secret that could shift the war’s tide. But Hydra’s ruthless scientist, Arnim Zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drug—“crimson fever”—that set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. As you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with Sergeant Bucky Barnes, your childhood friend from Brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the war’s chaos.

Warnings: 18+ explicit, smut, sex pollen that comes with themes of dub-con, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism sorta, reader is drugged via injectables, descriptions of pain, canon typical violence, torture, one use of Y/N, Winter Soldier foreshadowing.

Word Count: 6700

Author's note: Thank you to @notreallythatlost for helping me with all the German translations. I love youuu. ღ

ᯓ★ Masterlist

✮ PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER ✮

Objective: Develop a serum enhancing physical strength, endurance, and healing, surpassing the Allied “Super Soldier” serum used on Captain America. The serum is paired with psychological conditioning.

Methods: Subjects— prisoners, captured soldiers, “recruited” operatives undergo experimental injections and brutal brainwashing techniques including sensory deprivation, electroshock, and chemical inducements to break their minds.

Timeline: Initial trials are active in an underground facility, in occupied France. Production to be scaled by 1945. Report to Johann Schmidt.

Der Winter Soldier wird die Zukunft von Hydra sein. (The Winter Soldier will be Hydra’s future.)

You hunched over the decrypted Hydra message, your eyes burning from hours of work, fingers smudged with pencil lead. The office buzzed with quiet urgency—typewriters clacked, a radio hissed static, and your fellow codebreakers murmured over their own stacks of intercepts. You’d been at it since dawn, unraveling Hydra’s coded transmissions, each one a puzzle that could save lives or lose them. Your role as a linguist, fluent in German and trained in cryptography, made you vital to the Allies, but tonight, the weight of what you’d uncovered felt like a stone in your chest.

“Carter, you need to see this,” you called, your voice sharp, cutting through the room’s hum. You pushed your chair back, the wood scraping the floor, and held up the decrypted page, its typed German translated into your neat handwriting. Your heart raced, the words searing your mind: Projekt Winter Soldier.

Peggy Carter, poised in her tailored ATS uniform, strode over, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Her dark eyes flicked to the paper, then to you, sharp and assessing. “What’ve you got?” she asked, voice crisp but laced with concern.

You swallowed, pointing to the key lines. “It’s Hydra. Something called ‘Project Winter Soldier.’ They’re experimenting—on people, not just weapons. It mentions a serum, like what they used on Captain Rogers, but… different. They want to create operatives with no will, no memory. ‘Perfect obedience,’ they call it.” Your voice trembled, and you tapped a name scrawled at the bottom. “Signed by Arnim Zola. He’s running it.”

Peggy’s jaw tightened, her fingers brushing the paper. “Zola,” she muttered, disgust curling her lips. “That man’s a butcher with a scientist’s ego.” She scanned the text, her expression hardening. “This is big. If they’re building mind-controlled soldiers…”

“It’s worse,” you interrupted, voice low, glancing at the other codebreakers—two women, heads down, oblivious. “They’re testing it now. Somewhere in France. Prisoners, maybe captured soldiers. They mention a ‘prototype’ and… something about breaking their minds first.”

Peggy’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. “We need to get this to Colonel Phillips. Tonight.” She turned, barking at the codebreakers. “Eleanor, Joan, wrap up and secure the files. We’re locking down.”

You nodded, heart pounding, but a flicker of pride warmed you. You’d cracked this, you’d found the truth. You thought of Bucky Barnes, your old friend from Brooklyn—his cocky grin, the way he’d sneak you comics, the almost-kiss on that Coney Island pier in ’39. He was out there with Captain Rogers, fighting Hydra. This intel could help him, keep him safe. You tucked the thought away, focusing on the task, and began gathering your notes.

The door crashed open, wood splintering, and you froze. Four Hydra soldiers stormed in, black uniforms stark against the office’s warmth, their rifles gleaming with that eerie blue glow of Hydra tech. Peggy spun, drawing her pistol, but a soldier fired, a blast of energy grazing her arm. She hissed, diving behind a cabinet.

“[Y/N], get down!” Peggy shouted, but you were already moving, shoving the Winter Soldier intel into your blouse, your hands shaking. The codebreakers screamed, scrambling for cover, and you ducked behind the desk, heart hammering. The soldiers barked in German, their voices harsh.

“Die Linguistin! Bringt sie mir lebend!” one ordered—The linguist! Take her alive!—and your blood ran cold. They wanted you. Your codes, your knowledge, or… the intel you’d just found.

You grabbed a letter opener, its dull blade a pitiful weapon, and crouched, peering through the desk’s gap. A soldier loomed closer, his boots thudding, and you lunged, stabbing his thigh. He roared, backhanding you, and pain exploded across your cheek, knocking you to the floor. The room spun, but you scrambled up, clutching the desk, only to feel iron hands seize your arms.

“No!” you yelled, thrashing, but the soldiers pinned you, their grips bruising. Peggy fired from cover, dropping one, but another blasted the cabinet, forcing her back. You kicked, aiming for a groin, and connected, earning a grunt, but a rifle butt slammed your temple, and darkness flickered at your vision’s edge.

“Enough,” a new voice said, cold and precise, cutting through the chaos. Arnim Zola stepped into the room, his small frame dwarfed by the soldiers but radiating menace. His round glasses glinted in the bulb’s light, and his smile was a thin, cruel line. “Fräulein, you are far too valuable to kill.”

You glared, blood trickling from your lip, the intel paper crinkling against your skin. “You’ll get nothing from me,” you spat, voice hoarse but defiant.

Zola chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “Oh, we shall see.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take her to the transport. We have… experiments to conduct.”

A soldier jabbed a syringe into your neck, and a sharp sting gave way to a creeping warmth, a sedative, dulling your senses. You fought to stay conscious, to memorise Zola’s face, his words. “Winter Soldier…” you mumbled, half-delirious, and Zola’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise.

“Secure her,” he snapped, and the soldiers dragged you toward the door, your legs buckling. Peggy’s shouting your name followed you, but the world blurred, and you were gone, the intel tucked against your heart, a secret you’d guard with everything you had.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You’d been gone for weeks, a fact that gnawed at Bucky Barnes like a wound he couldn’t stitch. He stood against the command post’s wall, dog tags clinking under his olive-drab jacket, his eyes scanning a corkboard plastered with mission lists, reconnaissance photos, and urgent telegrams. His fingers, calloused from gripping a sniper rifle, hovered over a typed sheet, and then froze.

Your name stared back at him, stark in black ink: Allied Linguist, Captured, Hydra Facility, Occupied France.

His breath caught, sharp and painful, like a blade between ribs. You—his friend from Brooklyn, the girl who’d steal his cap and run, laughing, through Prospect Park, the one he’d nearly kissed under Coney Island’s Ferris wheel in ’39—were in Hydra’s hands.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the paper from the board, the pin clattering to the floor, and his hand trembled, betraying the storm inside. Memories flooded him: summer nights on your stoop, your hair tucked under a scarf, teasing him about his latest dame. But truthfully, he only had eyes for you.

“You’ll run outta girls to charm, Barnes,” you’d said, smirking, but your eyes had softened, holding something he’d been too dumb to name.

He’d leaned in, heart pounding, only for Steve’s call to break the moment. Then the war came, you to London cracking codes, him to the front with Steve, and letters faded. Now, Hydra had you, and the thought of you in Zola’s grip—Zola, whose name he’d heard tied to twisted experiments, made his stomach churn.

“Hey, Buck, what’s got you lookin’ like you swallowed a grenade?” Steve Rogers’ voice cut through, steady but concerned. He stood across the room, all Captain America in his blue jacket, leaning over a map with Colonel Phillips. His blond hair caught the dim light, but his eyes locked on Bucky, reading the tension in his friend’s stance.

Bucky strode over, boots thudding on the creaky floor, and slapped the list onto the map, scattering pencils. “It’s her, Steve,” he said, voice tight, low, like he was holding back a shout. “From Brooklyn. You remember her—used to tag along with us, always givin’ me hell.” He swallowed, jaw clenching. “Hydra’s got her. Says she’s a linguist, crackin’ their codes. She’s in one of their damn facilities.”

Steve’s eyes widened, flicking to the list, then back to Bucky. His memory was sparking. “The one who’d sneak us into the library after hours? Yeah, I remember.” He straightened, voice firming. “She’s tough, Buck. But Hydra…”

“She’s more than tough,” Bucky snapped, then caught himself, running a hand through his dark hair. “She’s… she’s family, Steve. And you know what Hydra does…” His voice cracked, and he gripped the table, knuckles whitening. “We gotta get her out. Now.”

Colonel Phillips, puffing a cigar, looked up with a scowl, his weathered face etched with irritation. “Sergeant Barnes, we’ve got ops stacked to the ceiling,” he growled, exhaling smoke. “Hydra’s got captives everywhere—this linguist ain’t our priority.”

“She is to me,” Bucky retorted, his voice low but fierce, eyes boring into Phillips. “Sir, she’s got intel—Hydra’s codes, maybe more. She cracked somethin’ big before they took her. Losin’ her gives them an edge.” It was a half-truth; he’d burn the world for you, intel or not, but he knew Phillips needed a reason.

Steve studied Bucky, seeing the truth—the kind of loyalty that went beyond duty, rooted in Brooklyn’s streets, in quiet moments you’d shared. “Colonel,” Steve said, voice calm but unyielding, “the Howling Commandos can handle this. We hit the facility, get her out, and cripple Hydra’s operation. Two birds, one stone.”

Phillips grunted, stabbing his cigar into the ashtray. “Fine, Rogers. But if this goes south, it’s your ass.” He waved them off, turning to an aide, already dismissing the matter.

Bucky exhaled, tension easing a fraction, but his heart still raced, pounding with fear for you. He met Steve’s gaze, a silent thank-you passing between them. “We’ll get her, Buck,” Steve said, clapping his shoulder. “Promise.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket, next to a faded photo—you, him, and Steve at Coney Island, 1939, your smile bright as the summer sun. He headed for the door, the room’s chaos—officers shouting, radio static—fading behind him. Outside, the Howling Commandos lounged near a jeep, cleaning rifles and trading jabs in the grey dawn.

“Sarge, what’s the word?” Dum Dum Dugan called, his mustache twitching as he tossed a flask to Gabe Jones, who caught it with a grin.

Bucky held up the folded list, his sergeant’s calm settling over him like armour, though his voice carried an edge. “We got a job,” he said, eyes scanning the team—Gabe, Jim Morita, Monty Falsworth, Jacques Dernier. “Hydra’s holdin’ one of ours—a linguist, key to their codes. She’s in a facility in France. We’re hittin’ it, gettin’ her out, and blowin’ the place to hell.” He paused, his grip tightening on the paper. “She’s from my neighborhood. Means somethin’ to me. You in?”

Gabe nodded, his smile fading to seriousness. “Always, Barnes.”

Dum Dum cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Hell, Sarge, let’s give them a mornin’ they won’t forget.”

Jacques smirked, twirling a knife. “Pour la France,” he said, voice low, and Jim and Monty murmured agreement, their faces set.

Bucky forced a smirk, but his mind was on you—alone, maybe hurt, fighting Zola’s experiments with that fire he’d always admired. He touched the photo in his pocket, your face burned into his memory, and whispered, so quiet no one heard, “Hold on, doll. I’m comin’ for you.”

The words were a vow, and he’d keep it, no matter what Hydra threw at him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You lay curled on a thin cot in a Hydra cell, your body trembling, skin flushed with an unnatural heat that made your pulse race and your breath come in shallow, desperate gasps. The crimson fever drug, injected by Arnim Zola weeks ago after your kidnapping in London, burned through you, twisting your mind with a relentless need you fought to suppress. Your blouse, torn and stained, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d kept secret, its paper pressed against your chest like a talisman.

You’d overheard Zola’s gloating—his “perfect obedience” experiments, the “winter soldier” prototype—and your linguist’s mind clung to those details, even as the drug threatened to unravel you. “Stay sharp,” you whispered to yourself, voice hoarse, your nails digging into your palms to anchor you against the fever’s pull.

Outside, Bucky Barnes crouched behind a snow-dusted ridge, his M1 Garand rifle steady in his hands, breath clouding in the frigid air. You weren’t there to see it, but you’d have felt the weight of his resolve, his heart pounding with one thought: getting you back. The Howling Commandos flanked him—Dum Dum Dugan reloading his Thompson submachine gun, Gabe Jones checking a radio, Jim Morita adjusting his scope, Monty Falsworth and Jacques Dernier wiring explosives. The plan was tight: hit hard, find you, blow the place to hell. Bucky’s jaw clenched, your face—Brooklyn summers, that Coney Island almost-kiss—burning in his mind.

“Ready, Sarge?” Dum Dum asked, his moustache twitching as he grinned, though his eyes were hard, scanning the bunker a hundred yards away.

“Let’s give ‘em hell,” you’d have heard Bucky reply, his voice low, all sergeant, but laced with something raw. He signalled, and Jacques tossed a smoke grenade, grey haze cloaking the ridge. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, slipping toward the bunker, their boots silent in the snow. Gabe’s radio crackled, confirming Allied distractions were pulling Hydra’s outer patrols away. Bucky’s heart thundered, not for the fight, but for you, trapped in Zola’s nightmare.

A Hydra guard at the entrance barely turned before Bucky’s knife found his throat, a silent kill, blood dark against the snow. “Go,” Bucky hissed, and Jacques’ charges blew the steel door, the blast rattling the night.

Alarms screamed, red lights pulsing inside, and Hydra soldiers poured into the corridor, their blue-energy rifles spitting death. You heard the gunfire, distant but growing louder, a chaotic symphony that stirred hope in your fevered haze. “Help…” you mumbled, clutching the cot’s edge, your body shaking as you tried to sit.

Bucky ducked behind a crate, returning fire, his shots precise, dropping two guards. “Push through!” he shouted, voice cutting through the din. Dum Dum’s Thompson roared, mowing down a squad, while Monty and Jim covered the rear, grenades shaking the walls. “Lab’s that way!”

Gabe yelled, pointing left, where a sign read Forschungsbereich—research sector. Bucky’s gut twisted, Zola’s name a poison in his thoughts. If Zola had touched you…

“Keep movin’!” Bucky ordered, leading the charge past sparking machinery and shattered glass, his boots slipping on spilled chemicals. Jacques planted more explosives, grinning like a kid with firecrackers.

“Pour la France!” he muttered, wiring a console. You heard the blasts, closer now, and dragged yourself upright, your vision swimming but your will iron. The Winter Soldier intel crinkled against your skin, a secret you’d die to protect.

The cell block was a maze of iron doors, damp concrete slick underfoot. Bucky rounded a corner, gun raised, and there you were—behind a barred window, slumped but alive, your hair matted with sweat, eyes flickering with fever. His heart lurched, he called your name, voice raw, cracking like a boy’s. A Hydra guard lunged from the shadows, but Bucky slammed him against the wall, the man’s skull cracking with a sickening thud.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice weak but sharp with recognition, cutting through the drug’s fog. You staggered to the bars, fingers trembling as you gripped them, your blouse clinging to your fevered skin. The needle marks on your arm stood out, angry red, and your breath hitched, a mix of relief and desperation.

“I’m here, doll,” Bucky said, fumbling with the lock, his hands shaking until Gabe tossed him a pilfered keyring. “Hold on.” The door swung open, and he was at your side, dropping to his knees, his hands cupping your face. Your skin burned under his touch, too hot, and your eyes, though glassy, locked onto his, a spark of you still fighting. “It’s me,” he said, voice soft but urgent, thumb brushing your cheek. You leaned into his hand, a whimper escaping, your body trembling with something more than weakness—a need that alarmed him.

“Bucky… they… Zola…” you stammered, your fingers clutching his jacket, nails digging in. “Crimson fever… it’s in me… burning…” Your voice broke, shame flickering in your eyes, but you forced out, “Winter Soldier… I know… they’re making…” You trailed off, a shudder racking you, and Bucky’s blood ran cold, the intel’s weight hitting him.

“Shush, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Bucky hummed, his arms tightening around your body, not caring about any intel. Not caring about the war. Not caring about anything. Just you. 

Your shaky hands went to pass him the intel, but failed with exhaustion. “Winter. Soldier.” you bit out again, aimlessly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Winter Soldier? No, no doll, it’s me. It’s Buck, from Brooklyn,” he was misunderstanding, and you couldn’t blame him. “What’d they do to you?” he growled, his voice low, rage barely leashed as he saw the needle marks, the fever’s flush.

But you couldn’t get your words out. 

He scooped you up, your weight light but your grip fierce, your head lolling against his shoulder. “I got you,” he said, standing, his arms steady despite the chaos. Your breath was ragged, too warm against his neck, and he felt the drug’s unnatural pull in your touch, your fingers clutching too tightly, too desperately.

“Base is rigged!” Jacques shouted from the corridor, where the team held off reinforcements, blue energy scorching the walls.

Dum Dum’s voice boomed, “Thirty seconds, Barnes!” Explosions rumbled, the facility shaking as charges blew.

“Bucky, the intel…” you mumbled, half-lucid, patting your blouse weakly. “Winter Soldier… don’t let them…” Your voice faded, the fever stealing your strength, but your words seared him, tying your fight to the horror he’d only heard whispers of.

“I won’t,” he promised, voice fierce, dodging a blast that charred the wall. It was an empty promise, but that didn’t matter right now. He still didn’t understand completely what you were mumbling about. 

He carried you through smoke and gunfire, the Commandos covering him—Monty tossing a grenade, Gabe firing steadily. “Stay with me, doll,” he said, his boots pounding as he reached the exit, the night air hitting like a slap.

The bunker erupted behind you, flames licking the sky, and the team piled into a stolen Hydra truck, Gabe at the wheel. Bucky slid you into the back, climbing in beside you, holding you close as the truck lurched forward, tires crunching snow. Your fevered body curled against him, your hand still clutching the hidden intel, and Bucky’s mind raced.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You slumped against Bucky Barnes in the corner of the Hydra truck’s cargo bed, your body a furnace of torment, every nerve alight with the crimson fever drug’s cruel fire. Your skin burned, slick with sweat despite the November chill, and your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a drum urging you toward something you barely understood. Your blouse, torn and clinging to your damp skin, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d guarded since London, its paper a faint crinkle against your chest.

The drug, injected by Arnim Zola during those weeks in his lab, twisted your mind, flooding you with an aching, primal need that made your thighs clench and your breath hitch in sharp, desperate gasps. You fought it, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed closer to Bucky, his warmth both a lifeline and a torment.

Bucky held you tightly, his arm a steel band around your shoulders, his wool jacket rough against your cheek. You felt his heartbeat, steady but quick, through his chest, and his breath clouded in the cold air, his dog tags clinking faintly as he shifted to shield you from a gust. His eyes, shadowed under the swaying lantern’s amber glow, darted to you, worry carving lines into his face. You’d seen him tough, cocky, tossing quips in Brooklyn diners, but now he was raw, his sergeant’s calm fraying at the sight of your trembling hands, the way your fingers clutched his sleeve like he was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Doll, talk to me,” Bucky whispered, voice low, meant only for you, his lips brushing your ear. His calloused hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face to meet his gaze, and the touch sent a jolt through you, your body shuddering as a wave of heat pulsed low in your belly.

You moaned softly, unintended, and your eyes fluttered, half-lidded, the drug amplifying his touch into something overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hips twitched, pressing against his thigh, and you bit your lip, shame flooding you even as your body begged for more.

The Howling Commandos sprawled around you, their presence a grounding hum amid your chaos. Dum Dum Dugan, sprawled on a crate, polished his Thompson, muttering, “Damn roads are gonna shake my teeth loose.”

Gabe Jones, at the wheel, cursed as the tires skidded, shouting, “Hold tight, this ain’t a Sunday drive!” Jim Morita cleaned his rifle, Monty sipped from a flask, and Jacques toyed with a looted Hydra grenade, whistling a French tune.

You looked at the men. If you wanted, you could have had any one of them. They could have given you what you needed. But it was the Sergeant who had owned your heart since the very start. He was the one you trusted more than anyone else. The infantry’s banter was a lifeline, but they didn’t see your state, didn’t hear the soft, needy sounds you stifled against Bucky’s neck.

“Bucky…” you managed, voice cracked, barely audible over the truck’s rumble. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around his dog tags, the metal cool against your burning skin. The contact sent another shiver through you, your thighs squeezing together as a fresh surge of desire made your breath hitch, a low, throaty moan escaping before you could stop it. You were drowning in it—the fever’s heat, the drug’s relentless pull, the ache that coiled tighter with every second. “I… I need to tell you,” you whispered, urgent, your lips grazing his ear, the intimacy of it making your skin prickle. “Alone.”

His pulse spiked—you felt it under your fingers—and his eyes widened, alarm mixing with something deeper, unspoken. “Okay,” he said, voice rough, glancing at the team. The Commandos were distracted, Gabe wrestling the wheel, Dum Dum arguing with Monty over the flask. Bucky shifted, easing you behind a stack of crates, the wood splintered and cold against your back. He knelt in front of you, his hands steadying your shoulders, his gaze searching yours. “What’s goin’ on, doll? You’re burnin’ up,” he said, thumb brushing your cheek, and you gasped, your body arching toward him, the touch igniting sparks that made your hips rock involuntarily.

You swallowed, tears welling, the shame of your need warring with the urgency to speak. “Zola… he gave me something,” you said, words spilling in a rush, your voice trembling. “Called it crimson fever. It’s… it’s making me want things. Need things.” Your breath hitched, a sob catching as you clutched his wrist, your nails digging in. “It’s in my blood, Bucky. It’s burning me, making me… want you. Not just want—I can’t stop it. If I don’t… get release, he said I’ll go mad.” Your cheeks flushed deeper, not just from fever but humiliation, and you looked away, tears dripping onto your lap.

Bucky’s breath caught, his hand tightening on yours, crumpling the edge of his jacket. You saw the horror in his eyes, but also love, fierce and unyielding, rooted in Brooklyn nights when you’d danced around his teasing, your laughter brighter than the city lights.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice hoarse, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. Your breath mingled, hot and ragged, and you moaned again, your body reacting to his nearness, hips shifting, thighs trembling as the drug surged. “You don’t gotta be sorry,” he said, cupping your face, wiping tears with his thumbs. “This ain’t you—it’s them. Hydra. Zola. If they’re doing this, only God knows what else they have planned.”

Your body didn’t care for words. You didn’t need empathy. You pressed against him, a desperate, unconscious move, your hand sliding to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. The drug made every touch electric, and you gasped, your skin flushing from chest to throat, a sheen of sweat glistening in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, it hurts,” you whispered, voice raw, your lips brushing his jaw, leaving a faint heat. “I’m burning… I need you.” Your fingers tightened, tugging his jacket, and your hips rocked again, a soft, needy sound escaping as you fought the urge to climb into his lap. 

Your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, each one a plea you hated but couldn’t stop.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a mix of guilt and desire he hated himself for feeling. You saw it—the way he fought his own reaction, his breath hitching as your touch stirred him, his love for you clashing with the drug’s twisted demand.

You were so needy, so clingy. And Bucky knew it wasn’t completely you, right? None the less he swallowed, trying to ignore the erection pressing against his trousers, begging for release. Every time your fingers grazed him even in the slighest, he felt like he was going to explode. The war had him touch-starved and desperate, that’s for sure. 

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low, steady, though it shook at the edges. “You’re stronger than this. We’re gonna get you through this, you hear me?” His hand slid to your neck, holding you gently, and you whimpered, the contact sending a shiver through you, your body arching, breasts pressing against him as another wave of need made you tremble.

“I trust you,” you said, voice breaking, your eyes locking onto his, lucid despite the fever’s haze. “Only you.” Your hand found his, guiding it to your waist, and you gasped as his fingers brushed your hip, the touch sparking a moan that made your thighs quiver. You were losing ground, the drug’s pull relentless, but your trust in Bucky—forged in Brooklyn, in quiet moments he’d never forgotten—kept you tethered.

The truck lurched, Gabe shouting, “Road’s blocked! Barn up ahead, half a mile!” The Commandos shifted, readying gear, their voices a blur.

“I have one grenade left.” You just about made out Jacques’ annoucement. 

But Bucky’s world was you, your fevered whispers, your body trembling with a need that wasn’t just the drug, but you, the girl he’d loved since that night on the Coney Island pier.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You stumbled into the barn, Bucky’s arm steadying you, his warmth the only anchor against the crimson fever’s relentless fire. Your body was a storm of torment—skin flushed and slick with sweat, pulse hammering like a war drum, every nerve alight with a desperate, aching need that made your thighs tremble and your breath come in ragged, needy gasps. The drug, Arnim Zola’s cruel creation, had twisted your desire into something overwhelming, your hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed against Bucky, his scent—wool, gunpowder, and something uniquely him—igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. Your torn blouse clung to your damp skin.

The Winter Soldier intel was still hidden against your chest, a secret you’d guarded through weeks of captivity. You fought the fever’s pull, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, craving Bucky with an intensity that left you dizzy, your lips parting as another moan slipped free.

Bucky shut the barn door with a creak, sealing you in a fragile sanctuary, the wind’s howl fading to a low moan. He set the lantern on a crate, its glow catching the worry in his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw.

You felt his gaze, heavy and searching, as he knelt before you, easing you onto a makeshift bed of hay cushioned by his folded greatcoat, its wool warm from his body. Your hands clutched his jacket, fingers trembling, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as his touch sparked electricity, your hips twitching involuntarily. “Bucky…” you whispered, voice raw, your eyes glassy but locked on his, a flicker of you shining through the fever’s haze.

“Doll, I’m here,” he said, voice low, hoarse with worry, his calloused hand brushing your cheek. The contact sent a jolt through you, your body arching, a soft moan spilling out as your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing sharper. He froze, his breath hitching, and you saw the conflict in his eyes—love, longing, and fear that this wasn’t you, just the drug. “You’re still burnin’ up,” he said, thumb tracing your jaw, and you whimpered, your skin flushing deeper, a rosy heat spreading from your chest to your throat, glistening with sweat in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, urgent, as you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist. The touch was fire, and you gasped, hips rocking toward him, your body trembling as the drug amplified every sensation. “I need you… it’s too much.” Tears welled, shame mixing with desire, but your eyes held his, fierce despite the fever. “I told you… I can’t fight it.”

He exhaled, shaky, his hand tightening on your hip, his dog tags clinking as he leaned closer. “I’ve wanted you forever,” he said, voice raw, breaking. “Since that damn pier in Brooklyn, since you laughed at my dumb jokes. But this…” He gestured to your trembling form, his eyes darkening with guilt. “I don’t wanna take advantage, doll. I need this to mean somethin’ to you, not just… Zola’s poison.” His thumb brushed your lip, and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your body shuddering, thighs squeezing as a fresh wave of need made your breath stutter.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes — ever the gentleman.

“Don’t make me beg,” you said, voice sharp, almost a growl, your hand sliding to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned, and the sound of his voice was like velvet. “I want you, Bucky. Always have. The drug’s making it worse, but it’s me.” Your eyes burned into his, lucid, defiant. “I trust you. Make me feel good. Please.” Your hips shifted, pressing against him, and a desperate, throaty moan escaped, your skin prickling as the fever surged, your pulse racing so fast you felt it in your throat.

Bucky’s resolve cracked, his breath ragged. “Alright, honey,” he whispered, voice thick with promise. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel good, I swear.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his lips soft but hungry, tasting of salt and desperation. You melted into it, your body trembling, a gasp catching as his tongue brushed yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, and your hips rocked, the drug making every touch a spark that set your nerves ablaze.

He pulled back, eyes searching yours and you could see the question he wanted to ask ‘Are you sure?’, and you nodded, breathless, your chest heaving. “I’m sure,” you said, voice firm despite the fever’s haze.

He eased your blouse off, careful of the hidden intel, his fingers brushing your skin, and you gasped, your body arching, nipples tightening in the cold air. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your collarbone, and you whimpered, thighs trembling as his gaze alone sent a pulse of heat through you.

Bucky’s hands were gentle, reverent, as he traced your curves, his fingers lingering on your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw, and you shivered, a soft moan escaping as his words stoked the fever’s fire. He kissed your throat, lips warm and deliberate, and you gasped, head tilting back, your pulse hammering under his mouth. Your body reacted vividly—skin flushing from chest to cheeks, thighs clenching as a fresh wave of desire made your hips rock, the ache between them unbearable.

“Bucky, touch me,” you pleaded, voice desperate, guiding his hand lower, your boldness driven by the drug but rooted in trust.

He nodded, his forehead against yours, breath mingling. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his fingers sliding down your stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing the soft skin above your thigh. You trembled, a sharp gasp tearing from you as his hand brushed closer, your thighs parting instinctively, inviting him.

Your skin prickled, sweat glistening, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, the drug making every touch electric. His fingers found your warmth, teasing gently, and you moaned, loud and needy, your hips bucking toward him, thighs quivering as a jolt of pleasure shot through you. 

“Bucky…” you breathed, clutching his wrist, nails digging in, your body tensing as he explored, his touch careful but sure.

Your reaction was immediate—muscles tightening, a flush spreading across your chest, your breath stuttering as his fingers circled, coaxing waves of heat that made your toes curl. You arched, hips rocking in rhythm, and your moans grew sharper, each one a desperate plea. The drug amplified every sensation, your skin hypersensitive, and you felt every callus, every movement, as if he were rewriting your nerves.

“Feels… so good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your thighs clenching around his hand as a coil tightened inside you. Bucky watched, his breath ragged, worry flickering but desire burning stronger.

“You’re with me, doll,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, and you nodded, a tear slipping free as pleasure overwhelmed you.

He shifted, lips trailing down your chest, and you whimpered, your body trembling as he kissed lower, his breath warm against your stomach. “Gonna make you feel even better,” he promised, voice low, and you gasped, hips lifting as his mouth found you, his tongue gentle but deliberate. 

The sensation was a lightning strike—your body jolted, a cry tearing from your throat, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard. Your thighs trembled, muscles quaking, and your breath came in short, desperate gasps, the drug making every lick a pulse of fire. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your brow, and you moaned, unrestrained, hips rocking against his mouth as pleasure built, sharp and relentless. “Bucky… oh, God…” you gasped, your voice breaking, your body tensing as you neared the edge, every nerve singing.

He pulled back, kissing your thigh, and you whimpered, desperate, your hands tugging him up. 

“Need you… now,” you said, voice raw, your eyes locked on his, lucid despite the fever. He nodded, shedding his trousers, dog tags clinking, and leaned over you, his body warm, grounding. 

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice thick, needing your consent, his worry clear.

“I want you, Bucky,” you said, fierce, pulling him closer. “Always.”

He guided himself, the moment of connection slow, deliberate, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming, amplified by the drug. He was big, bigger than you had ever had before. He stretched you and you felt your body clamp down around him. Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink and you felt his short fingernails dig into your hips as he steadied himself. Your body reacted vividly—muscles clenching, thighs trembling, hips rising to meet him.

“So good…” you moaned, nails digging into his back, leaving crescent marks.

He moved, each thrust a rhythm of passion and care, his lips brushing your ear, whispering, “I’ve got you, doll.” 

You brought your hands up to his face, guiding him to your lips as he thrusted into you. This was more than sex — a cure to your condition. This was love. You kissed him slowly, leaning into the softness of his lips. He smelled like lingering smoke mixed with a sweetness you just couldn’t describe. It was familiar, like the cotton candy you picked at and shared on the pier at Coney Island.

“Do you remember that time when we stood at the edge of the pier and you were showing me the constellations in the sky?” You asked, your eyes finding Bucky’s, watching him as he fucked you.

“Mm,” he nodded his head, wordlessly. “Wanted to kiss you so bad that night.” He breathed into admittance. 

“I wanted you to kiss me too.” You replied before your words were cut off with a loud moan. Bucky grabbed your calves, pulling them up to his shoulders allowing him to go even deeper, hitting you at a new angle. Lewd, wet sounds echoed in the barn and you had visions of someone walking in. It only spurred you on even more. 

Your breaths mingled, your cries soft but desperate, the drug’s urgency blending with love. Your thighs tightened around him, hips rocking, and pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembling as you neared release. “Bucky…” you gasped, voice breaking, and he kissed you hard, just like he’d always imagined, deep and grounding, as you shattered, a cry muffled against his shoulder, the fever’s grip breaking. He followed, his climax a choked wave, shooting a warmth that painted your walls, arms tightening to hold you close.

The barn fell silent, save for your ragged breaths and the hay’s rustle. You collapsed against him, trembling, the fever’s heat gone, leaving you fragile, your skin cooling but slick with sweat. Bucky pulled his greatcoat over you both, shielding you from the cold, and held you, your head tucked under his chin. The lantern flickered, casting long shadows, and shame crept in, your voice small. 

“Was it… just the drug?” you asked, clutching the intel in your blouse, fear lacing your words. “Did I… make you?”

“No,” Bucky said, fierce, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. “It was us, I’ve loved you since Brooklyn, since that pier. The drug didn’t make me want you—I always did.” His voice cracked, and he kissed your forehead, steady. “You’re not broken. You’re mine.”

You nodded, tears spilling, but doubt lingered, Zola’s experiments haunting you. “I’m scared,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “What if they’ve changed me?”

“They haven’t,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’re still you, still the girl who cracked their codes, kept that intel through hell. I won’t let them touch you again.” His promise was fierce, but you felt the war’s weight, Hydra’s reach, and the shadow of what you’d uncovered.

Outside, Gabe’s voice cut through, soft but urgent. “Sarge, we’re clear. Ready to move.” The Commandos, loyal, unaware of the barn’s secrets, waited in the snow.

Bucky helped you sit, adjusting the greatcoat, his touch gentle. “We gotta go,” he said, voice low. “But I’m with you, every step.” He stood, pulling you up, and you leaned into him, steadier but haunted, the fever gone but the intel and emotional weight lingering. The barn door creaked open, moonlight spilling in, and Bucky led you out, his arm around you, ready to face the war—and Hydra’s lingering threat.

You followed Bucky back to the van. “Write to me?” You asked, locking a subtle finger with his, so that his men wouldn’t notice.

“Of course I will.” He promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He didn’t care if anyone saw. The last thing he’d do was want to keep you a secret. He had dreamed of you, of this, since 1939.

“And after the war, you’ll find me on the pier at Coney Island, waiting for you.” You told him, an oath that you’d protect with your life. You didn’t want anyone other than him. You would wait for him, even if waiting meant forever.

“I’ll be there.” 

You believed him.

“You’ll come home, won’t you?” The question lingered with uncertainty and worry as the Winter Soldier intel burned in your pocket.

“Do I look like a man who’d keep my doll waiting?” Bucky smiled, his blue eyes twinkling like an aurora, full of love and hope. 

Yeah, you believed him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira

If you want to be tagged in all my future Bucky/Sebastian works, let me know. <3

[literaryavenger]

Everybody pictures Bucky joining the team as a broody, sour and glaring machine, but what if he just... Isn't? Because I can honestly picture him as like Jim from The Office.

Like, after he recovers in Wakanda and they manage to stop Thanos before he can get all the stones because Thor went for the head, life settles into a routine as the Avengers work together to keep the peace on Earth (and the rest of the Universe in Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy's case) and living at the Compound.

Slowly, an organization not unlike Shield starts growing again, but this time it's done the right way with Steve as the leader next to Fury and no Hydra or Red Room or purple alien grape with a nutsack chin plotting behind the scenes.

Of course, this means the Avengers have to train new cadets. Each member gets their own class to teach between missions until they're ready to graduate to agents and then the cicle starts all over again.

Bucky is mostly fine with this, the cadets are competent enough and respect him because they know his history, (also who wouldn't respect an Avenger that literally helped save the Universe?) but every once in a while he gets a cocky, insubordinate, defiant cadet that takes advantage of his easy-going nature. And he doesn't know how to handle it.

"I have to make an example out of him." Bucky mutters lowly to you as you both discreetly watch Cadet Johnson take a break from training with the other agents-in-training he convinced to relax instead of doing the exercise Bucky politely requested ordered they do.

"I could yell at him?" Bucky looks at you with a small frown.

"Can you yell?" You raise an eyebrow at him, mostly amused.

"Oh, I yell." Bucky insists. "You've heard me yell."

"I've heard you exclaim." You correct him after thinking about it for a moment. "Like that time you said, 'Hey, we parked over here!'"

"Well, that was Plums Day. There's no need to yell that day." He says like it's obvious as he turns back to look at the trainees. "I was just excited to find our car after leaving the farmer's market. Perfect end to a perfect day."

You almost want to laugh and coo at him at how cute and innocent he seems when he talks like that, but you simply kiss his cheek.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Sarge." You pat his arm and make your way out of the training room, leaving an adorably pouty Bucky behind.

[goldenbrowns]

LITTLE TROUBLE GIRL ✩ || dbf!bucky barnes x f!reader || part one

(NEXT CHAPTER)

summary: You’re starting college in New York, and Bucky, your dad's best friend, has offered you a place to stay—just until you find your footing. It’s temporary; you're staying with him until you're able to settle down. But living with him is nothing like you expected, considering you've always had an innocent crush on him, even when you were little. The late nights, the easy laughter, the way his eyes linger just a little too long—it all starts to blur the lines. Just like that, your innocent crush on Bucky turns into something more crude.

author's note: this is an au where the winter soldier never happened, he's just good ol' buck, your dad's best friend :D

word count: 9.6k

warnings: age gap (reader is twenty and bucky is in his late thirties), alcohol consumption, tiny bit of angst towards the end, cursing, implied sexual themes, bucky is a little jealous and possesive.

You’re supposed to be packing. You really are.

But instead, you’re sitting on your bedroom floor, staring at the pile of clothes in front of you like they’re suddenly alien to you. Jeans. T-shirts. Sweaters you’ve had since the ninth grade. You think about how many of these things you haven’t worn in months, maybe even years, but now that you're moving, you swear you have to bring them. It’s like they’re your security blanket, like you can’t just let go. You’re leaving your hometown for good. Going to New York for college. The city. Your future. The dream.

But right now, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

Instead, it feels like the more you try to pack, the more everything around you gets heavier.

You shove a pile of clothes into the suitcase with less grace than you care to admit. You don’t know what to expect in New York, but part of you kind of just wants to stay here where everything’s familiar—even if everything about here kind of sucks sometimes. The awfully familiar cloudy days, the stubbornly old-fashioned people, the same neighbours you've known all your life… It's difficult to let go, but things like these make leaving your hometown all the easier.

Just as you were staring off into a wall, probably purposefully wasting time, your dad’s voice breaks into your thoughts.

"You all set?" He leans against your doorframe with a grin. At least someone was sure about all of this—even when you weren’t. Honestly, you’d bet he was more excited about the move than you were. New York had always been his dream for you. A chance to give you everything he never had growing up. All the opportunities he never got. Obviously when you took a sabbatical year after highschool he was pissed, so know that he's sure your heading to college he couldn't be happier. So, there you were, freshly twenty and off to college.

You stop. You freeze, one sneaker in midair as if it’s suddenly the heaviest thing in the world. Obviously, he knew this wasn't easy for you. He watched your expression drop the second he walked in. Everything slowly seeming more real to you than ever.

"Come on, everything’s going to be fine. Besides—hey, you’re staying with Buck for a while!" He lifts a hand in the air like that alone should fix everything. "He promised he’d make things easier for you. He’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart."

And for a second, it actually helps. That soft spot in your chest loosens just a little.

Because no, you’re not leaving everything behind. Staying with James—Buck—meant keeping at least one thread tied to home. A glimpse of your dad, your family, the place you grew up in. Something familiar to hold onto while everything else was changing. James Buchanan Barnes. The guy you’ve known forever. Your dad’s best friend. The guy who visits your house every holiday, makes a big deal about how grown-up you’re getting, who’s always laughing, always joking, and always just... there. He's the guy. But still, the fact that you were staying with him out of all people is absolutely daunting.

You haven’t seen him in a while—two, maybe three years? He used to visit a few times a year without fail—once for your dad's birthday and the rest again for the holidays and summer. He doesn’t come around as much anymore. Not because something’s wrong. If anything, it’s the opposite. Work’s just gotten more demanding for him. More cases. More clients. More responsibility. So technically, things are going great for him. Better than ever, really. Still, it doesn’t stop that tiny flicker of disappointment you feel whenever he misses a visit. Like some little piece of your old routine just… fades out. 

When you were younger, you didn’t really notice how much he stood out. He was just a figure at family gatherings—he always had something funny to say, and you’d laugh at his dry sarcasm and the way his eyes always seemed to light up when he caught your attention. He was a permanent fixture in your life, like a distant relative you didn’t see enough of but still had a special place for.

But then, you turned fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. And suddenly, it was impossible not to notice.

The way he stood—relaxed, confident, like he owned the space around him without even trying. Broad shoulders that stretched the sleeves of his dress shirts just right, one hand always tucked into his pocket and the other one always holding on to a beer — which also, always seemed to be a Heineken—  like he had all the time in the world. His jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. And he somehow made wearing a stupidly expensive leather jacket look like the most casual thing in the world—like he didn’t know how good he looked in it. Except, deep down, you were pretty sure he did.

He always smelled like something expensive—cologne and clean laundry, with just a little bit of city air clinging to him. Something which always made you so curious. To your 12-year-old self, Buck was your glimpse into the city. His hair was always neat but not overly styled, like he’d run a hand through it once and called it a day. And his smile was the real problem. Easy, charming, lopsided in a way that made it feel like it was just for you, even though you knew it wasn’t, it was always for one of those little girlfriends he brought every year and decided to invite on his trip. 

It wasn’t like you were in love with him or anything. It was just… you noticed. You noticed everything.

As the years went by, something shifted. The way he looked at you sometimes. The way his eyes lingered just a second longer than you were comfortable with. The way he called you kid like he was trying to remind himself that’s what you were—and that’s all you were—whenever your thoughts seemed to go somewhere they shouldn’t.

But you’ve always pushed that aside. He’s your dad’s best friend. He’s… untouchable. Not that you would ever do anything about it.

But now? Now you’re moving in with him, and you have no idea how to feel about it or how to carry yourself around him.

Your dad is still standing there, waiting for a response. He’s in that spot where he’s practically bouncing.

"You’re sure about this, right?"

You force a smile, trying to make it seem like the fact that you're moving in with him doesn’t bother you at all. At this point, you didn’t know how it made you feel, it had its ups and downs… It’s fine. You’ll be fine. Right?

“Yeah, Dad. Totally fine,” you say, and you really hope you sound convincing. The truth is, you’re not sure what you’re even supposed to be feeling. Is this supposed to be an adventure? Because you don’t feel like it. You feel like maybe you’ve made a huge mistake and that there’s no way you’ll be able to look Bucky in the eye without turning into a human tomato.

Your dad beams at you, oblivious to the small storm brewing in your stomach. “Good. You know Bucky. He’s a great guy. He’ll look after you. It’ll be fine.”

Yeah, Bucky’s a “great guy.” Everyone says that—and it’s true. He’s always been there for your dad, always quick with advice or a sarcastic joke to pull him out of a bad mood. He’s steady, dependable, the kind of guy people trust without thinking twice. You’ve always known that.

But living with him? That’s a whole different ballgame.

You’re not your dad. You don’t have that effortless bond with Bucky—the one built on decades of inside jokes and shared mistakes. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time you had a real conversation with him. Outside of the usual “how’s school?” or the occasional “got a boyfriend yet?” And now you're about to move into his home like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

The thing is, Bucky’s always been this constant in your life—this person you’ve admired from a distance, someone you’ve always thought of as off-limits. You’ve never let yourself go too deep into it, but now it's a little different. You'll be living with him every day for god knows how long.

The airport felt colder than usual. Not because of the air conditioning, but because of everything else—the goodbye hugs that lingered too long, your mom pretending she wasn’t crying, your dad cracking one too many nervous jokes, his teary eyes catching the lights. You smiled through it, made it look easy. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like you weren’t terrified.

But as you walked away from them and toward the gate, something settled heavily in your chest. That weird, aching feeling of moving on.

You didn’t cry. Not really. That would probably come later. You just stared out the window of the plane, watching the ground peel away beneath you, smaller and smaller until it was just a blur. That was home down there. Your whole life, packed into backyards and gas stations and little streets you could navigate blindfolded. Gone now—just like that.

You tried not to overthink it. Tried not to spiral about living in a city you didn’t know, in an apartment that wasn’t yours, with a man who barely knew the version of you that wasn’t still seventeen.

The name alone made your thoughts twist up a little. Bucky. Just Bucky, really. Your dad’s best friend. The guy who used to toss you in the pool when you were a kid, chase you around the yard with the grill fork, and ruffle your hair like you were one of the boys.

You thought about that for a while—until the all-familiar town beneath you started to disappear under the clouds. Fields of green came into view, sharp and endless. You pressed your forehead to the window and tried to imagine your life away from that skyline somehow. The sun had started to set, and the sky had started to fluctuate between hues of oranges and yellows.

Everyone on the plane looked like some version of home. Guys in faded baseball caps talking too loud, moms with bleached-blonde hair and dark roots flipping through gossip magazines, teenagers glued to their phones with chipped acrylics and chewed-up straws poking out of Styrofoam cups. You’d grown up surrounded by people like this—faces that blurred together in the same familiar way.

You sank into your window seat, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as the plane rumbled up into the clouds. The turbulence didn’t bother you much—what unsettled you was everything else. So you did what you could to tune it out.

You flagged down the flight attendant and ordered a drink— something fruity, a Coke, whatever... As she walked away, you pressed your forehead against the cool window and watched the sky melt into pale blue.

As you stepped out of your plane and walked through the boarding bridge, you felt a chilly breeze, a bit cooler than you were expecting. He was already leaning against the car when you finally reached the terminal, scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere to be—which, of course, made him look even more annoyingly cool.

Black jeans, dark coat, sunglasses hooked onto the front of his shirt like some effortless accessory. He looked older than you remembered—sharper, broader—but not in a tired way. More like someone who’d grown into himself. Owned it. He had a few specks of gray on his beard now, more than you remembered him having, even though, honestly, that was the only indicator of him having gotten older.

He glanced up and did a double-take, almost like he didn't recognize you. His brows lifted, and his mouth quirked into that crooked half-smile you vaguely remembered from years ago. You began walking to him, dragging your carry-on right behind you.

“Damn,” he said, pushing off the car, “you’re taller than I thought you’d be. These three years have obviously been long. When did you turn into an actual person?”

You snorted. “Nice to see you too.”

“I’m serious,” he said, even though his tone was anything but. “Last time I saw you, you had braces and were crying over one of the One Direction guys.”

“Okay—first of all, rude. And second, it was Harry, I had taste”

That earned you a soft laugh as he reached for your suitcase. “Alright, alright. Still dramatic, I see. Guess some things don’t change.”

He tossed the bag into the trunk like it weighed nothing and opened the passenger door for you with a mockingly formal gesture.

“Your ride awaits." He opened both of his arms, palms out, signaling to the car door he was opening for you.

You rolled your eyes and slid into the car. The inside was just as nice as it looked from the outside—clean, sleek, and smelling like leather and whatever cologne he used, clearly the same one he's always used.

He got in, started the engine, and glanced over at you. “Seatbelt. Not tryna get sued your first week in the city.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot, the silence in the car wasn’t awkward. Just... charged. Like the air between you hadn’t settled yet.

“So,” he said after a beat, “you nervous, or just pretending to be too cool for this?”

You shrugged, feeling taken aback that he had deciphered you so quickly. “Little of both.”

“Hm. Classic.” He smirked, eyes still on the road. “You know, I offered to let your dad send you to a nunnery, but he insisted college was the move.”

You burst out laughing. “Right, because that would’ve been way less awkward.”

“I don’t know,” he mused. “You and a bunch of nuns in New York? That’s a sitcom waiting to happen.”

The city rose around you in glowing towers, stretching high and endless into the night sky. Streetlights flickered over glossy pavement, casting everything in a wash of warm gold and cool silver. Neon signs buzzed quietly outside corner bodegas and late-night diners, while car headlights weaved in and out like fireflies in motion. The air itself seemed to hum—thick with life, noise, energy. It was all so alive. And you were right in the middle of it.

As Bucky’s car slipped deeper into the city, you pressed your hand against the window, eyes following the blur of strangers rushing past. A woman in heels and a power suit shouting into her phone. A group of teens laughing way too loudly on a corner. A man on a bike with a pizza box. Every single person looked like they belonged here—like they had somewhere to be, something to do. And they all moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing how this city worked.

You sat there quietly, just watching, feeling the shift happen inside you. This wasn’t just a trip. It wasn’t summer vacation. This was real.

You were here. For good.

And in exactly 13 hours, at 10:00 AM sharp, you’d be sitting in your first college class.

You weren’t sure if the tight feeling in your chest was nerves or excitement. Maybe both. Everything felt huge—too big to grasp all at once. You wanted to slow it down, bottle it up, make sense of it all. But the city didn’t wait for you to catch up. It just kept moving.

“You’re quiet,” Bucky said, looking at you from the corner of his eye, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine and the soft, distant sounds of the city.

You blinked, pulling your gaze away from the window. He didn’t look at you—his eyes were fixed on the road, fingers tapping idly against the wheel. Casual, but not careless. Like he knew exactly what was going on in your head without needing to ask.

“I’m just… taking it all in,” you said.

He let out a low, amused breath. “Yeah? You’ve got the same look you used to get on the diving board—right before chickening out.”

You turned your head, incredulous. “I didn’t chicken out. I was calculating. And I'm not planning to chicken out now either...”

“That’s what you called it?” He smirked. “Standing there for fifteen minutes while every kid behind you prayed for patience?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

The light changed, and the car moved forward again, gliding through quieter streets now. The city still sparkled outside the window—still alive, still moving—but it didn’t feel as loud in this pocket of calm. Just you and Bucky, in his leather-scented car that felt safer than you expected it to.

After a moment, he spoke again—quieter this time.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

You looked over at him.

He wasn't looking at you anymore, but his jaw ticked slightly, like he was thinking through every word before he said it. “You’re smart. Capable. You’ve got guts—Hell, you're a pretty girl too. You've got the whole world at the palm of your hand.”

You let out a soft laugh, but he kept going.

“And you’re not alone in this. I’m here,” he said simply. “I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was warm. Solid. Like something you could lean into.

You watched him for a second longer, the way the passing streetlights painted soft lines across his face, the way he looked so sure when you didn’t.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

The car pulled up to a sleek building tucked between a coffee shop and a high-end florist, all steel and glass and glowing lobby lights. It didn’t scream wealth, not in a flashy way—but everything about it whispered money. Subtle.

Bucky cut the engine and turned to you, one hand still on the wheel. “Alright, city girl. Welcome home.”

You blinked up at the building. “This place is… nice.”

He smirked, unbuckling his seatbelt. “That’s the least convincing ‘nice’ I’ve ever heard.”

“No, I mean it,” you said, stepping out. “It’s just... fancy. I didn’t think lawyers lived like this.”

He popped the trunk. “We don’t. But when you start working eighty-hour weeks and don’t have time for a life, you gotta spend your money somewhere. Might as well be rent.”

You followed him into the building, your suitcase rolling behind you on polished tile. The lobby smelled like eucalyptus and something vaguely citrusy. You tried not to stare at the concierge desk—or the massive chandelier above your head—but you caught Bucky glancing sideways at you anyway.

“Try to look like you’ve been somewhere before,” he muttered, grinning.

You elbowed him. “Says the guy who wore aviators at night.”

“Touché.”

The elevator ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Bucky leaned back against the wall with his hands in his coat pockets, glancing at you now and then like he was still trying to believe you were the same kid who used to sneak cookies off the grill during backyard cookouts.

The doors opened on the twelfth floor. His place was at the end of the hall—tall black door, a single matte number, no unnecessary frills.

When he let you in, the first thing you noticed was how him it felt. Everything in the apartment was clean and dark and structured—deep grays, worn leathers, low lighting—but there were warm things too. Books stacked unevenly on the coffee table. A vinyl player with an open sleeve beside it. A pair of reading glasses he’d never admit to needing resting near the counter.

“Home sweet home,” he said, tossing his keys into a bowl by the door. “Shoes off if you don’t wanna catch a lecture. Kitchen’s there, bathroom’s down the hall, you’re in the guest room.”

You stood there a moment, just taking it all in.

He gave you a look. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah. Yup!”

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry,” he added, that lopsided smirk creeping in again, “you’ve got me. You’ll be fine.”

The guest room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of the city slipping through the window. You didn’t bother turning on the overhead light—just opened your suitcase and started putting things away, slowly, like moving too fast would make it all feel too real.

Everything in the room felt untouched. Neutral. Like it had been prepped for someone who might never show up. The dresser drawers slid open without a sound, the bedding was crisp, and the closet smelled faintly of cedar. It was strange. Not cold, just unfamiliar. Like you were living in a showroom version of someone else's life.

You folded clothes into neat stacks and arranged your things on the nightstand—lip balm, your headphones, a paperback with a cracked spine. You paused at a photo of you and your parents, half-smiling at the way your mom’s hand was always in your dad’s back pocket. They’d driven you to the airport earlier today, pretending not to cry when you hugged them goodbye.

Now you were here.

You caught your reflection in the mirror for a second too long, pulled your hair up into a lazy bun, and put on some pajamas you had packed back at home with cats and dogs printed all over the fabric. As soon as you finished you you left your room and slipped into the living room quietly.

From the kitchen came the soft clink of silverware and the low simmer of something on the stove. Music played faintly from a speaker tucked somewhere, something very 80s sounding. Warm light pooled from under the cabinets, and Bucky stood over the stove, his back to you, sleeves pushed up and brow slightly furrowed as he stirred a pan.

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. “There she is.” He cooed excitedly.

You offered a half-smile. “There I am.”

He turned down the heat, grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet, and poured a deep red into each without asking. He handed you one as you leaned against the counter beside him.

“You cook now?” you asked, taking the glass.

He shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s either this or takeout again, and I figured you deserve a proper meal on your first night.”

You took a sip, and the wine was smooth, expensive. Of course.

“Thanks,” you said.

He just nodded, lips tugging into something close to a smile before he walked toward the living room and sank into the corner of the couch with his own glass. You followed after a moment, curling into the opposite side, your legs folded under you.

The room was quiet, but not awkwardly so. You watched the steam rise from the kitchen, heard the occasional sizzle from the stove. The city lights flickered in through the windows behind him.

“You good? I feel like I've asked this 50 times just today,” he asked eventually with a soft laugh, not looking directly at you.

You paused, then nodded. “Getting there.”

“Good, that's a start. ‘Cause I meant what I said earlier. You don’t have to figure everything out in one night. Y'know, I haven't always lived here, when I got here it was also terrifying for me,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass. “You’ve got time. You’ve got space. And I’m here. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”

You glanced at him, heart tightening at how casual he made it sound, like it was no big deal. But it was. No one had ever said something like that to you without needing anything in return.

“Thanks,” you said again, softer this time.

He smirked slightly. “You already said that.”

You gasp in feigned offense, clutching a hand to your chest, "Alright, well- You don't see me saying you've repeated your inspirational speech 30 times already, do you?"

He only squinted his eyes and tilted his glass towards you as if to point at you, "You've got a mouth on you, don't you? Calm down before I leave you to starve," He laughs, and just after that, he stands up to turn off the fire.

He moves with ease, like he’s done this a hundred times—turning knobs, checking the sauce, grabbing plates from a cabinet you wouldn’t have guessed held anything. You stay curled up on the couch, glass of wine resting on your thigh, watching him in the kitchen like you’re still not used to seeing him like this—domestic, relaxed, a little smug in the way he smirks to himself after a joke.

“You wouldn’t actually let me starve,” you call out as an attempt to not remain quiet.

“Wouldn’t I?” he shoots back over his shoulder, then opens the fridge with his hip. “I don’t know. You’re in my house now. Could be survival of the fittest.”

You snort into your wine. “Please. I’d eat half your pantry before you even noticed.”

He grins at that, setting a pan on a trivet and dishing out pasta onto two plates. “God, you sound like your dad.”

“That’s rude.”

“Hm, wouldn't say so. It's accurate.” His back was still turned to you as you watched the muscles in his back move after every scoop he set down onto both of the plates.

He walks over and sets one plate down in front of you on the coffee table, then hands you a fork. The pasta smells incredible—creamy, garlicky, with grilled chicken cut into perfect slices like he’s trying to impress someone. Maybe he is.

He drops down beside you with his own plate, elbows brushing for a second as he settles in. The couch dips beneath his weight, the apartment humming with soft music and the faint sounds of the city outside. It’s warm. Not just physically—though, yeah, the wine helps—but in a way that creeps in slow and stays there.

“Okay,” you murmur after a few bites. “This is actually good.”

He raises a brow. “You sound surprised.”

“I’ve only ever seen you drink black coffee, beer and eat beef jerky.”

He stabs a piece of pasta and shrugs. “People contain multitudes. Can't imagine you know much about that,” He laughs, aware that he's egging you on.

You look over at him, and he catches your eye just as he takes a bite. There’s something playful in his expression, but underneath it, something softer. Steady. You chew slowly, then ask, quieter this time, “Why are you being so nice to me?” He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Just sets his fork down and leans back slightly.

“Because I care about you,” he says simply. “You’re not just your dad’s kid. You’re... you. And I’ve known you your whole life. You think I’m gonna let you land here and not look after you?” You blink once, then again, unsure what to say.

So instead, you say, “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

He laughs—a real, warm, low laugh—and shakes his head. “You wish.”

Time had slipped away somewhere between the second glass and the lazy way Bucky laughed at his own stories. Now, with plates cleared and nothing but the low hum of the city beyond the windows, the two of you sat across from each other on the couch, your legs tucked under you, a little warmer than before. The wine had softened your limbs and whatever awkwardness that might’ve once existed between you had faded into something more… comfortable. Charged, maybe. But quiet.

It was easy like this. Easier than you’d expected. He asked questions. Real ones. Not just “how’s school” or “what’s your major,” but actual questions.

“What do you want from it all?” he’d asked earlier. “Like, when it’s all said and done—what’s the picture?”

You’d stared at him like he’d just unlocked a hidden door in your head. You didn’t answer that one. Not fully. It wasn't like you really knew how to answer it either. You said something about self-fulfilment, and he seemed happy enough with that answer.

Now, he was grinning behind the rim of his glass, eyes just a little more hooded than usual, and much more loose than the mysterious guy who picked you up from the airport earlier. “So,” he said, drawing out the word. “Boys.”

You groaned immediately, leaning your head back into the cushion. “God, no.”

“What?” he asked, all mock innocence. “You don’t want to talk about your tragic love life with good ol' Buck over overpriced wine and homemade pasta?”

“No,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You’re being nosy.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth but never quite reached both sides. “Guilty as charged,” he replied, his eyes warm as he looked at you. “But seriously, I’m curious. You’re smart, funny, sharp as hell—don’t tell me none of those boys ever tried anything.”

You shifted on the couch, feeling the heat in your cheeks, but you tried to play it off. “The problem is that they have. But, where is this coming from?”

Bucky shrugged, swirling his wine in his glass, but his gaze never left you. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice lowering a fraction. “I guess I’m just noticing... you’ve grown up. That’s all.”

His words and the way he enunciated the word 'grown' hit you more than you expected. You shook your head, trying to mask the way your chest tightened. “You make it sound like I used to be a troll.”

Bucky gave a low laugh, leaning back into the couch, but his eyes were still watching you closely, studying you. “Oh, but you were,” he teased, eyes crinkling at the edges. “You used to throw rocks at me.”

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “That was once.”

“That was three summers in a row,” he corrected, his tone playful, like he was remembering a version of you that had changed in ways he hadn’t expected.

For a second, everything felt easy again. Familiar. The laughter felt like it bridged the gap between who you were now and who you used to be, and you let it fill the space between you. But then the conversation took a shift, and the air between you seemed to thicken with something else.

“So, no serious boyfriends?” he asked again, like he was trying to make sense of it.

You glanced down at your glass, your fingers tracing the rim absently. “Not really. Nothing that stuck.”

Bucky leaned forward a bit, his tone softening, like he was really trying to understand. “Let me guess—emotionally unavailable, talks in memes, and thinks texting you ‘wyd’ at 2 a.m. is romantic?”

You laughed, the sound catching in your throat, but he didn’t let up. “Don't forget the unsolicited Snapchat dickpics,” you sighed, remembering all the times you've had to endure opening Snapchat to see pubescent dicks on your screen.

Bucky’s lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyebrows raising just slightly. “Seriously?” he teased, leaning in a bit closer, the playful glint in his eyes growing sharper. “Do they think that’s supposed to impress you? What—suddenly, you're gonna be swept off your feet by a 20-year-old’s bad lighting picture of their dick?”

You scoffed, taking a sip of your wine. "Apparently... Either way, I'm not looking for a guy who decides to do that sort of thing for attention. It's so pathetic."

He smirked, taking another sip of his wine, but his gaze was more intense now, steady on you. “So what is it, then?” he asked, the words slow and deliberate. “What are you looking for?”

The question caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected it, and for a moment, you wondered if you even had an answer. But the wine made you brave enough to be honest, even if you didn’t want to be. You set your glass down, thinking carefully. “I don’t know. I guess... someone who makes me feel like I don’t have to try so hard all the time. Who doesn’t make me feel like I’m too much. Something that clearly guys my age are not willing to supply.” You didn't mean the last sentence like that, you didn't have some sort of underhanded motive.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, amused, and he took a slow sip of his wine. He set the glass down with a soft clink. “Guys your age, huh? Yeah, I get it. You’ve got that ‘too much’ vibe—guess it’s just a lot for them to handle.”

You raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback but not enough to let him off the hook. “You say guys my age can’t handle me? So, guys your age can?”

The smirk that spread across Bucky’s face made your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand. He leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass with casual confidence, his gaze never leaving you. “Oh, sweetheart,” he started, his voice dropping an octave, sincere, “I’ve handled a lot worse. And I think, personally, I would be able to keep up just fine.”

There was a long pause. You could feel the weight of his stare, but you couldn’t look away, not now. Bucky held your gaze without blinking, his expression softer now. As if he had just now noticed what he said, he quickly changed the topic. “Anyway...That thing you said about being too much. You're not, don't let anybody tell you that," he said, his voice quiet but sure. “You just haven’t been around the right people.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it, and for a moment, it felt like everything shifted again, like something unspoken was hanging in the air. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond, but the warmth in your chest was a clear indication that maybe you didn’t need to say anything at all.

You laughed weakly, trying to regain some composure. “You always talk like that?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Only after two glasses.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle and leaned back against the couch, his arm brushing lightly against yours. He didn't pull away. The air between you felt like it was thickening, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. It was as if everything that had been left unsaid before had finally come to the surface, and there was no turning back.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for it to feel like a secret shared only between the two of you. “You know, if I were your age, I’d be in real trouble.”

Your stomach twisted, your breath catching. “What do you mean?”

Bucky smirked, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. “Just saying,” he added, leaning back again, like he hadn’t just said something that made your heart race. “I’d be in real trouble.”

The quiet between you felt heavier now, more charged. You could feel the pull between you, the way he was still looking at you, waiting for you to say something. But then he cleared his throat, stood up with a stretch, and changed the subject like he hadn’t just set something off between you.

“Well, I better get dessert before I say something else I shouldn’t,” he said, his voice light but the way his eyes lingered on you made it hard to shake the feeling that the conversation wasn’t quite over. Not yet.

You watched him head toward the kitchen, your chest tight and your mind spinning. It wasn’t just the wine. It wasn’t just the long drive to New York. Something had shifted. Something was different now.

You stayed frozen for a moment, your fingers curled loosely around your glass as you tried to piece together what had just happened. His voice still echoed in your head—I’d be in real trouble. The way he said it, soft and low, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. Like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You bit your lip and set the glass down, glancing toward the kitchen. You could hear him rustling through cabinets, the clink of plates, the hum of the fridge door opening. Just regular, domestic sounds. But they didn’t match the pace of your heartbeat.

You stood and walked over, slower than usual, like your legs had to catch up with your thoughts. He had a carton of ice cream out and was pretending like everything was normal. Too normal. His back was turned, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight stiffness in the way he moved. Like he was aware of your presence—too aware.

“You always do this?” you asked, leaning against the counter, trying to sound casual. “Fluster college girls with red wine and chocolate chip?”

He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Fluster you?” he asked with a smirk, placing two bowls on the counter. “I’m just offering dessert, sweetheart. If that’s flustering you, I’m not sure you’re ready for this city.”

You gave him a look, but couldn’t stop your smile from forming. “Right. Of course. Just dessert.”

He turned fully then, slid one of the bowls toward you, the metal spoon clinking against the porcelain. “Eat before I say something worse than earlier.”

You took a bite, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel heavy again. Then, more quietly, you asked, “What would be worse, though?”

He paused with his own spoon halfway to his mouth. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set the spoon down, leaned on the cushions with his arms crossed, and looked at you—really looked at you.

“Depends,” he said slowly. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

You shook your head, a little too fast. “No. Just… caught me off guard.”

“Good,” he said, but the word came out softer than his usual snark. “Because I’d never want to make you uncomfortable. You being here—this whole thing—it matters to me.”

And there it was again. That shift. That soft, honest side of him was slipping through the cracks in his usual cool exterior. You didn’t know what to say, so you just nodded, eyes meeting his for a second longer than they probably should’ve. And you let him, even if your thoughts kept drifting right back to that quiet little thing he said earlier.

If I were your age, I’d be in real trouble.

It had been two weeks since that first night, and the quiet tension between you and Bucky hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten harder to ignore.

You’d settled into the apartment like you'd always belonged there. Your stuff was neatly unpacked, your laundry now mixed with his in the hamper, and his coffee order was memorized without him needing to say it out loud. There were toothbrushes side by side in the bathroom, your shoes by the front door, and the casual rhythm of living together had grown… intimate, in a way you couldn’t explain.

But you hadn’t touched it—the conversation, the weight of his stare that night, the words that left your heart skipping. Neither of you had. Instead, you danced around it, letting your comfort grow while pretending everything was still casual.

In the meantime, life had started to take on shape. You’d started to find a routine between classes, wandering the city, and spending way too much time with Sophia—your new friend who had quickly become your lifeline. You met during orientation and clicked almost instantly, like fate had decided you both needed each other. Now, you talked every day. She knew your class schedule better than you did, reminded you to eat, sent you Tiktoks at midnight, and picked up on your mood from just a single text. You told her everything.

You hadn’t planned on spilling it so quickly, but it all came out one night over FaceTime—his apartment, the wine, the flirting, the tension. You’d half-expected her to freak out, to say it was insane or inappropriate. But she didn’t. She’d just blinked at you, then grinned and said, “Girl, you’re living in a slow-burn, how the fuck are you managing?"

Now, she asked about Bucky daily. She teased you when he picked you up from class, rolled her eyes when you claimed things were “normal,” and insisted you start taking notes so she could read the novel version later.

Apart from Sophia, there was this other guy who had randomly started getting closer to you, Luke.

Luke was in one of your classes, and you'd started working on group projects together since the first week. He was a bit awkward but sweet, and his humor grew on you over time. You didn’t think much of it at first, but over the past couple of weeks, he had started texting you almost every day. At first, the texts were nothing special—"Hey, can you send me those notes?" or "How’s your day going?"—but they quickly became more frequent. He would text you random things during the day, asking how you were, what you were doing, and even what your weekend plans were.

It was innocent enough, but you had the feeling it wasn’t entirely platonic on his part. Sophia had certainly noticed it. "Girl, he’s into you. Stop being blind," she'd said one day when Luke had texted you again. “You two have been texting more than I’ve seen anyone text their boyfriend.” Something which made you feel a little weird about the whole situation, given that you never thought about it like that. If anything, you saw him as a little brother; he was too skittish, too sheepish, not really your type.

Today, though, you’d come home late from class, bag slung low on your shoulder, exhaustion in your limbs. Your makeup was worn off, your hair in a messy bun, and you hadn’t even had the energy to fake a smile when you stepped through the door.

Bucky was on the couch, already out of his button-down and in a gray t-shirt and sweats, reading something on his tablet with glasses on—glasses you hated how much you liked. He looked up the second you entered.

“Jesus,” he muttered, setting the tablet down. “You look like you just fought a war.”

“I am in college,” you grumbled, kicking your shoes off by the door. “Same thing.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Rough day?”

You sighed, dragging yourself toward the kitchen. “Group project. Too much homework, I'm sweaty, I'm hungry... ”

He stood up. “Okay. Nope. We’re not doing this today.” He walked over and took your bag off your shoulder before you could argue. “Shoes off. Bag down. You’re officially off duty.”

“I wasn’t aware you were my manager,” you said with a small eye roll.

“I’m everything in this house,” he replied, guiding you gently toward the couch. “Sit. I’ll handle food. You like pad thai, right?”

You blinked at him. “Since when do you remember that?”

He smirked. “Since you ordered it three times last week, and I’m not blind.”

You laughed, melting a little as you collapsed into the cushions. “You’re dangerously close to being my favorite person.”

“I was hoping I’d at least make top three,” you saw him placing bowls and spices in the counter, with the concentration of a man on a mission.

You sank deeper into the couch, letting your eyes flutter closed. Ten minutes later, he returned with two glasses of wine, handing you one before sliding in beside you. He’d queued up a movie—something black and white, with dramatic jazz and smoky bars.

The movie flickered on in the background, casting black-and-white shadows across the apartment walls while you lounged on the couch, wine glass resting on your thigh. The soft sounds of rustling in the kitchen reminded you that he had stood up at some point and quietly made his way to the kitchen to check on the food—he was plating the pad thai.

Your phone buzzed.

Sophia: Still no kiss? Babe. What do I have to do? Fly up and knock your heads together?

You huffed a laugh and texted back quickly.

You: I am currently being forced to watch black-and-white murder mysteries. He remembered I like pad thai and also brought me wine. I hate him.

Sophia: Bitch he’s flirting. That’s flirting. That’s “I want to ruin you” flirting.

You snorted, quickly covering your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“What?” Bucky asked, glancing over at you.

“Nothing,” you said too fast, shaking your head.

He gave you a suspicious look. “Uh huh. That’s the ‘I’m talking shit about you’ face.”

“I would never,” you said, putting a hand to your heart in mock offense.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Is it Sophia?”

You froze. “...Maybe.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “She’s the one that calls me Hot Lawyer, isn’t she?”

Your jaw dropped. “How did you—”

“You leave your phone around the apartment a lot. And well- she also texts you a whole lot, so it's been difficult to miss her messages," He said with an all-knowing grin, so proud that he's caught you.

Your face went red hot. “Okay, that’s—please shut up.”

At some point, he decided to stop and free you from the awkwardness of the whole situation and shut up. Bucky returned with the plates, carefully balancing two steaming bowls of homemade pad thai and a tray of carefully prepped sides. He set them down between you both, the aroma of toasted peanuts and lime cutting through the cold air of the apartment.

“Dinner’s served,” he said, quiet but composed, as if trying too hard to keep things light.

You dug in, grateful for the distraction. The food was, as always, perfect—just the right amount of heat, your noodles cooked to perfection, with bits of tofu and crushed peanuts that somehow made you feel cared for in ways he never outright said.

A buzz from your phone interrupted the moment. You glanced down. Luke.

Luke: You free to meet up later this week? I was thinking we could grab coffee or something.

You answered with a quick, noncommittal reply and set the phone aside, but not before Bucky’s eyes flicked toward the screen. The name must’ve registered. His jaw ticked, subtle but there. He didn’t say anything right away, but you felt it—the way his energy shifted.

“Luke? You've told me about him before...” he asked eventually, his voice mild. Too mild.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Group project guy. We’ve been working together a lot lately.”

Bucky nodded slowly, twirling his fork in his noodles. “Right. He’s the one who texts you every morning like he’s clocking in?”

You blinked. “What?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Just noticed he keeps showing up on your phone. Seems… consistent.”

There was no heat in his voice—no raised tone or sarcasm. But there was weight. Careful. Deliberate. Measured.

You tilted your head. “You seem jealous,” you joke for a second, thinking that's what that was.

Bucky let out a breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a laugh, then leaned back on the couch, resting his arm along the top. “Not jealous. Just observant.”

You narrowed your eyes, not letting him off the hook that easily. “That’s not an answer.”

He looked at you then, fully—no grin, no playful smirk, just Bucky, guarded but honest. “I’ve seen how guys look at girls, okay? I know the difference between a group project text and a ‘hope she likes me’ one.” At that moment, you realized he really meant this and it was something that clearly, and very irrationally, bothered him.

You stared at him, heart stumbling in your chest. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t have to,” he said calmly. “He’s a guy. I’ve been that guy. And I know what it looks like when someone’s trying to edge into something that already feels full.”

You swallowed, not sure how to feel about what he just said. “And what does this feel full of, exactly?”

That question seemed to catch him off guard. His gaze dropped for a second, then he rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it’s something. Isn’t it?”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The silence between you stretched, taut as wire. Then he muttered, almost too low for you to catch.

“I just don’t like seeing him try to take—” He cut himself off.

You blinked. “Take what?”

Bucky’s lips parted, but he shook his head quickly, eyes flicking away. “Nothing. Forget it.”

You stared at him, heart tightening. “No. Say it.”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, quieter now. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. The silence said enough. You stared at your plate, chewing slower now. The food was still good—of course it was—but something about the air between you had shifted. Bucky hadn’t looked at you since the text, but you could feel the weight of his silence pressing in.

“I don’t like how you’re talking about this,” you said quietly, setting your wine glass down. “You’re acting like you get a say in who I see.”

Bucky glanced up, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you implied it.” You leaned back, crossing your arms. “You’re making it sound like there's something wrong with someone texting me.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said, voice calm but tight. “I’m saying I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him.” You shook your head, still not fully understanding what was happening. The words didn’t feel right, and the weight of his reaction hung in the air like an uncomfortable cloud. You could feel your heart beat a little faster, a mix of confusion and frustration welling up inside you.

Bucky was usually so easygoing, always the one to laugh and make light of things. But this—this tension, this defensiveness—was something completely different. It felt out of character, and you couldn’t make sense of it.

You swallowed hard, the silence stretching between you, and you wondered if you were overthinking it. Was this about more than just Luke? Was something else bothering him?

It hit you then—maybe it wasn’t just about Luke at all. Maybe it was about you.

For a second, a ridiculous thought crept into your mind—maybe your dad had warned him. Maybe, in some secret father-to-friend conversation, he'd told Bucky to keep an eye out, scare off any guy who got too close. It sounded absurd, but this wasn’t the Bucky you knew. It felt like he was trying to draw a line around you, to fence off a space he didn’t even have the right to claim.

“I don’t need to,” he replied, and now his voice carried more weight. “I know what it looks like when a guy’s circling someone he likes. I’ve been that guy. And if you don’t see it, fine. But don’t act like I’m crazy for pointing it out.”

You hesitated, letting the words settle. Then: “You’re not pointing it out. You’re warning me. That’s different.”

His jaw flexed, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, irritated. “I just don’t want you getting blindsided.”

“And what if I’m not?” you shot back. “What if I know what’s going on and I’m choosing to deal with it the way I want to?”

That made him go still.

You pressed on, voice softer now but more honest. “You say you’re not trying to control me, but you’ve got opinions about who I talk to, who I text, who I spend time with-" You stopped yourself, biting down on the words before they escaped.

Bucky’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. He let you finish.

“I moved into your space,” you said. “Your apartment, your routines, your everything. And I like being here, I do. But right now it’s like I’m getting smaller to fit.”

That hit something in him. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked down at his hands, then back up at you, more careful now.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he said finally. “I just—when I see someone getting close to you, it’s hard to stay neutral.”

“But you’re not supposed to be neutral, or territorial,” you replied, eyes searching his. “You’re supposed to be my friend, right?”

A beat of silence passed. His answer didn’t come. And that silence said more than anything else.

You’re supposed to be my friend

Bucky stood too, but slower, more cautious. “I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

You sighed, now aware of how regretful Bucky looked, and you believed it. You didn't doubt for a second that he had already come to his senses, but still, the conversation nestled deep within you. You begin again, voice steady and quiet. “Maybe I let you for a while because I liked being in your world. But I need to be in mine, too, Buck. With my own choices.”

He nodded slowly, jaw tight, but his eyes softer. “You’re right.”

You stood in the silence, feeling the heaviness of the moment, but the anger had faded, leaving something more fragile in its place. You were no longer upset, but you weren’t sure what to make of everything. You couldn’t stay in the living room with him right now—too many conflicting emotions swirling inside you.

“I’m going to head to bed,” you said softly, the words barely above a whisper. Your voice felt small, almost apologetic, but you needed this space. Bucky didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching you carefully. “Okay,” he said, his voice quieter than before, though there was still an edge of concern in it.

You made your way toward the hallway, not looking back, needing to keep moving to escape the weight of the tension in the room. You didn’t slam the door when you entered your room, but you closed it quietly, the soft click of it echoing in the quiet of the apartment.

For a moment, you just stood there, the silence in your room enveloping you like a heavy blanket. You leaned against the door, closing your eyes and letting out a slow breath. Your heart was still racing, the aftermath of the conversation hitting you in waves. You didn’t feel mad anymore—just… tired. Tired of trying to make sense of things that didn’t feel like they made sense. You felt so conflicted about your feelings on Bucky. You didn't know if they actually did exist or if they were some conjuring of your imagination. You also didn't know what to do or whether to act upon them if they did truly exist.

You weren’t mad at him. If anything, the whole thing left you conflicted. Because the way he’d looked at you tonight, the way he’d spoken—it was raw, and messy, and real. And that meant something.

Sitting on your bed, you changed into more comfortable clothes and stared out the window for a while. The city lights outside twinkled like a million tiny stars. You could still hear Bucky moving around in the living room, but it didn’t feel like he was there with you anymore—not in the way he had been before.

The sound of Bucky moving around in the kitchen filtered through the walls, soft clinks of dishes being washed. You weren’t sure why it hit you so hard, but hearing him out there, alone, made you sad. You could’ve helped him, gone out and cleaned up together like you always did, but tonight, you didn't. You couldn’t shake off the distance, couldn’t pretend like things were normal when everything you felt right now was so confusing

The sound of water running in the kitchen stopped, followed by the quiet clink of a dish being set down. The last sound you heard was Bucky closing his own bedroom door—soft, almost like a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything left unsaid. The thud of the door closing made the space between you both feel even wider, and a knot tightened in your stomach. You knew he wasn’t angry, not like that. But the quiet felt like it was pulling you both into different corners of the apartment, away from each other. You sat there, listening to the silence after that. Even the space between you and Bucky seemed filled with things you couldn’t yet understand.

When you think about it, the situation is not that complicated. But there's something about it, the edge to his words, the tinge of jealousy that he tried to cover, the squint of his eyes every time he mentioned Luke's name… The argument never was about defending him. It wasn’t about whether Luke was a threat or whether he was trying to get too close—it wasn’t even really about the coffee or the texts or any of the small things that had set Bucky off. The fight had been about something deeper, something neither of you had the courage to fully voice.

It was about a fear that neither of you had fully understood or acknowledged. It was about Bucky’s fear of losing something—maybe losing you, or the closeness you shared—and in his own way, trying to hold on to you, to make sure he was still one of the most important people in your life. But in doing so, he crossed a line.

It felt strange to lie in the dark, the quiet of the apartment now overwhelming. You couldn’t hear him anymore, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of you were in the same space, yet so far apart.

(NEXT CHAPTER)

[navybrat817]

Thinking about riding Bucky's thigh.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck with a whine when he praises you. Tells you how pretty you are as he guides your hips with one hand, the other caressing your body with such care. How proud he is that you're taking what you need and letting him give it to you.

"Doing so well for me. That feel good? You wanna come? So pretty when you come. Let me see it. Let me feel it."

His deep voice is so gentle that it makes your eyes sting with unshed tears.

So you praise him, too, when you ride his thick thigh faster. How you're wet and needy because of him. How his touch makes you feel both weak and alive. And how lucky you are to have his love.

It's enough to push him over the edge with you.

That's all, lovelies. Go about your business. ❤️

[firelilyfox]

falling for you was the easy part

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: Bucky has to watch you get tortured. He blames himself for the pain you’ve been through, but you won’t let him punish himself for it.

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: big time angst. anxiety. torture. being whipped. hurt/comfort. dating Bucky. established relationship. sadistic actions (NOT Bucky or reader). mentions of injuries.

___________________________

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself kneeling on the cold stone floor, your wrists tied together, and attached to a kind of metal ring that protruded from the ground.

You wanted to call for help, but your lips were split by a dusty piece of fabric, which made it impossible for you to form words.

Your eyes raced through the small room, searching for answers to this grotesque situation. Fear tightened your throat when you could see an unknown figure in the dim light.

The person stepped closer. "Ah the princess woke up as I can see."

The man was tall and thin. The cone of light above him put his sunken face in deep shadows, which made it look like a bare skull.

You desperately pull on your shackles, but they didn't loosen a bit.

The man grinned ghostly. "That's pointless. And quite unnecessary.” He gave a sign to the shadows and you saw there were more people lurkeying there. Soldiers in full combat gear.

“You're only here as a means to an end. All you have to do is look good while I'm doing my job.”

Panic spread in you. What did he mean by that? Where the hell are we here?

And where is ...

The soldiers draged an unconscious body into the small room. Your ranging thoughts suddenly came to an abrupt stop.

Bucky. 

Your choked cries for him sounded like the calls of a wild animal. Tears blurred your vision. The rope around your joints cut deeper into your skin with each pull.

"Don't worry. He is alive. For now. The Winter Soldier has one last task to fulfil before I can finally dismiss him from service.” The man's vicious grin grew into a grimace full of perverse anticipation.

He signalled again and then positioned himself behind you. The soldiers chased a syringe into Bucky's neck, after which he suddenly regained consciousness.

Bucky jumped up and swung his fists, caught two of them and broke various bones. However, the others intervened quickly and managed to fix him.

He fought back like a wild animal. Until his gaze met yours. Bucky paused. Fear lay in his eyes and you could imagine what he saw.

The dried blood on your face. The gag in your mouth and the shackles around your wrists. And when a soft click sounded ... the gun pointed at the back of your head.

„Now“, the man barks. „Behave. Or watch me punish her for your misbehaviour.”

“Everything will be alright, doll. I promise.”

A soft whimper sounded from your throat.

"Oh, you should only make promises that you can keep." The man's voice was cold as ice and at the same time amused.

Suddenly you feel his hands on your back and the blade of a knife that slit your combat suit lengthwise. Goosebumps settled over your now bare back and made you shudder.

“I'm a fan of old fashioned style. You too, soldier?”

Deadly hatred was reflected in Bucky's eyes, and every single muscle in his body was tense. You could see that he was ready to turn the insides of the man outwards.

Then he said something in Russian that you couldn't understand.

Bucky replied in Russian, his voice threateningly deep.

The man didn't like the answer.

A burning pain exploded on your back and made you scream. The man had hit you. With something that felt very much like a fucking whip.

„No! You bloody bastard!“Bucky roared.

Another blow. Your cry echoed back from the walls, like a cruel song of pain.

„Behave. Or watch her suffer because of you, Soldier.“ 

Bucky roared something in Russian. Another blow.

You start to tremble all over your body.

Words in a foreign language were exchanged. Angry and full of hate. Even if you could understand them, it would be pointless. Your nervous system ringed in alarm, made your ears rustled, your eyes blur and your mouth taste blood.

Just when you thought the questioning came to an end and would thus also free you from the torture by whipping, the man laughed contentedly.

“Thank you, Soldier. You were very helpful. It's just a shame that you buckled so quickly and handled the information so recklessly.” His hand grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back with a jerk so that you had to look Bucky straight in the eyes.

You could almost feel the pain in them physically. The normally so gentle blue, had frozen to ice. The small laugh lines around his lips and eyes were exchanged for a deep frown.

Your pain-fogged brain tried convulsively to keep consciousness and clung to the memory of his smile.

"As punishment for your weakness," the man chuckled madly to himself. "It will cost her a lot of blood."

He struck.

Again and again.

Bucky roared. Tore himself away from the soldiers and stormed towards the man. Before he could draw his gun again, Bucky was already next to him and broke his neck with a practiced move.

You could still see how the remaining soldiers were attacked by someone else before you lose consciousness.

"I got you, love. It's over.”

Bucky has never been so scared in his entire life.

When he saw you kneeling there, tied up and bleeding. Every single fibre in his body had failed him at this sight. The helplessness he had felt there would haunt him until the end of his days.

"You should have this looked at by someone," Steve stepped beside him and pointed to the ugly cut on his face.

Bucky didn't move a muscle. "I'm fine."

"I know. But it doesn't help her either if you're standing around and staring at the door. The nurses have already complained.”

They had temporarily thrown Bucky out of your hospital room because he almost made every person who entered cry with his pure presence.

All night he had been watching next to your bed and holding your hand. He listened to the smooth beeping of the monitors, which assured him that your heart was still beating.

"She's no longer in danger, Buck. She only sleeps because of the morphine. She will be back.”

“That's my fault. He tortured her. Because of me. Just to see me suffer, Steve. He didn't need any information, because he already knew everything. He only did it to satisfy his perverse obsession with the Winter Soldier project.” The words felt like acid on his tongue and Bucky felt his chest contract painfully.

"Buck, it's not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it's this bastard!” Steve frowned. “No one could have foreseen that. This sick asshole set a trap for us.”

Bucky looked at Steve. “Watch your language. You have an reputation to lose.”

"That's what I get out of hanging out with you, old friend." Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder in a friendly manner. “At least go wash the blood off your face. When she wakes up, she shouldn't be scared to death.”

When Bucky returned to your room a few minutes later, his face was cleared of blood and he had taken off the messed up combat jacket.

The door was just opened by a medical assistant who opened his eyes anxiously when he saw Bucky stepping around the corner. "S-She's awake and asked for you, Sir. Uh, Sergeant."

"Go." The assistant nodded quickly and disappeared visibly relieved.

Bucky cautiously entered your room and mentally prepared himself for the sight of you. His heart cramped when he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, slightly bent over to protect the freshly bandaged wounds on your back.

You look up at him and try to smile. It was a little more shaky than you had planned. "Hey."

Bucky was with you with two long steps and sank down to one knee in front of your bed to make it easier for you to look at him without lifting his head. “God, love. I'm so sorry.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes and his hands gently touch your thighs, going up and down as if to prove to himself that you are here with him.

“I should have prevented that.”

You silence him by run your hands through his hair. You gently stroke the dark strand from his forehead and put your palms around his cheeks.

“I know you're smarter than that, Bucky. You should know that none of this is really your fault.”

Bucky kissed your palm. "If I hadn't been, if you and I weren't together, he would never have tortured you."

„Bucky, stop.“

He overheard you. “I should never have taken you in there. Even now after I left the Winter Soldier behind, he's still chasing me. It was reckless to believe that it would be different. I shouldn't have allowed myself to fall in love with you in the first place and put you in danger...”

"For God's sake, Bucky! Shut up," you sigh and put your thumb on his lips. “This is really the dumbest thing that ever came out of your pretty mouth. Don't forget that I knew what I was getting into. Don't forget that i was the one who started this. I fell for you first.“ 

Bucky breathed, kissed the tip of your thumb, and gently stroked your cheek.„I fell for you way before that. I just didn't want to admit it to myself.”

You're giggling. "This is not a competition, idiot."

For a fraction of a second, a slight smile appeared on his lips, then his expression became serious again. “I'm so terribly sorry, doll. I will do everything so that you never have to feel such pain again.”

"I know." You reach for a small, wired button to your right. "Press it and you can fulfill your promise here and now."

Confused, Bucky looked at the button and understood. Painkillers. He pressed the little life savior without hesitation and your muscles relaxed instantly.

“I love you, Bucky. No matter what.”

"Are those the drugs that speak for you?" he joked.

"Careful. If you don't kiss me in the next five seconds, then you'll need something much stronger than painkillers," you warn with a smile.

Bucky smiled for the first time since you left for the mission yesterday. "Yes ma'am."

He placed his lips gently on yours, gently touching your hips, careful not to exert too much pressure. All he wanted was to hold you tight, make sure you're here with him and safe. But that had to wait until your wounds were healed.

For here and now, Bucky had his hands to cup your face, feel your lips on his and hear your soft sigh as he deepened the kiss.

From today on, he would move mountains to keep you safe.

_____________________

Thank you so much for reading! 💙 All interactions are highly appreciated (but please don't copy my work)

BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST

[heytheredelulu]

Temptation

Bucky Barnes x Reader

18+

Word count: 1.5k

POV: You text your boyfriend a nude selfie while he’s working and now he can’t stop thinking about it.

“You ain’t even touched your dinner, Sarge.” You said with a frown, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

Bucky set his fork down and raised an eyebrow at you. “Sorry doll, but it’s hard to think about anything other than bending you over this table after that little stunt you pulled earlier.” He replied, a smile playing on his lips.

Your mouth fell open and you uncrossed your arms, shifting slightly in your chair. “Oh.” You breathed out.

He nodded slowly, pushing his chair back and standing up. “You thought you could send me picture of those pretty tits of yours while I was in a briefing and I wouldn’t wanna come home and watch ‘em bounce while I fucked you stupid?” He asked.

Your cheeks grew hot and you looked away, chewing your bottom lip, his words sending a wave of arousal crashing over you.

“No, you’re not gonna play shy, doll.” He said, his voice taking on an almost menacing tone. “You weren’t too shy to make my dick hard when I was workin’. I gotta say, I was pretty disappointed when I came home and found you settin’ the table for dinner instead of laying up on it with your pussy spread open and waiting for me.”

Bucky reached out and snatched your wrist, pulling you to your feet. He tilted his head as he waited for you to respond but as your eyes drifted downwards and landed on his cock, hard and straining against his jeans, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Without a moment of hesitation, he grabs you roughly by your hips and forces your jeans down, splaying his large hand across your back to push your chest forward to meet the table. He takes a step back, admiring your bare ass bent over the kitchen table like a full meal on display that he couldn’t wait a moment longer to devour. He reaches out and kneads your ass cheek, his fingers digging into the flesh just enough to make you squirm before he releases you to free his cock. The sound of his belt buckle hitting the hardwood floor was the only warning you received before he kicked your feet apart and sunk himself into you.

“Fuck.”

He bottomed out, his hands gripping your hips and holding you flush against his pelvis as he readjusted his stance.

You let out a whine more akin to a moan at the torture of him remaining painfully still while buried balls deep inside you. “Move.” You begged, your hands curling into fists against the table on each side of your head. You knew he was intentionally drawing this out, punishing you for sending him that damn selfie.

Your plea was met with a sharp slap to your ass and you tensed before the cool metal of his left palm soothed the sting. “Buc-“ You begin to plead again but your words are lost in a gasp as he draws his hips back withdrawing almost completely before thrusting forward deep enough to kiss your cervix.

“Use your words.” He demanded in a low voice, stilling once again.

“God damnit.” You hissed, sucking in a deep breath. “Move. Please.”

A chuckle rose up from his throat and you knew that if you’d be facing him you could see his beautiful mouth twisted into a smug smirk.

“Was that so hard?” He crooned, snapping his hips forward and drawing a moan from you in response.

You shook your head, unable to respond as he slammed into you relentlessly, the legs of the table scraping against the floor from the force of his thrusts, the dishes sliding off and shattering as they hit the floor.

Your breath catches in your chest as heat blooms deep in your abdomen at the sensation of his thick cock dragging along your walls.

Bucky’s hand slides up your back gathering your hair in his fist, pulling it hard and forcing your back to arch as he yanks you up towards him so he can see the look on your face as he fucks you. Your eyes connect with his over your shoulder and the sight of his pupils blown, his brows knitted together and his mouth agape as he relishes in the feeling of your pussy milking his cock does you in. You choke out a cry and tremble beneath him, white hot pleasure crawling up your spine as you fall apart. He fucks you through it with his eyes half lidded and jaw clenching while he watches you crumble, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“Fuck, baby.. I love you so much.” You whimper out in a breathless daze.

He inhales sharply and releases his grip on your hair. Your head nearly drops to the table before he catches your jaw firmly in his hand, his eyes wild and intense. “Goddamn, say it again.” He growls through gritted teeth, rutting into you at a renewed pace.

You groan in satisfaction as his hand tightens on your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together. Your voice comes out broken and hoarse as you whimper repeatedly, “I fucking love you. I love you. God I-“ Your words fall short as you cry out, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him as another orgasm rips through you. His grip slackens and he slides his hand to your cheek, his thumb caressing your flushed skin.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He mumbles. “So fucking beautiful when you come all over my cock.”

Bucky’s words of praise send a shiver up your spine but disappointment washes over you when without warning he’s pulling out and leaving your pussy aching and empty. You look back at him with furrowed brows and a pout, confusion written across your face. He chuckles softly and leans forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Don’t give me that, doll.” He murmurs against your hair, his arms coming around you to move you onto your back. “You were twistin’ that pretty little neck of yours to keep your eyes on me.” He gives a gentle squeeze to your throat for emphasis as his breath fans across your cheek. Your eyelids slip shut as his hand leaves your neck and he places his large hands on your inner thighs, spreading you open again. The weeping tip of his cock presses against your thoroughly fucked hole and he bites back a moan as he watches himself disappear into your cunt inch by inch.

“Look at me.” He demands, picking up rhythm. He dips down to press his forehead to yours, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as you flick your eyes up to meet his gaze. “I’m not pullin’ out.” He growls, nipping at your bottom lip. “Eyes on me, doll. I’ll be damned if you don’t watch when I fill you.”

You groan in response and meet his mouth with your own, kissing him deeply and carding your hands in his hair. He chuckles softly into the kiss and breaks it momentarily to slide his hands under your shirt and cup your breasts. “Oh?” He let out a low chuckle. “You want that, baby?” He asked, brushing his thumb roughly across your nipple. “You want me to fuck you full of my cum?”

“Yes, please. Fuck.” You whimpered, using your grip on his hair to pull him back to you. Your mouth parts on contact, your tongue slipping past his lips to taste his in a sloppy and desperate kiss that only spurred him to drive into you even harder. Every violent thrust drew a moan deep from your throat that he swallowed as his tongue fought yours for dominance. You caught his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged, eliciting a growl from him in response and he broke the kiss, rearing back and looking down at you with primal need. He reached to wrap his hand around your throat again, pulling you up to crash his mouth against yours, groaning into it as his movements begin to stutter and lose rhythm.

“Fuck. Baby, I’m gonna come.” He breathed out in between kisses. Your hands curled around his shoulders fingers into the flesh and leaving bloody crescent moons as you whimpered in response. “Please!” You cry out, tipping your head back against the table. Bucky grunts and leans down, your extended neck a welcome invitation that he takes, biting, kissing and sucking along the tender flesh. “Eyes on me.” He says firmly, slipping his hand from your neck to your jaw and forcing your head back down.

“Fuck!” He shouts with a final thrust, his hands flying to your hips and bringing you flush to him as his head tips back and your name falls from his lips among a string of curses. He tenses and stills, his cock twitching inside you as he pumps you full of his hot, sticky essence.

“Jesus..” He mumbles, reaching to lazily palm your breast before cupping your cheek in his hand and looking down at you with affection while he remains seated inside you.

You laugh softly, bringing your hand up to rest over his and hold it to your face. “Damn.” You whisper, a smirk spreading across your face. “Remind me to start sending you pictures more often.”

[buckyalpine]

You know what I was thinking of all day? Comforting our sad baby Bucky who just wants a hug. He's tired from a bad mission. His body aches. He saw things he didn't want to. He could really just use something.

Even just a smile?

He doesn't have a lot of friends and most people around the compound outside of the team avoid him. Even those who'd worked with him for ages were still wary, scared he'd snap if they just asked how he's doing. He would have liked it, even just a hello in passing. When he walks by with a scowl on his face, no one meets his eye. If they did, they would have seen the storm that was brewing inside was not an angry one.

He just needed to be held.

When he continues to make his way towards his room, he's given a few nods from a couple of teammates but he knows they're doing it while holding their breath. He reaches his room and the damn is about to break, he hasn't been held in years, he feels so cold and empty, was he really so terrifying, no one would-

"Sergeant Barnes?"

A gentle voice calls for him, forcing him to swallow the lump in his throat. He knows that voice, mustering his best smile as he turns around to find Tony's lab assistant with a cup of chamomile tea in his mug and a file with the mission report he was supposed to fill out.

"Everyone's filling their reports in the conference room, I figured you'd rather have some privacy so I thought I'd bring it to you" You give him the same warm smile you grace everyone with, handing him the steaming cup, "and of course, your favourite"

It's too much. Normally it wouldn't be but he's never given such kindness but he always gets it from you. You're so unbelievably affectionate to everyone and he really doesn't feel worthy but today he needs it so he graciously accepts the tea and file with a soft thank you.

"and call me Bucky, doll"

You stiffen at the slight crack in his voice, frowning when he keeps his eyes trained to the floor. It wasn't unusual for Bucky to keep to himself but you catch his reddened nose and glassy baby blues and it breaks your heart.

He opens the door to enter his room ready to drown in a lonely storm when that voice calls again. Surely he was dreaming. He sets down his things, turning to find you still at his door.

"Bucky?" You enter his room, standing before him when he doesn't ask you to leave, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't trust himself, nodding and desperately blinking back tears. He wished you'd leave, he wished you'd stay, he wished he could just tell you what he needed, his hands fisted into balls by his side, he should just suck it up, what was he expecting-

"Come here" You whisper, your hand coming to cradle the back of his head, bringing it to rest into your neck where he can let go, your arms wrapping around his body.

Bucky doesn't get a chance to realize what's happening because as soon as he feels your touch the first sob escapes. He's hidden himself away in your hold, his tears wetting your skin with no remorse. He clings onto you like a lifeline while you coo and comfort him, playing with his hair and rubbing his back.

You don't let go, allowing him to cry for as long as he needs. Even after his cries turn into sniffles, you comfort him, pressing a kiss to his temple while he holds you extra tight.

When he's finally ready to let go, albeit reluctantly, he's instantly shused from trying to apologize. You don't ask questions asking what happened or why he was upset. It really didn't matter. You just knew. Bucky whispers a thank you, making a mental note to get you some flowers to properly showed you how much he appreciated it.

Of course you'd always just know when he needed it so he'd thank you again with coffee.

Dinner.

Dinner again.

Eventually, a ring.

You always knew what he needed.

A hug.

That was all.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

hiii! can i request a bucky fanfic that takes place in civil war? specifically, the scene where zemo activated the winter solider and he starts attacking the avengers. and the soldier notices reader but for some reason spares her. maybe the reader is also an avenger, and has an established relationship with bucky? thank youuuu, have a good day! <33

Sparing You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: Bucky spares you when he’s in Winter Soldier mode.

Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of Angst, language, established relationship, boyfriend!Bucky/girlfriend!reader, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @timmytimberdrake 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

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

As you watched the camera footage of the room Bucky is in with Zemo, you could tell that something wasn’t right about Zemo. You didn’t need to be in the same room as him to know that.

“Something doesn’t seem right with that Zemo guy.” You say.

Steve nods as he continues to watch the footage. You stood up from your seat and walked over to Steve, standing next to him to get a better look at the screen. As you guys continued watching it, the power went out, confusing everyone. You, Steve, and Sam exchanged looks before making your way to where Bucky is. Bucky wasn’t in the metal pod or anywhere in the room when you guys got in there. Zemo wasn’t on the floor. Steve grabbed him by his jacket and slammed him against the wall.

“What the hell did you do to him?” You asked Zemo.

“You’ll find out in a moment, Miss. Y/L/N.” Zemo says, smirking evilly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

How the hell does he know your name?

That’s when Bucky came out of nowhere and started attacking Steve and Sam. He threw Sam against the pod and shoved Steve against the elevator doors hard enough to make him fall through them. Your eyes went wide. That was enough to tell you that Bucky is in Winter Soldier mode. Bucky turned around, accidentally bumping into you. You stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall. You stared up at him, waiting for him to attack you, but he didn’t. He just stared down at you for a few seconds before walking away. Now, you’re confused.

Why didn’t he attack you like he did to Steve and Sam just seconds ago?

You followed him through the building, making sure he didn’t notice you. You hid along the wall that led to a seating area with some tables. You poked your head out to see Bucky attacking the rest of the Avengers.

“Is Barnes in there?” Tony asks from behind you.

“Yes.” You replied.

Tony got his blaster ready and aimed it at Bucky, blasting him. Your eyes went wide when he did that. You watched Bucky approach Tony with a gun.

“Uh oh.” You mumbled to yourself.

You felt like you should do something. You ran out to the seating area before Bucky could shoot Tony. You managed to get the gun out of Bucky’s strong grip. You unloaded the bullets from it and threw it as far as you could. Bucky just stared at you. You gulped, thinking he was going to attack you this time, but he didn’t. He gently moved you to the side before attacking Tony.

“Why didn’t Barnes attack you?” T’Challa asks.

“I-I don’t know.” You replied.

You didn’t let Bucky out of your sight even when after he went after T’Challa. You followed him, keeping your distance. Following him led both of you to the roof of the building. You watched Bucky get on the helicopter and started it. Steve opened the door, entering the roof. You watched Steve run towards the helicopter and grabbed onto it so Bucky couldn’t fly away. He used all of his strength to pull it down. He wanted to stop his best friend before things got worse.

———

Steve managed to get Bucky to an abandoned factory. Bucky was unconscious at the moment. You stared at Bucky while biting your nails as you thought to yourself. You were curious to know why Bucky didn’t attack you when he was in Winter Soldier mode. That’s when it hit you. You and Bucky met during your trip to Romania last Summer. You and him hung out and got to know each other. You two made it official before leaving to go back home. You guys kept yours and his relationship a secret. You hate that you kept this from your friends, especially Steve.

“Y/N, are you ok? Did he hurt?” Steve asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm? Yea, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” You say.

Steve stared at you, studying your body language. He could tell that you were keeping something from him and he’s going to find out what it is.

“Cap, he’s waking up.” Sam says.

You, Steve, and Sam enter the area Bucky is in. Bucky groans as he wakes up. He furrows his eyebrows when he notices that his metal arm is wedged in some kind of machine.

“Steve…” Bucky says, his voice raspy from waking up.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to wear newspaper in your shoes.” Bucky says.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve says.

“And now, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam says.

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, looking at Sam.

“Nothing.” You say softly.

Bucky turns his attention to you, smiling when he seen you. Steve looks from Bucky to you, sensing something between the two of you.

“What’s going on between you two?” Steve asks you and Bucky.

You looked at Bucky. He nodded, letting you know it’s ok to tell Steve about yours and his relationship.

“Remember when I went on a trip to Europe last Summer?” You asked.

Steve and Sam nodded.

“Well, I went to Romania for the remainder of my trip and I met Bucky when I was there. Him and I hung out and got to know each other. We made our relationship official before I came home. Him and I kept it a secret.” You explained.

“How long have you two been together?” Steve asks.

“Almost a year.” You tell him.

“A year?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Steve says.

“Don’t get mad at her. I’m the one who said to keep our relationship a secret.” Bucky says.

Steve sighs and puts his hands on his hips, trying to process the fact that you kept your relationship with Bucky a secret for almost a year.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam ask Bucky.

Bucky looks at Sam and nods.

“Why didn’t you attack Y/N when you were in Winter Soldier mode?” He asks curiously.

“I wanted to spare her. Even though all of the programming, I still somehow knew who she is.” Bucky says.

You smiled and walked over to Bucky, giving him a hug.

“I would’ve forgiven you even if you did attack me.” You say softly, gazing in his blue eyes.

Bucky stared in your eyes. He loves how loving you are. He also loves how you can see past his mistakes he made over the years. That’s his favorite things about you. Bucky’s right hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin. He kisses you softly and sweetly. As Steve looks at the two of you and watches the cute moment unfold in front of him, he then realizes that Bucky most likely asked you to keep yours and his relationship a secret to protect you so nothing bad happened to you.

“You guys kept your relationship a secret to protect her, didn’t you?” Steve asks.

“Yes.” Bucky answers softly.

“I didn’t mean to get mad at you guys. It would’ve been nice to know. Just don’t keep anymore secrets from us, ok?” Steve says.

You and Bucky nodded. Now, that you guys talked everything out and got it out of the way, you guys can move forward on the plan.

“I know a guy.” Sam says.

Steve nods, letting Sam know to call him.

“I’ll protect you.” You say softly to Bucky.

“You’re so sweet, doll.” Bucky smiles. “I love you.” He almost whispers, kissing your lips softly.

“I love you too, sweetie.” You whispered back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[drdawnbreaker]

𝐀 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐈𝐜𝐞 || 𝐁.𝐁

Pairing: Winter Soldier x HydraPrisoner!Reader

Summary: Soldat, and you have been through so much in such little time. And now, you have to navigate the looming storm of snow and rising tension. Can Soldat keep you from slipping over the edge or will you just end up falling together?

Word Count: 1.49k

Warnings: Blood. Canon level violence. Non-sexual nudity. Tension. This is basically just naked cuddles by an open fire. What can i say, I'm a romantic.

Notes: I didn't expect to write something so long, but here i am, ahah. This was heavily inspired by @winterarmyy fic with Bucky, hehe. Anyhoo enjoyy. Not beta read. Yolo. Also, this is my first full fic, i guess... ahhhh. So please go easy on mee argh xx

Masterlist | Nav

Imagine You and The Winter Soldier are fleeing, running for your lives in the wet and cold night. The gravelled roads covered in a blizzard of thick snow. Your body is soaked from rain, blood, dirt, and god knows what else.

Soldat never said a word as he tracked closely in front of you, creating a path with his long, thick legs, letting you walk without much effort, unlike him who is starting to feel the burn of his muscles and the sting in his lungs. But he would never tell you, he would rather break all his bones in his body than risk any discomfort to you. Not ever again.

Soldat pushed open the heavy door with his metal shoulder, the cracking sound of snapping wood echoed in the vast silence of the lonely woods that hid more than fifty-ish gaurds from the hydra base they had just broken out from. You stumbled in behind him, your breath creating little clouds as you sighed deeply as you almost tripped into Soladts' large back.

Your thin clothes that Hydra forced you to wear while you were stuck in your cell and soldats tactical gear was soaked, stained, clinging to his skin. It was like a reminder of the struggle he went through to get you out. He had taken the brunt of the most brutal confrontations, but the scars of your escape marked both of you—physically and mentally.

As the door slammed shut with a heavy thud, a cold shiver coursed through you, making you very aware of the biting chill that seeped into your bones, rattling your body with a familiar emotion... Fear. Soldat noticed your discomfort. His steel, almost grey eyes, were shadowed with concern. “There is no power. Too risky,” he muttered, his voice low and husky. “But we need to get warm.”

Without another word, grunt, or whimper, Soldat moved like lightning towards various cupboards, tossing through cobwebs, dust, and strange bugs before finally finding an old stack of firewood. Well, most like cheap chip wood, but it'll burn enough to get you warm.

You watched him as he arranged all the wood in the fireplace, not even seemingly taking a breath until it was complete. The flicker of warmth that the flame produced would simmer you down only momentarily before another shiver ran down your body as the wet melting snow pooled against your skin from the soaked fabric.

"Here,” he called, gesturing to try beside the fire, his voice steady despite the storm outside. Yet you somehow knew that he was panicked deep inside. Worried about yours and his safety. Morely yours, but you try not to think about that. “Get closer to the fire.”

You obliged without a word, positioning yourself on your knees before the flames, but quickly realized that the heat was barely wrapping around you. The cold still seeped into your chest, gnawing at your skin. Soldat threw more wood in, but time was not a luxury you had, it seemed. No, as your eyes grew heavy and your shallow breath slowed, Soldat needed to find a solution quick before you surely died from hypothermia. He grunted through his nose as he watched you for a moment more before speaking...

“Strip,” he said, gravelled and bluntly. It made you freeze, cheeks flushing as your slowed heart began to race.

What? Is he serious? You blinked at him in shock as uneasy laughter bubbled up, tinged with embarrassment. He can't actually be serious... Right?

“Soldat, I—” you started, but then he cut you off by speeding down the hall before you could process his request. You sat there stunned and trembling. Confusion warred with the urgency of your situation, the biting cold gripped you tighter, but now a heat pooled inside you, one you always managed to keep hidden until now.

With a deep, shaky breath, you hastily stripped off your damp clothes. The chill of the room made every inch of exposed skin tighten, and you quickly slipped into your underwear. Just as you pulled the last layer away, Soldat re-entered the room, his arms holding a bunch of blankets and pillows. He dropped them carelessly on the floor, but carefully not to get any in the fire or on the wet pile of clothes you created. He began to arrange them with determination, making a makeshift bed. Almost like a nest or cocoon.

"You have to get warm." He states, letting you see the determination in his wild eyes. You hugged your arms around yourself tightly, still feeling in the heat of embarrassment, being almost bare in front of the only person in your life who ever showed care for you.

“The underwear isn’t helping,” he stated flatly, as if the gravity of the situation was the only thing at play, almost completely ignoring the circular emotions churning in the space between you and him. The tension that has been brewing since the first day your cells were side by side. Since the first time you used your abilities to sneak into his cell and hold him, let him know he wasn't alone while using your powers to soothe his torturous mind.

Your heart raced as you met his gaze. “Can you... uh c-can you close your eyes, please?”

He chuckled softly, a lightness breaking through the tension. “Alright,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he covered his eyes with his metal hand, though a ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. Something was almost foreign about a smile on the Soldats, but he had grown to have one when only you were around.

With shaking fingers, you slipped your last barrier away, letting the wet bra and panties all alongside the other wet fabric before you dived for the blankets, mortified and relieved at once, your heart hammering wildly. “Okay...I’m done,” you called, hoping to mask your vulnerability and embarrassment with the soft cupboard smelling duvet

He opened his eyes, pulling his hand away. The warmth of the fire reflected off you, a hint of satisfaction finally grazed in his expression. You shifted slightly, the blankets cocooning you with newfound warmth, but the icy sensation still danced inside your chest. You shivered again

Soldat could hear the way your body was still craving heat and as he swore under his breath as the silence stretched thick with the unspoken tension. He knew he needed to do something. So he started to strip himself of his own wet clothes, revealing the chiselled muscles and scars that told stories of his torment...of battles fought and lost. He reached for his belt, and it made you suddenly speak up with an eep in your voice.

“W-what are you doing?” You blurted out, the absurdity of the situation slamming into you like a train as he slipped off his pants, boots, and underwear until he was completely bare in front of you. You didn't mean to cast your gazs lower, but before you could even get a good look at him, he was under the blankets beside you. Skin suddenly against skin.

“I need to keep you alive,” he replied with a gruffness that softened under the weight of his intentions. He pulled you close, lifting the blanket over both of you to create more warmth.

Your body instinctively moulded against his, seeking the refuge of his body heat even though your mind was racing at the idea of being this close to the soldie while completely naked.. As his heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear, you inhaled his scent without thought—an intoxicating mix of woodsmoke and something uniquely him. It made your heart ache and twist with butterflies. And as the storm outside raged on, you felt a surreal sense of safety wrapped in his strong embrace.

You buried your cold nose into his chest, feeling the fear, the stress, all of it melt away with every passing second. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured, fingers gently brushing through your hair as if he was soothing both of you to rest.

In that moment, there was a clarity of peace that felt sacred. It was something neither of you had felt in years, decades... It was as if the world had fallen away, problems and fears non-existent by the closeness you shared with him. A refuge built on trust forged in darkness and chaos.

Even though none of you predicted this moment, the sleepiness began to claim you both, weight of conflict fading like melting snow.

Soldat's warmth surrounded you, lulling you into a quiet dreamland. And that night, amidst the storm, with the fire crackling softly, Soldat mended the fractures within both of you if only just for a moment. And that night was the first night Soldat slept without the fear of the demons to raid his mind. No, the only thought he could think of was that he had you safe and away from the sinister grasps of hyrda. You were both finally free.

[eccentricallygothic]

Sunshine

Pairing: Recovering Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes | Lab technician!You.

Description: As Shuri's top and most emotionally intelligent technician, you are the one Bucky ends up opening up to during his recovery in Wakanda… And then some.

Warning(s): Top Bucky, bottom reader, his vibranium arm, inexperienced reader, experienced Bucky, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, allusions to unprotected p-in-v sex, nipple biting, kissing, virgin reader, smut with plot, reader and Bucky like each other, brief mentions of his Winter Soldier days, age gap, teasing, humiliation, size kink, allusions to dacryphilia. Minors do not interact.

Type: Request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms, here.

Note: Can you tell I am obsessed with the arm?

MASTERLIST

.

It was usual for Bucky's corner of residence to remain deserted. He was still relatively new to Wakanda and people had heard enough tales about his past life to not welcome him with too much hospitality. They didn't take too warm heartedly to outsiders as it was. And a former killing machine was… well, you guessed it. But you were not sure that Bucky really minded. Apart from the bond he had formed with you -very slowly and steadily, might you add- during his therapy in Shuri's lab, you had observed he preferred being by his lonesome and did not mind the isolation.

The more you found out about him, the more you reckoned he probably needed it.

That was the reason why you felt guilt nip at your cheeks when you heard some leaves rustle behind you and when you instinctively turned to see what it was, you found no one other than Bucky staring back at you. Momentary panic settled in your bones but before you could try and ramble your case and embarrass yourself any more, Bucky offered you a small and friendly smile. You had no idea what it was about him that made you all shy and mum because usually you were a very confident and forthcoming person. You were Shuri's top technician after all. But there was something about the way Bucky's blue eyes watched you, how they flickered down your face just momentarily at times, the manner in which his lashes flexed if he looked further down south, and how his tongue subconsciously swiped across his lips during a conversation sometimes. 

It spread warmth throughout your whole body.

… Like right now.

“The… stars are so bright tonight” you tried your best to mask the awkwardness with a casual amiability. What? Bucky made you feel nervous, alright?  

The male only hummed in agreement as he quietly took a perch beside you, letting his longer legs down the edge of the lake that ran behind his cabin and letting his now bare feet touch the water that everyone used for swimming and fun.

The two of you stayed like that for a little bit, Bucky had never been much of a conversationalist in all the time you had known him and it was always you who had to prompt him to speak or engage in casual talk or even a discussion. A content smile played at your lips while you gazed up at the stars. You liked his corner of the land. It was very calming and serene. Perhaps even more so than the rest of Wakanda. Or so you felt.

It was Bucky's corner after all.

“So… how's the new arm?” You nodded towards the black and gold vibranium arm that the lab had finalized after various meticulous precautions and measurements while giving him the best mental and even physical therapy possible all the while. Shuri had called in Bucky this afternoon to finally install it into the socket you and other technicians had built into his side. After one last test to see if his HYDRA conditioning really was gone for good, it had been you who had with the use of tender and nimble fingers locked the arm into place. It had been a rather emotional moment and you were the only tech Bucky had allowed to touch him. Since he had never been allowed any liberty in his past life, Shuri made sure you all respected the man's comfort first and foremost.

You could never have a problem with that. 

“Pretty good, actually” your eyes followed the glint of the moonlight bouncing off the bionic limb as he flexed his fingers and slowly twirled his arm for you to see. “More comfortable too” you were a nerd so it got you excited. And no, the fashion in which the digits of his new hand had stretched had nothing to do with it.

“Yes! Shuri actually wanted to use…” You began the technical ramble Bucky didn't really understand but didn't mind either. “I suggested we instead use…” And it wasn't sympathy humming either, you had learnt that the Soldier had retained his sassy side and if you were boring him out, he had his quiet ways of giving you a shut up call. “Because I knew that it would bite on your skin…” You hadn't realized just how close you had scooted into Bucky and the way you were cradling his vibranium arm and its various crevices while it laid in your lap until his hot breath fanned some of the stray strands away from your face. “S- So…” Your voice wavered from the hyperawareness all of a sudden, eyes flickering down to his lips before you could stop them and your no longer coherent words quivered. “I- I… she… we…” A breathless chuckle escaped him.

“Y/n?”

“Bucky?” You tried to focus and as a result ended up widening your eyes so much that you looked like a fish out of water. What? Straight A bookworms like you didn't enjoy the luxury of knowing their way around the sex of interest. 

“Shut up” his words were outwardly blunt but the tone in which he said them, the half smile which made his lips handsomely droop to one side and the manner in which he leaned in soon after stopped you from getting offended just in time. Though you couldn't really visualize yourself getting mad at him anyways. 

“Okay, Bucky” was all you were allowed to blurt out before his pleasantly soft lips pressed against yours. You whimpered into his mouth from how tender the kiss was and how delicate he was about it. You had no idea what you were expecting and if you were even expecting something, but something so soft coming from a man with a stature like Bucky's, you were taken by a pleasant surprise. The kiss was warm and meaningful.

… But way too short. 

You gasped once you came to your senses and realized the gravity of the situation. You were kissing Bucky fucking Barnes! The kiss had been rather brief– too brief, but it had also felt like an eternity at the same time due to how your brain had declined you of its service.

Bucky was taken aback by your gasp and now a guilty panic began to mar his handsome features. “I… am sorry…” He wasn't as inexperienced as you but there were generations and years of lack of practice between you two and self doubt began to fill him. “I–” you vehemently shook your head when he began to back away.

“N- No! No, no!” You repeated desperately. “No, Bucky!” You finally had him after months of secret wondering and longing and you were not about to let it go. “No!” So you leaned in yourself this time and hurriedly pecked his lips before pulling back a little to look at him to see if he was still comfortable with it. The next kiss you pressed to his lips was admittedly one that caused for guilt to knot up in your chest because his expression had been difficult to read and in case he didn't want to take this any further, you needed to feel him one last time. 

Bucky wordlessly kissed you again and you didn't give him a chance to back away this time. And after that it was a passionate tussle of your hands and lips pulling and sucking down at one another until you were both undressed in Bucky's bed, tangled together. 

Bucky's vibranium fingers cupped the side of your face as he put his hot tongue into the kiss. You were laying down on your back in the middle of the bed and his huge form was bent over you, one knee pushed between your legs. The man knew how to kiss and he certainly knew how to eat, it was clear from how his tongue pressed against yours before it went to explore the rest of your mouth. The way he swirled it around your own sent heat and shivers down your abdomen and straight to your core that had begun to pulsate when you were still outside. 

“Tell me, doll,” his guttural voice made you moan into his mouth when he let his bionic fingers trail down the side of your body before they found a hold in the soft cut between your hip and torso. “Did you fantasize about me touching your pretty body like this when you used to ‘inspect’ the arm, hm?” You blushed severely. Bucky knew a slut when he saw her. Even the shy little inexperienced ones like yourself. He was twice your age and had ten times more experience. 

“B- Bucky…” You felt called out as your ticklish palms -courtesy of his stubble- began to moisten up from the shame his words made you feel. 

“Are you really gonna deny it?” His voice was low and sexily lewd. That tongue of his did the sexy thing again where he ran it along his flush lower lip and your thighs quivered in response to the visual. “Because I've seen the way you used to look at it… The way you looked at it today…” Images of him flexing his fingers as trial from earlier today appeared before your eyes and you couldn't help but wonder if you would feel them tonight. Or how they'd feel if one was to get lucky with him. The thoughts made you want to tighten your thighs against one another, only his knee hindered your wishes. 

“Bucky…” It was a whine this time and he chuckled. 

“Aw, what is it, huh baby?” He hungrily kissed your lips again before he pulled back just enough so he could be audible but not so much that the spit string between your mouths would break. “Tell me and I'll give it to you” you surprised yourself by placing your hand over his and eagerly pushing it down towards your aching pussy. Bucky snickered. “Is that what you want, pretty girl? My fingers in between these sexy little legs of yours?” You sheepishly nodded but said nothing, rolling your hips from the surge of lava his deep voice was causing in your loins. “I am sorry, baby. But this won't do” he clicked his tongue as he pretended to pull away. 

“W- What?!” Your imploration was unintentionally loud. “Why?!”  

The coral of his eyes had become so much darker than when he had first kissed you. “Because you must use your words for me first” his body weight rested on his elbow as he stroked your face with his right hand, speaking in the tone of a man addressing a child. “Tell me what you want” his metal fingers kneaded the tender flesh of your hip as his lips pressed against you in a series of pecks. 

You softly pouted. “B- Bucky!” The whine you let out was accusatory in nature. Because he knew exactly what you wanted. 

“Aw” he mimicked your pout. This man was so different from the recovering sunshine you had known before this night. The disparity caused for a drop of hot arousal to bubble past your opening. “Would you look at this pouty little thing here?” His thumb traced the shape of your bottom lip before he pressed it down with the tip. 

“P- Please…” He was being so mean. It embarrassed you. But it also added to your arousal. 

Bucky was making you work for it. 

“I know, baby. I know…” He pressed kisses along your jaw in consolation, metal fingers coming up to toy with the swells on your chest. “Pretty things like you aren't used to putting in much work, are they?” Well, no. Simply because this was the most action you had ever gotten. But it made your pussy throb nevertheless. “Well, that's not how things work around here, baby. You gotta tell me how you want me first” you whined past the thick bile in your throat but Bucky did not relent, instead choosing to intently watch you until you caved to him and your need. 

He could do that for the rest of eternity anyways.

“F- Fine…” Your voice was a begrudging whisper once you realized there was no way out. 

“‘Atta girl, go ahead…” His voice was a much agreeable velvet. 

“N- Need you…” You cleared your throat since you were barely audible. “Need you, Bucky” your back arched in shock and a whimper escaped you when you went to place your smaller hand on his bionic one to guide it to your pussy only to him twist your nipple that he had been fingering at the very last moment. 

“I am sorry, what was that?” The clamber in his breathing rate signaled that he had heard you loud and clear. But he just wanted to be cruel to your dignity. 

You were on the verge of tears. “Need you, Bucky!” Before you forced his hand down your body again. “... D- Down there!” The lower part of your abdomen was thumping like it did when you had first discovered the state of arousal. 

“Down where?” You felt like screaming at the tease in his tone.

“Y- You know where!”

“Do I?” 

You hissed. “Down there!” You made him cup your pussy. “Here! Right here!” Your breath quivered at the feel of the metal brushing past your sensitive petals. “B- Between… between… Ah!” Your blood curdled at the wanton moan you let out, surprised by your own ability to make such a sound. 

“Oh, so you mean this cute little pussy, huh?” His bionic digits finally spread themselves over your needy core and your mind nearly melted out of your ears. 

“Y- Yes!” You breathily admitted, flinging your head to the side as you gripped his shoulders from the sensory overload, your hardened nipples grazing against his hairy chest. 

Bucky tutted like the teasing asshole he was. “You gotta say it, baby” his fingers squished their way between your pussy lips and the feel of the textured digit running down the stripe between them had you shuddering. “Say it properly. Tell me you need me in this cute little pussy of yours” when you whined in protest, he licked a stripe on the side of your mouth and then sealed it with a hot kiss. “You can do it, pretty girl. You're already doing so well for me” his words had caused you to make a puddle of warm white liquid on his bed. But Bucky didn't seem to mind. “Come on.” 

“N- Need you in m- my…” Your throat dried out and your voice remained absent until Bucky hummed in an encouraging manner and dipped his head between your head and shoulder to pepper kisses along your sensitive throat, metal fingers flexing over your pussy in a rapid, circular design. Your smaller body quivered under his, knees buckling up to press into his sides from the sensitivity of it all. “Need you in my c- cute little pussy so bad– oh!” Your back jerked itself straight when Bucky's middle finger found its way into your weeping cunt all of a sudden.

“Sorry, whose cute little pussy?” His friendly smile had any intentions but.

“M- My cute little pussy!” Your toes curled at your own words.

“See, baby?” His teeth that were busy marking you his grazed against the soft skin of your neck. “That wasn't so hard now, was it?” 

“Oh, Bucky!” He scooped you up against his chest with his other arm and crawled with you until your head was on his pillow and he was hovering above you. Your lips were parted and your balmy pussy was tight around his finger that fucked in and out of you as a steady pace. 

“I think we have ourselves a problem here, doll” Bucky rasped as he tickled your clit with thumb, adding another finger to your opening. You were so wet that despite the tightness of the band, the metal digit slid right in. 

You couldn't help but rock your hips against his hand, your own stroking his arm that rested on your torso while he played with your nipples. “W- What problem?” Any volume above what classified as whispering was impossible for you in your lust dumb and still shy state.

“Your pussy is too tiny for me” and that night you lived to learn that he was right. 

Minutes– no, hours had gone into Bucky opening you up and preparing you for his girth, shushing and consoling you with kisses and praises before your taking. Though you had been insistent that he not stop what he was doing because of how good it felt, tears and snot had admittedly been spilled. 

But the way his thick cock had filled you up to the brim so completely, the manner in which all its crevices had pressed against your tight velvet walls, the fashion in which his tip had created for itself a sensitive spot deep up your cavern, the affectionate and intimate style in how Bucky had snaked his vibranium arm around your form to hold you close against him while his hips had done their eventually brutal work and the length of his cock had rapidly fucked in and out of your stretched out cunt, your fingers tugging at his dark locks whilst his mouth marked you everywhere he desired, the pleasure you felt from the sting his mouth produced, and the bobbing of your knees which lay atop his against his sides… the orgasms had been loud and many. 

Though when the two of you exited his cabin the next morning and entered the line of sight of your employer who was both surprised and impatient by your being late to work for the first time ever, the mangled expressions of passion from the night before were present on neither of your faces, content smiles having replaced them.

You had high hope it was going to stay that way.

.

[donaweasley]

Homecoming

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Plot:

A soft morning, and a lot of soft love—old, suppressed love but just newly confessed. That’s it.

Genre: Pure fluff, soft morning after a night of long-suppressed confessions

Warnings: None

Read time: ~6 mins

There was a particular window in her room that the Sun always seemed to prefer over others when the day was still in its infancy. Its golden fingers, still soft and delicate in the quiet hours, never brushed her curtains with urgency. Instead, they entered her room softly; they lingered. Like the Sun knew she needed soft awakenings, not sudden alarms.

Today was no different—the light curled around the edges of the curtains, spilled onto the wooden floor in golden pools, and eventually reached her face like a whisper.

Moaning softly into the pillow at the intrusion, she stirred reluctantly. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, only to find a familiar figure already sitting on the bench by that window. He was tracing patterns on the foggy glass with one finger, sunlight wrapping around his broad shoulders like a royal cloak. He looked so cosy there, nestled by the soft light and the cushions, that it felt like it was all built for him.

Bucky turned slightly, as if he’d sensed her watching him.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just…” he paused, almost shy, “…waiting for you to open your eyes.”

A dreamy smile involuntarily lit up her lips. She stretched, making a small whining sound as she did. For most, it would have sounded annoying; many had even told her so over the past years. But Bucky loved it! He found it cute. He had heard it before, from afar. But this morning, as she lay comfortably cocooned in her bed, as he got to observe her up close in her most intimate haven, he felt lucky!

"You didn't wake me up, soldier," she smiled, and Bucky swore it shone brighter than the sun outside. "You just made waking up feel much better."

In all his years on the planet, the man had never felt so warm inside as he did now. He got up from his seat by the window, and slowly approached her, his eyes never leaving her still sleepy ones. He reached the side of the bed in a few strides, and then, bending over, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Good morning, doll!"

"Morning, love!"

In the sweet silence that enveloped them, the air hummed with the unspoken memories of the night before. The most fateful evening of their lives! The memories played like a reel playing backwards…

How the long-suppressed feelings had finally found words, how they had both entered her home late at night, dripping wet and laughing like kids, the heavy downpour that had drenched them on the way, how Bucky had volunteered to walk her to her apartment and the sweet pang of excitement that had hit her chest from within, the party before that, the lingering glances and subtle touches that stayed too long to be ignored…

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, warm metal fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead—it still carried a little proof of last night’s rain. He chuckled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.

“You didn’t dry your hair properly,” he murmured.

She shrugged, grinning. “Was too busy thinking about a certain supersoldier who confessed he’s been in love with me since the week we first went out in the field.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the mattress beside her. “Don’t remind me! I was soaked, freezing, and confessing like a nervous teenager. Pretty sure I sounded like a fool.”

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her elbow. “You sounded just like my dreams,” she whispered.

He turned his head to meet her gaze. And there it was again—that look. Like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing. Like the whole world could disappear, and he’d be content just tracing the shape of her soul with his eyes.

“You kissed me first,” he teased.

“Well, you were taking too long!”

His laughter—rare and precious—rumbled in the quiet space between them, and then softened again as his fingers laced through hers. “I still can’t believe I get to wake up like this. With you.”

She smiled and leaned in, brushing her nose against his. “You better believe it, Sergeant Barnes. You’re mine now.”

“And you’re mine,” he echoed, voice low, reverent. “Completely.”

"Wow!" She exhaled with her brows raised.

"What?" Bucky's voice shimmered with amusement and curiosity as he leaned back slightly to watch her.

"You literally gave me shivers with that line!" She chuckled.

Even if for a brief moment, Bucky's smile dropped. His eyes lost their lustre...just for a second. But she noticed.

"Hey! I mean...the good kind of shiver," she placed a reassuring hand on his cheek. "Like the goosebumps you get when you hear your favourite music...or..." she hesitated.

She had tried hard; indeed she had. But the blush that bloomed on her cheeks betrayed her.

"Or...?" He drawled. Bucky knew before she had to utter anything but he was enjoying teasing her.

"Or when the love of your life finally kisses you." She hid her face partially in her pillow and peeked at him with one eye.

Bucky remained quiet for a while. He wished to bask in this moment a little longer. All the times that he had yearned for a love life for himself - and he had rarely done so, given the pattern of his days - he had never imagined such softness and warmth.

He mirrored her movements. Peeking at her with one eye, fingers still laced with hers, he asked softly, "So, I'm the love of your life?"

"Mm-hmmm...."

Bucky grinned—one of those rare, boyish grins that could barely have a place in his past, but one that she had coaxed out of him more times than he could count.

“Love of your life, huh?” he mused, letting his thumb brush along the back of her hand. “Big title!”

“Big shoulders,” she teased, her voice still muffled by the pillow.

“Touché,” he laughed.

But then the laughter faded into something quieter, something reverent.

He pushed himself up a little, just enough to look at her properly, their fingers still tangled in the space between them.

“You know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “no one’s ever said that to me before.”

She looked up at him fully now, eyes curious, lips parted slightly.

“Not like that,” he continued, his gaze lowering briefly to their joined hands. “Not with that look in their eyes. Not with that softness in their voice. I’ve had people claim to love me for what they thought I was…or who they wanted me to be. But you…”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“You love me for what I am. Flawed. Quiet. Tired. Complicated. And yet…you choose me.”

Her heart ached in that sweet, overwhelming way, like a song that finds one at the right time.

She reached for him. Cupping his face with both hands, she whispered back, stressing the promise behind each word, “Every. Version. Of you… Always.”

Something—a feeling new and wonderful—hugged his old heart tightly. And just like that, he leaned in—not rushed, not with a fierce passion—but full of that silent, soul-deep knowing. Their lips met in a kiss that felt like coming home.

And for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes felt like maybe, just maybe…he could shield himself from the coldness of the world outside; stay safe in this warmth forever.

***

Bucky Masterlist

[wint3rbarnes]

Hii I just read your 40's bucky fic is was sooo adorable like I could cry 🤧🤧

How about 40's bucky x reader living the white picket fence dream where Sergeant Barnes comes home every day to his beautiful lovely wife who cooks dinner for him and takes care of him like the good little wife she is?

(you can include smut cuz I'm a slut 🙂‍↕️)

summary ۶ৎ in which, you have the white picket fence dream with sergeant barnes.

warnings ۶ৎ 18+ content/minors dni, mentions of war, praise kink, slight manhandling, fingering, pet names ( angel, doll, sweet girl, sweetheart ), fluff.

𝓐/n ۶ৎ hi! thank you so much for requesting and i’m sorry for the wait, i hope this lives up to expectations! please don't copy, translate or repost my work to any other platforms. and please be kind; if you don't like it, simply move on. thank you for taking the time to read this ♡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

returning home to you is what keeps bucky breathing. you’re his lifeline. an angel sent from the heavens to keep him sane. he never thought he’d witness the day where he’d live the white picket fence home with his dream girl, but you’ve made it come true. he doesn’t know how to ever repay you, so everyday he worships you, because you’re the most spellbound verse in the poem of his life, and he’ll recite you forever.

the cottage home’s walls are the colour of fresh cream, a white picket fence wraps around it like a hug, and wisteria vines climb lazily over the archway, dripping with purple flowers. the garden is a rainbow of colours, with roses, lavender, and wildflowers mingling together. he notices some have been freshly planted as he embarks up the pathway to the gateways of his heaven and enters.

the sound of soft humming flows into his ears, the aroma of dinner cooking making his shoulders instantly relax. after slipping off his shoes, not wishing to muddy where you’ve cleaned, his heart tugs him forward, making his feet follow, and there you are. you’re clad in a long, white skirt with a matching blouse that sways delicately as you move around the kitchen, your wedding ring gleaming under the sunlight that shines through the window.

he pauses, lost in the act of watching you, admiring, cherishing every detail. you remain as breathtaking as you were on your wedding day. skin glimmering with an ethereal, fairy-like luminescence, vanilla clinging to you like you own the scent, bambi eyes shining with unadulterated bliss when your gaze meets his. the weight of war and duty bears down on him, but as the day ends, it melts away into a comforting lightness, a feeling only you can bring to life within him.

he can't help but feel undeserving of you. you care for him with such devotion: ironing his clothes to absolute perfection, ensuring he's healthy and well-fed, brewing his morning coffee exactly to his liking, and creating a safe haven for him to return home to each day.

sometimes, the sheer magnitude of your pure heart brings him to the verge of tears. he longs to keep you tucked away, safe in his back pocket, but he knows you won’t flourish that way. instead, he keeps you by his side, letting the world bear witness to the woman whose smile rivals the sun and has a skip in her step. he wants everyone to know that you’re his wife, your souls forever entwined in a beautiful dance he never wishes to end.

bucky silently approaches as you immerse yourself in washing the dirty dishes at the sink. his strong, reassuring arms encircle your waist, and he buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent. your soft curves mold perfectly against his ruggedness, like a bloom nestled against bark.

you squeal at the sudden embrace, hitting his arm lightly with a giggle. the dulcet sound goes straight to his stomach, awakening the butterflies and evoking a chuckle out of him as he pulls you closer to his chest, swaying you both gently.

“flowers outside look nice, angel.” he murmurs, kissing the back of your head. the feel of you relaxing into his embrace, sighing in content, is all he needs to know he’s appreciated.

“mrs oaks down the road gave them to me if i promised to feed her cat tomorrow.” you beam, tipping your chin up, aspectabund eyes meeting oceanic one’s.

smiling, bucky gently strokes your hip. he’s always admired how you help others, caring and looking out for them. it’s what makes you so wonderful. but, tonight, he’s planning on making it about you. you deserve some rest, someone to ensure you’re not overworking yourself, and he’s always going to be that someone. even when the world is left in rubble and smoke.

“such a sweet girl.” he hums, gently turning you around. your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, his large hands clamping down on your hips. “you’re not overworking yourself, are you?” he kisses your forehead softly. “i don’t want you to run yourself ragged, baby.”

you’re a star, a celestial that shines brightly and beautifully, but even the brightest stars fade into the dark sky after being burnt out.

“i’ll rest after dinner. it’ll be done in ten minutes.”

he shakes his head, tucking your hair behind your ear. he always has to be touching you in some way. it’s how he stays grounded. “how about you rest now, hm? i can set the table and dish it out, then after we can take a nice, long bath. that sound good?”

neither of you make it to the bath.

after dinner and washing up the dishes, which consisted of conversing about each other’s day and him praising you over your excellent cooking. but it’s the way he gazed at you that truly stole your breath. those oceanic eyes, pools of liquid tenderness, now ignited with a fervent heat. in a swift, decisive motion, he grasps your hips, lifting you onto the table with effortless strength. a gasp of surprise escapes your lips as you instinctively cling to him, the world tilting on its axis as your hearts align.

your gasp is instantly silenced as his lips meet yours, a collision of raw passion. the kiss is all-consuming. a supernova of sensations that threaten to obliterate reality. it feels as though the world itself will cease to exist the moment your lips part. his kisses are always like this: a vessel overflowing with unspoken adoration. he pours his very soul into the act.

“not on the table where we eat, buck!” you breathe out as the kiss breaks, only for him to find home in the crook your neck, nibbling and licking and kissing the curves of your skin.

“why not, baby? i usually have my desert here, don’t i?” he teases, running his nose to your earlobe before nibbling on it gently as his large, veiny hands stroke your thighs, leaving tingles seeping into your skin. he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. “c’mon, angel, you’re always taking care of me. lemme take care of you for a change.”

it would be embarrassing how quickly you caved if he didn’t praise you for it, gripping his biceps and spreading your legs for him, letting him move closer. his body, a wall of muscle and heat, brushes against you. “such a good girl spreading your legs for me, baby. only for me, hm?”

your thoughts dissolve into a sweet haziness by his words. warm, honeyed voice causing a skein of silk to form in your lower abdomen, awaiting to unravel.

“there we go. just sit there and let me do the work.”

one hand moves up your sides under your blouse, goosebumps erupting upon your skin. his thumb traces the underside of your breast before circling your rosy buds. your breath hitches, a spark whirling down your spine, and he smirks at how sensitive you are. taking the chance to slowly lift your skirt up with his free hand, it pools around your waist, revealing your lacy underwear.

“god- you’re killing me, doll.” he groans, managing to tear his eyes away from the wet patch already forming on the fabric.

the air hits your glistening pussy as he pulls your underwear to the side, wasting no time as two fingers glide up your wet folds, making you jerk against his hand in anticipation. “needy baby.” bucky teases gruffly.

slowly, inch by inch, his thick finger is swallowed by warmth as he glides it inside your dripping cunt. the mewl that escapes your lips encourages bucky to knead your breast, feeling it harden under his intoxicating touch.

the rough pad of his thumb finds its way to your pulsing clit, applying soft, teasing strokes. your back arches like a ballerina, your heartbeat drumming against your ribcage.

“feel good, baby?” he asks, his voice low and sensual. “you’re so beautiful like this.” he continues teasing you, taking his time, drawing it out.

his finger moves in and out, a pace so gentle and slow it has you grinding at the same pace. but his hand slips out of your blouse, wrapping around your waist to halt you as he pulls you closer. an amorous moan escapes you as the action makes his finger grow knuckle-deep inside you, hitting that spongy spot.

a fire is set alight in your stomach, diamonds of sweat beading your hairline due to the heat. the flames threaten to consume the tangled silk, aiding it in its eventual unknotting.

“bucky…” you whimper, gripping his biceps tighter. chipped nails dig into him, eliciting a hiss from the large man, but the pain intertwines with pleasure and shoots straight down to the bulge in his trousers. “…so full.”

“yeah? think you can be a good little wife and take more?”

“yes, bucky, please. ‘m your good little wife.” you whine out like a puppy, hips desperately attempting to wiggle under his manhandling.

a second finger enters, stretching you’re tight cunt. your head rolls back in pure bliss, bee-stung lips parting. you’re drowning in pleasure while he’s drowning in your dulcet noises. he keeps up the slow, tantalising pace, wishing to make you desperate for him. his thumb circles your clit still, while his fingers keep playing with you in the most heavenly way.

"you're so perfect, sweetheart. my perfect wife.”

bucky’s desire for you is overwhelming to the point he feels like going over the edge just by the sight of you, and he can't help but let out a shaky breath as he continues to pleasure you. his free hand cups your face, guiding you back to him as his thumb gently strokes your cheek. "baby, look at me.”

your eyes meet his at his command. oceanic eyes, a combination of lust and adoration, gaze intently into yours, drinking every little reaction from you. your blissed-out eyes, your flushed cheeks, your knit-together brows. he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he looks at you like he’s been wandering in the desert for years and you’re the only oasis that can quench his thirst. he looks at you like no one else ever has, and the air thickens, the moment becoming more meaningful.

“good girl. keep looking at me."

he captures your lips in an ardent kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as his thumb begins drawing figure eights on your throbbing clit in rhythm with the pumps of his finger. he wants to feel every twitch, every whimper, every bit of you responding to him. his tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your head spin. he’s determined to kiss any thought right out of your head.

his fingers curl inside of you, your thighs quivering against the wooden table and your walls clenching around him. everything seems to glow. a halo of light.

bucky can feel how close you are. when it comes to you, you’re the easiest book to read, and he knows just how to keep you teetering on the edge without letting you fall.

he parts from the kiss as he speaks, his voice rough and low. "you’re so close, aren't you, sweetheart? you want to come for me, hm?”

"y-yes. can i…p-please?”

his lips curve into a pleased smirk at your breathy plea, and he quickens the pace of his fingers finally, pressing down on your clit more, causing your feet to find stability on the edge of the table, opening up to him even more.

"that’s a good girl. you ask so nicely. you wanna come for me, doll? let me be a good husband for you, baby. i’ll watch you get all pretty and messy then i’ll clean you up after. you gonna let me do that for my precious wife?”

“f-fuck, yes! yes, james!”

he curses under his breath at the use of his birth name. watching you squirm under his touch, he gives you what you crave as his fingers plunge faster. more purposefully.

“come for me, sweet girl."

the inferno in your stomach rises higher and higher until it threatens to engulf you. your restraint crumbles by such a raw, untamed sensation. you’re a moth drawn to a flame, one only he can ignite, and you welcome the euphoric burn that melts the knot as your release ripples through you.

bucky watches every expression that plays across your face as your orgasm gushes over his digits. he takes in every quiver and shiver, ever mewl and moan, and he gently coaxes you through it, his fingers slowing until they eventually cease.

"that’s my good girl," he whispers softly, his thumb gently stroking your flushed cheek. "so proud of you.”

bucky carefully eases his fingers out of you, and you whine tiredly at the loss of him. he brings his glistening fingers up to his lips and laps your wetness off of them. he hums like he’s just had a taste of the sweetest thing in existence, and as much as he craves more, he promised you a soothing bath.

cocooned with his strong arms encircling you, you dissolve into the warmth of his chest, your breath catching then releasing in slow, tranquil waves. the weight of his chin on the crown of your head is a dove-like anchor as his fingertips trace constellations upon your back. “you okay?” bucky asks gently, aware of how overwhelming your highs can become sometimes.

“mhm.” you hum quietly as your dainty hands instinctively grip the hem of his shirt. the sound coaxes a small smile from him, a silent acknowledgment of the life you breathe into his being. his love for you is boundless, an infinite cosmo constantly expanding, eternally without end.

“i love you, mrs barnes.” he brushes his lips against your forehead in a featherlight touch.

“i love you too, mr barnes.”

and with that, he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you in a bridal embrace as you snuggle closer, melding against him. if he had his way, your feet would never grace the earth again, for it seems unworthy of bearing someone as precious as you.