#stable boy bucky

[buckyalpine]

40's baby Bucky & baby Reader, Present Bucky x Reader, all the flufff, a lil angst but it just adds to the fluff, promise

Bucky sat under the tree with a very prominent pout on his chubby face, his arms crossed against his chest with his brows pulled together. He wasn't happy. Not one bit. Not after his favorite ball was kicked over a fence by the other neighborhood boys.

"Bucky, do you want to play with me?" You toddled over to your best friend hoping to lift his spirits after seeing him so grumpy only to be met with a huff.

"No! Go play with Stevie instead. Leave me alone!" He frowned, brushing you off and turning his back at you to sulk facing the tree instead.

"But-

"I don't want to play with you" Bucky grumbled. Your bottom lip wobbled, dropping your shoulders as you walked off and sat by yourself under some shade on your porch. You didn't have many friends being the youngest and only little girl on your street; Bucky and Steve being the only two who included you in their games.

"Bucky's mean" You picked up one of your dolls, setting her up beside you while you toyed with a wild flowers, doing your best to keep from sniffling after he shooed you away. You knew he was upset but you wanted to make him feel better!

Of course it didn't take long for Bucky to feel bad, peeking over to see your fallen face sitting all alone on the steps of your house, eyes wet with tears which you were desperately blinking back. He got a bad feeling in his little pudgy belly, knowing he wasn't very nice to you. He knew his ma wouldn't be very happy if she heard how he'd spoken to you, especially after you were just trying to brighten his mood. He got up from his place on the grass, nicking a few flowers from his garden before shuffling over to you only to be met with your now grumpy face, crossing your arms and turning away just like he did.

"I'm sorry y/n" Bucky came and plopped beside you, moving the doll away, while clutching onto a few pink tulips. You didn't respond, still mad at him for being mean to you when you'd done nothing wrong. "C'mon jellybean, pwease?"

His baby blues were shining bright as he gave you his best puppy eyes, hoping you'd forgive him. You felt a giddy at the name he called you, one he'd given you because he thought you were sweet like one. You turned to face him while he gave you a shy little smile, placing the flowers onto your lap.

"I brought you flowers" He stated proudly, happy at the giggle you let out, setting them aside before tugging at his hand to run off and play.

-

"Y'promise you'll come back?" your eyes were wet with tears again although you were now 20 years older and the chubby boy you grew up with had grown into a very handsome soldier. He stood before you in his clean and pressed uniform, his face shaven, hair neatly cropped.

"Of course doll" He whispered affectionately, letting his thumbs swipe across your cheeks, kissing away the tears that fell. "I'll always come back to you jellybean"

"You better" You sniffled, standing on your toes to chase more of his lips as he pressed them to yours, his hands wrapping around your waist, picking you up with ease.

"M'gonna come right back to you, safe n'sound" He held you for as long as he could, rocking you close to his chest while you fought back a sob, giving him a brave smile instead.

"I love you Jamie"

"I love you jellybean"

That was the last time you saw him.

-

"This is a bad idea"

"When have I ever had a bad idea" Tony scoffed, continuing to tinker with his quantum portal while Bruce looked over numbers.

"It's not stable enough Tony, if we send someone through this, they could get stuck in an alternate timeline or we could end up changing the future-

"Yea, yea, stop worrying, hand me that spanner"

Bruce sighed, handing over the tool while contemplating on the safest way to test the machine. It wasn't ready to handle anyone actually travelling through time but at the very least they could potentially open portals to the past.

"We gotta put in a location to see if this works-how about-" Tony contemplated on a location, his eyes growing wide with excitement when he spotted Steve's diary that he'd left behind in the lab, "Let's see if Captain has any interesting places from the 40's"

"Why wouldn't you just see if we could get to the compound garden" Bruce groaned while Tony flipped through the pages, typing in an address that had been scribbled in. It was from a list of places Steve wanted to visit again from when he was a child, the address of the person listed under friends. There was only one other person listed there other than Bucky.

"Alright, call the others, let's see if this baby works"

"You're going to get us all killed" Bruce shook his head while calling for everyone to come to the lab. By now everyone was used to Tony's antics; the only one who was genuinely giddy with excitement was surprisingly Bucky. One thing he'd always loved was science; even his stoic expression couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye every time he got to see another Stark experiment.

"Glad you all made it. Now, thanks to Cap, we're going to see if we can open a portal that travels back to the 1940's. I suggest you all stand back since I haven't actually tested this before"

"Why are you like this" Nat snorted while Tony waved her off, pushing a few more buttons before hitting start. Bucky watched from the safe sidelines of the lab as the machine began to vibrate, a low buzz growing louder until a portal roared to life that lead to the inside of someone's home. Bucky and Steve were both stunned from shock seeing a flash of a very familiar living room for no longer than a second before the whole thing closed with a bang and a large puff of smoke in its place.

"Well done Mr. Playboy billionaire dumbass" Sam wheezed while the team was left coughing, the room cloudy as the loud buzz began to dull. "What was the location you even put in-

Sam stopped talking midway when he heard another voice coughing followed by mumbling coming from the place where the portal closed. The smoke hadn't yet dissipated but the shadow of a person was slowly becoming visible. Everyone froze when they realized there was someone on the platform, wondering who could've been sucked through.

"Bruce, turn on the fan-" Bruce hit the lab fan which pulled helped with the smoke revealing a young woman in a flower printed dress. An apron was still tied around her waist, flour streaked across her cheeks, a rolling pin still in her hand. "What the-

"JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES"

Bucky thought he was going to collapse as soon as he saw who was on the platform, his heart fluttering madly in his chest. He couldn't control the blush that crept up on his cheeks, butterflies bursting in his tummy, just as they did all those years ago. The young woman stormed up to the soldier, face full of fury as her palm smacked his cheek (Not hard enough to actually hurt him of course).

"HOW DARE YOU"

Everyone else in the lab silently congregated to one side watching curiously though Steve was still utterly frozen seeing-

"Y-y/n? Doll?"

"Don't you doll me" you whacked his arm with your rolling pin, huffing when it clanged back after hitting metal. That didn't seem to faze you as you switched and hit the other arm instead, making Bucky yelp. "You lied!"

You dropped your makeshift weapon to the floor, moving your hands to your hips instead, looking up and down at the man you loved with your entire heart, the man who you mourned for years after you were told he was dead. He looked much different from when you'd last seen him, the most obvious difference being an entirely new arm. His cheeks were scruffy and it was clear some form of time travel had taken place but none of that mattered. None of that mattered when the love of your life was standing right there, alive and well.

"Oh baby, no-

"Absolutely not Barnes" you huffed at the pet name he gave you, crossing your arms over your chest and Bucky thought he'd melt into an absolute puddle at the sight. He was thrown back to when you were both no more than 4 years old, with a cute little frown on your face whenever you'd get upset. "You left! I thought you-I thought you died!"

The sound of your voice cracking broke Bucky's heart, his hands itching to wrap you up and pull you close to his chest the way you loved. He could see your eyes twinkle with tears threatening to spill out while you rapidly tried to blink them away. You chewed on your bottom lip to keep from wobbling and it only made Bucky yearn to hold you and never let go.

"Sweetheart please, I didn't mean to leave you doll, I promise" He stepped closer to you, hesitantly reaching out to take your hand in his, not feeling the slightest bit conscious about his metal arm. The coolness of his hand calmed your racing heart while you sniffled, still refusing to meet his eyes as you stared down at your feet instead.

The day you'd been told he'd never come back had been the worst day of your life. You wept for months on end, losing the man you were waiting to marry. The only person you'd been in love with since you were 4 years old.

Seeing you standing there before him stirred feelings in Bucky h never thought he'd feel again. Having a home. A beautiful wife. Little chubby babies. All with his dream girl he'd loved all his life. There wasn't a day that had gone by where he didn't think about her. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance again but here you were, dusted in flour like you always were whenever you were in the kitchen, in a pretty dress he loved so much, fighting your cries after desperately missing him. He softly cupped your cheeks, swiping away at your tears, his forehead coming down to softly rest against yours. He smiled through watery eyes at your stubborn nature, still keeping your arms crossed while his nose bumped with yours.

"Jellybean" Bucky whispered, your heart melting at the name, swallowing the lump in your throat, "Please? I-I'll- I'll bring you flowers" He said with a shaky voice, nearly toppling over when you flung yourself into his arms. He caught you, squeezing you right back and lifting you off the floor to cradle you nice and tight before pulling back to smash his lips against yours. The collective sniffles and whistles from the team were drowned out by your soft giggles and warm lips.

"I missed you so much" you buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the one that comforted yo the most.

"You have no idea how much I missed you jellybean, never letting you go again"

"Terminator, you wanna introduce us?" Tony was the first to speak up, not so subtly wiping away at his eyes while Bucky continued to look at you with heard eyes, introducing you to everyone. You could only wrap your head around so much at a time but nothing truly mattered now that you were back with your soldier.

And of course your other best friend.

"Steve" You giggled as Steve lifted you up with ease into a tight hug, grinning at his two friends finally getting the life they deserved together.

Seriously imagine how sickeningly cute these two would be. Bucky is so excited to teach you all about the future. He gets to show you how to use all the new technology around the compound. He's so naughty about it too, teasingly telling you he'd be happy to help you in the shower if there's any questions you has about water temperature.

He doesn't waste any time with asking to marry you. Its everything you've ever dreamed of and more considering Tony took the bill and ran. Bucky can't put into words how happy he is finally getting the life he thought was ripped from his hands.

On your wedding night, Bucky spends hours loving on you like there's no tomorrow which is why a few months later, your belly is swollen with your first baby. Bucky is thankful for the future because as excited as he is to start a family, he's scared shitless something could happen to his jellybean.

"Bucky, I'm fine-

"Absolutely not, why are you up Jellybean, go sit down, I'll bring breakfast to you"

"I can still walk y'know-

"Nope. You stay right there, don't move mama, just rest"

When you do have to move around, he's there holding your baby bump, feeling giddy over becoming a dad. He can't wait to meet his little baby that he's made with his dream girl.

After his son is born, he waits for your body to heal but no ones surprised to see you with a new bump not too long after.

Two baby boys are no match for all the avengers but they all happily share their god father and god mother duties.

Your third is a little girl and she's going to be spoiled by everyone.

Somewhere along the way, you get a white fluffy cat.

Bucky's life has never been better.

[vunblr]

Foundations (#1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky). Smut.

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 8.1.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Two years ago.

Steve crouched in the snow-dusted ruins of the Hydra facility, surrounded by the faint noise of outdated machinery and the occasional creak of the aging structure. The air in the base carried a mix of metallic tang and decay as if the building itself was holding its last breaths. He ran his gloved hand along a table coated with frost and dust before stopping in front of a row of cryogenic chambers.

Each pod told a story of Hydra’s grotesque obsession with human experimentation. Steve’s sharp gaze scanned them uneasily and when he reached the last chamber, he froze.

Encased in cryogenic suspension, there was a small boy, no older than three, with his delicate features eerily serene within the frosted glass. The sight made his stomach twist.

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “Steve, what did you find?”

He pressed a hand against the glass. “It’s a boy. About… two or three years old. Cryostasis. We need to get him out of here.”

His eyes darted to a nearby desk, where he eyed a weathered folder with its corners curled with age. Flipping it open, he scanned the documents, and his stomach churned with every line. “This- he is not a kidnapped normal human boy… they’ve been using fertilization methods here. Thirty samples and only this child lived after birth. The mother died in labor. Nat-” Steve’s voice got strained. “He’s… he’s Bucky’s son.”

The line remained silent for a moment before Natasha answered cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. There’s… documentation here, DNA confirmations. God, he doesn’t even have a name. Just a designation: A-25.”

A beat of silence passed again, heavy with the implication before Natasha’s voice softened. “What do you want to do?”

Steve exhaled slowly, his breath clouding the icy air. “We can’t just leave him here.”

-----

Back on the Quinjet, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The cryo-pod rested in the cargo bay, its faint orange light casting an otherworldly glow over the steel walls. Steve sat on a bench, with his elbows rested on his knees and his hands pressed on his face, wrestling with the enormity of the decision he’d just made. Across from him, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood stiffly, with palpable apprehension.

“Captain Rogers,” one of them began, breaking the tense silence. “Moving him to the tower isn’t viable. We don’t know what kind of conditioning Hydra implemented, or if the kid is enhanced. He could be dangerous.”

Steve’s head snapped up, pinning the agent in place with his gaze. “He’s a child. And from what I read; he didn’t inherit the serum properties. Whatever Hydra did to him, it’s on us to undo it. Leaving him here or handing him over to a government lab isn’t an option.”

The agent shifted uneasily. “And if he’s unstable? Wha-”

Steve set his jaw, leaning back against the cold metal wall with determination. “Then I’ll handle it,” he cut firmly. “But we are not abandoning him.”

----

Two nights later in the common room, Steve, Natasha, and Tony gathered to discuss the next steps. The atmosphere was heavy. Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical expression.

“Look, I’m not saying we keep this from Barnes,” he pointed out with a little hesitation. “But you’ve seen him, Steve. He’s barely keeping himself together most days. Throwing a kid into the mix?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and he hardened his gaze. “That’s not your call to make. He deserves to know.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Even if it sends him over the edge?”

“He’s stronger than you think,” Steve countered firmly. “And he’s not alone, even if sometimes he thinks he is. If he decides to step up, we’ll help him. All of us. That boy is his only family, Tony. Bucky deserves the chance to decide what kind of relationship he wants with him.”

----

Present.

Two weeks into the new school year, she stood at the kindergarten’s gate, greeting the kids with a warm smile. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves, and shades of orange and gold framed the cheerful faces of the kids as they laughed and ran to their friends. Each day, they’d formed a routine, walking together through the small park leading to the school hall.

Nearly everyone had arrived when, just as she was about to close the gate, she noticed a figure approaching. Her gaze landed on a tall man with strikingly beautiful yet tired blue eyes. His hesitant steps betrayed a certain nervousness. Beside him walked a boy, the spitting image of him, with the same dark hair and soulful eyes. They were unfamiliar to her, but she knew immediately who they must be.

Thomas Barnes and, presumably, his father.

The director had informed her about the new student, explaining that, for personal reasons, the boy would start a bit later than the others. Now here they were, standing on the threshold of a new chapter.

She stepped forward with a warm smile. “You must be Thomas,” she said gently, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. Then she looked up at the man, her voice equally kind. “And you must be his dad. Welcome.”

The child hugged his father’s leg when he realized he had to go in alone. Bucky bit his lip, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Kiddo, we talked about this. I’ll pick you up at three, and then we’ll go to Uncle Steve’s,” he said softly.

Then he gave her an apologetic look. “Also, what do we always say? Manners. You didn’t even greet Miss...”

Oh. She got so distracted by the pair that her clouded mind didn’t even consider the basic introductions. “Sorry! I’m Miss Y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you two.”

The boy separated one hand from his father’s leg and, straightening his posture but with a quivering lip, offered his hand like a little gentleman. “I’m Thomas. I’m five years old, and… and I will be in your care.”

She shook his hand, surprised and delighted. “Well, aren’t you a little gentleman,” she said warmly.

The bell rang, and she straightened up. “Well, that is our cue. Would you like to come inside? There are lots of boys and girls who would love to meet and play with you,” she reassured. Then she looked at Bucky. “And, as your papa -Mr. Barnes- said, he’ll be here when we finish.”

“James,” Bucky said promptly, stretching out his hand firm but gently to shake hers. She felt a traitorous warmth rise in her cheeks when their gaze met at closer range. His tired blue eyes held more than exhaustion; something softer and more vulnerable lingered there, though it was quickly masked. Apprehension, perhaps? He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and yet, somehow, he was effortlessly handsome.

“Nice to meet you, James,” she managed, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, your little one will be fine, you’ll see.”

Bucky nodded once, briskly but slightly hesitant. “Yeah, I-I know. Alright, Kiddo,” he said, crouching slightly to Thomas’s level, in a low and encouraging voice. “You listen to your teacher and... have fun, alright? Just like we talked about.”

Thomas clung to his father’s jeans for a moment longer, small fingers clutching the fabric as if it were a lifeline. His lip quivered, and he glanced back at her with uncertain eyes. For a brief second, she wondered if he might refuse to let go, but then, slowly, he released his grip. The boy stepped toward her, tentative but brave, and positioned himself by her side.

She crouched again, offering him an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have a wonderful day, Thomas. I’ll be right here with you.”

The reassurance seemed to help. Thomas nodded shyly, though he didn’t speak. When she stood again, she noticed Bucky watching his son with an expression that tugged at her heart, equal parts pride and pain.

With a single nod of acknowledgment toward her, he straightened and turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. She couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than she should have, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders as he disappeared down the path. She exhaled softly, turning her attention back to Thomas.

“Shall we?” she asked gently, holding out her hand.

Thomas hesitated, but then his small hand slid into hers. Together, they walked toward the classroom, the sound of children’s laughter welcoming them into a new day.

----

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he strolled along the sidewalk, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. Two years. It had been two years since Thomas came into his life, and now, for the first time, he was entrusting his care to someone else’s hands, strangers, no less. It might have seemed like an ordinary milestone for any other parent, but ordinary wasn’t a word that had ever described his life.

Normalcy was a foreign concept in their household. From the moment Steve had walked into the tower with that cryo-pod and the revelation of Thomas’s existence, everything had shifted. Even in the haze of his own self-doubt and fucked up brain, Bucky had known there was only one choice to make. Despite the murmurs of alternatives offered to him -guardianship through S.H.I.E.L.D. programs, adoption options- he hadn’t hesitated.

Responsibility. He owed the child that much, even if the idea of raising him terrified him to his core. How could he possibly be a parent when he was barely figuring out how to be himself? A walking mess trying to navigate a world he no longer fit into, burdened by guilt, memories, and nightmares. But Thomas wasn’t just a child, he was his child, a fragile thread tethering Bucky to something tangible and real.

The first months had been the hardest. Thomas, scared and silent, flinched at shadows and refused to speak more than a handful of words. A traumatized child by his earliest experiences, molded by Hydra’s cruel hands, and burdened with a fragility that made Bucky’s heart ache almost everyday. He could barely bring himself to imagine what might have happened if Steve hadn’t found him in that lab.

It wasn’t a journey he could have managed alone. Living at the Avengers Tower, he had been reluctant at first to accept help from the team. Steve, of course, had been steadfast and supportive, as expected. But what surprised Bucky the most was how the others had stepped in. Natasha’s guidance when words failed him, Wanda’s ability to soothe the boy, and even Tony’s seemingly endless stream of resources, like the top-tier child therapists he’d hired without hesitation.

Thomas was lucky, in a way, that Hydra’s experiments hadn’t left him with the serum’s super-soldier effects. The organization had tried, forcing serum-adjacent treatments to awaken something dormant, but to no avail. It was a relief Bucky carried deeply, though it did little to soften his guilt for not being there to stop it sooner.

Over time, they found a constant rhythm in their lives. Bucky wasn’t perfect -far from it- but he learned how to be there for Thomas. He showed him that food wasn’t a reward to fear, that adults could offer love instead of pain, that bedtime stories were for comfort and not to kept teaching lessons until he closed his exhausted eyes. Slowly but surely, the child started to blossom, inching out of his shell, exploring the world with a tentative kind of hope.

Still, Bucky knew they couldn’t stay in the protective bubble of the tower forever. Thomas needed more: kids his age, a chance to experience life outside their small, cloistered world. It had taken time, but Bucky finally worked up the nerve to rent an apartment for the two of them and begin the daunting process of finding a kindergarten.

The search was harder than expected. On paper, the process was simple: call, inquire, and enroll. In practice, things unraveled quickly. Many schools initially expressed enthusiasm, but the moment they learned Thomas was the son of that James Barnes, things changed. “Administrative errors” cropped up, classes mysteriously filled to capacity, or calls simply went unanswered.

When Tony offered to pull strings, Bucky refused. He wasn’t about to force his son into a place where the only motivation was Stark’s money. He didn’t want Thomas in an environment where whispers followed him down the hall, or where teachers tiptoed around him out of fear or prejudice.

So, he kept searching. Two weeks into the semester, he finally found a place. It was modest, tucked into a quiet neighborhood, with no interest in his past beyond the necessary paperwork. No judgment. No lingering stares. Just a promise to give Thomas a chance, and that was all Bucky needed.

As he walked away from the schoolyard, leaving Thomas in the care of his teacher and her warm smile, he tried to shake the tension in his chest. Rationally, he knew it was the right step. Thomas deserved to experience childhood, and this was the first of many milestones.

Still, the ache of leaving was sharper than he’d expected.

----

Thomas’s first day could have been better, but it wasn’t terrible either. As expected, the transition wasn’t easy. He seemed overwhelmed by the number of children around him. Though the school was small, nine energetic five-year-olds in one room was a stark contrast to the quiet, adult-dominated environment he’d grown up in.

The morning began with a formal introduction, as she guided Thomas gently to the front of the room. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Let’s all say hello!” she announced with her ever-patient smile.

A chorus of cheerful voices greeted him in unison, and Thomas blinked, wide-eyed, shifting closer to her side. Throughout the day, he stuck to her like a shadow, quietly observing the other children. His curious gaze darted from one group to another, watching how they played together, laughed, and squabbled.

The first hiccup came when two boys got into a brief tug-of-war over a toy truck. Thomas visibly tensed, his small shoulders stiffening as he clutched the hem of her skirt. She quickly diffused the situation and offered Thomas a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Thomas, sometimes there are quarrels, but nothing to worry about,” she said softly, her voice soothing as she rested a hand on his shoulder. He nodded but didn’t move from his spot.

Flora, one of the more outgoing girls in the class, made several attempts to coax Thomas into playing with her. Each time, she would approach with a bright smile and an outstretched hand, only to be gently refused as he shook his head and clung to his teacher. “Thomas is feeling a little shy today,” she explained kindly to Flora. “But I bet he’ll join you soon.” Flora nodded enthusiastically, skipping back to her friends, undeterred.

When the day finally wound to a close, the children were picked up one by one, their parents ushering them out with cheerful waves and chatter. Soon, the classroom emptied, leaving only her and Thomas. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past pick-up time. Not late enough to be alarming, but enough to notice the change in Thomas.

The boy sat stiffly on a bench near the gate, his small chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She crouched down in front of him, “Hey, Thomas, it’s okay. Your dad will be here soon, I promise. While we wait, want to learn a game?”

The child blinked at her, with glassy eyes by unshed tears and then nodded hesitantly.

She held out her hands and showed him a simple clapping game. The rhythm seemed to distract him, his and his breathing slowed down as he focused on mimicking her motions. They repeated the sequence a few times, and she rewarded him with a bright smile each time he got it right.

Then, footsteps approached the gate, and she looked up to see James Barnes hurrying toward them, with a concerned expression.

“I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his blue eyes flicking from her to Thomas. “Traffic was worse than I expected-”

“Papa!” the small voice broke through as he bolted toward his father, tears streaming down his face now that the wait was over.

Bucky crouched and scooped him up immediately, cradling him close with his gloved hands. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he murmured with guilt. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I won’t be late again, I promise.”

As he held his son tightly, he turned toward her, ready to apologize again. But when he met her gaze, something in his chest shifted, just a flicker, something too fleeting to name.

She was smiling, kind and patient, with a softness in her expression that made it painfully obvious she wasn’t upset about waiting.

That shouldn’t have stood out. But it did.

“I’m sorry for making you wait and... taking up your time. It won’t happen again.”

She shook her head with a kind smile. “It’s alright. He was fine, really. And the game helped. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky gave her a grateful look, softening his features just enough to show how much he appreciated her patience. “Thanks... for everything.”

She was about to respond when something crossed her mind. She hesitated briefly before speaking. “Um, Mr. Barnes -James- do you think we could schedule a meeting sometime this week? I usually interview families during the first days to get to know them better, but since Thomas started a bit later, we haven’t had the chance. If you’d like, we can arrange a time that works for you.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she quickly added, “Of course, if you need to check with Mrs-”

“It’s just me,” he interrupted, firmer than intended but not unkind.

She blinked. “Oh.”

Just him.

Her expression didn’t change much, she simply nodded, adjusting quickly, but something about her expression made his throat go dry.

“Alright,” she said smoothly, “how does tomorrow at 1 PM sound?”

Bucky knitted his brows, working through something in his mind. She took the hesitation as doubt and quickly reassured him, “The interviews take place during school hours. Another teacher covers my class while I meet with parents. It’s all planned out.”

He nodded after a moment, letting the arrangement settle.

“Then it’s a date.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Silence. His own brain screeched to a halt.

Shit.

The second the words left his mouth, he froze. Why the hell did he have to use that word? He shows up late on the first day, and instead of keeping his shit together, he throws that word in her face like some creep. What is she going to think? That he’s hitting on her? That he doesn’t take this seriously? His mind started spiraling as always, and he glanced at her, waiting for her reaction, expecting something-anything- that signaled she’s offended or uncomfortable.

But she only smiled. Not a smirk, not teasing, just… warm. Like she hadn’t even registered the slip, or worse, like she had and found it endearing.

“Alright, Mr. Barnes. See you tomorrow. Bye, Thomas! Have a wonderful afternoon!”

He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the gate with Thomas in his arms. The tension in his shoulders was killing him, and his mind kept spiraling. Why couldn’t he have just said meeting like a normal person?

-----

He arrived five minutes early. Pressing the doorbell, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaling quietly as he waited.

A moment later, a soft buzz hummed from the side gate, signaling that he should push to enter. The latch clicked open under his touch, and he stepped through, strolling into the modest front yard where tiny footprints were imprinted into the damp soil, remnants of an afternoon spent playing.

As he neared the entrance, the building’s front door swung open, and there she was, standing at the threshold to receive him.

She hadn’t expected him to be so… put together.

Her breath hitched for half a second as she took him in, her brain momentarily short-circuiting before she caught herself. He was overdressed for a simple parent-teacher chat. His hair was neatly tied into a short ponytail, keeping the strands away from his sharp, striking features. The crisp black shirt he wore, fitted just right, framing his broad shoulders like a second skin, the mother-of-pearl blue buttons subtly gleaming under the soft afternoon light. The contrast of the dark fabric against his fair skin only made his blue eyes stand out even more.

She blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring, like an absolute idiot, at that.

Her own reflection in the glass door made her painfully self-conscious. She had thrown on a comfortable jumper that morning, warm and practical, paired with an open wool jacket she hadn’t given much thought to. Now, under his gaze, she felt underdressed.

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, she straightened her posture and smiled, keeping her voice even. “Mr. Barnes, right on time.”

His lips twitched slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. “James. Figured I shouldn’t be late twice in a row.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come on in. Would you like some tea or coffee before we start?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Tea, if it’s not a hassle.”

“No hassle at all,” she assured him, leading the way inside.

As he followed her down the hallway, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. This was just a meeting, a standard conversation about Thomas. That was all. She led him into the small office and closed the door with a soft click.

With him inside, the space suddenly felt even smaller, almost claustrophobic. As he settled into the chair, she turned toward the small counter, flipping on the electric kettle. With her back to him, she absently tugged at the neckline of her jumper, then glanced down, frowning as she noticed a faint smear of green tempera near the hem. Great. Just great. She tried to rub it away discreetly, but the stain refused to budge.

Forcing herself to move on, she turned around, offering a professional -and hopefully not too flustered- smile. “So, Mr. Barnes.”

“James is really alright,” he repeated. Then he asked himself if there was a rule to use the last name, and she was trying to make him notice that fact politely by still addressing him with formality.

She nodded. “Alright, James.” The name felt different on her tongue, more personal somehow, and for some reason, it flustered her to use it. She cleared her throat, refocusing. “I’m going to ask some questions about Thomas’s daily life and family status so we can start building his file.”

At that, she caught the way his gloved hands tensed over his knees. It was subtle, just the smallest tightening of his fingers, but she noticed. His expression, however, remained unreadable: calm, polite, the perfect picture of an agreeable parent sitting through a standard school procedure.

But she knew better.

Not wanting to push too soon, she offered an alternative. “Also, if you’re interested, I can tell you briefly about yesterday and today’s steps in his integration.”

Something shifted in his posture at that. Not much, but enough. A small breath in, a glance toward her, like a man bracing for news he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “I’d like that.”

----

Bucky felt little beads of sweat trickling down his spine. Was he trying too much?

He shifted slightly, flexing his fingers over his knees as he stole a glance at himself, just a quick, discreet look. Then, at her, and then, at the tiny office around them, shelves stacked with colorful folders, walls decorated with cheerful crayon drawings.

Back in his time, people dressed better. If a parent had to meet with a teacher, for whatever reason, it was treated as a formal occasion. A suit, a tie. The respect was shown in one’s presentation. So, naturally, he thought the right thing to do was clean up good.

Now, sitting in that too-small, squeaky green chair, with that attractive lovely lady making him tea, he felt like a goddamn wedding cake doll.

Her jumper was slightly wrinkled, her open wool jacket practical and cozy, and there was that stubborn little stain on the hem that she’d tried to wipe away when she thought he wasn’t looking. She belonged in this space, warm and natural, while he looked like he had an appointment with a boardroom, not a kindergarten teacher.

He swallowed, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Too late to do anything about it now.

"Alright," she said, settling across from him with a patient smile. "Where do you want to start? The interrogation about personal matters or how Thomas is adjusting to his partners and environment?"

Bucky barely hesitated. "The second one."

She smiled knowingly as if she had expected that answer. “He was a little introverted at first, which is completely normal for a child his age in a new group. Most of the kids already knew each other, so he’s still figuring out where he fits in.”

Bucky nodded, listening intently.

She hesitated for a second before continuing, careful but warm. “He’s also a bit… dependent.”

That made something in Bucky’s chest tighten.

“Which, again, is perfectly normal,” she reassured quickly, reading the shift in his expression. “Especially considering his background. I have no problem giving him the comfort and reassurance he needs throughout the day. But maybe, with time, we can work on building his independence a little.” She offered him a gentle smile. “But overall, James, he’s a lovely kid. Really.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. Lovely. Not a problem. Not difficult. Just… lovely.

She turned to retrieve the tea, and as she was about to place his mug on the table, the sleeve of her wool jacket caught on a rough splinter in the wood. The movement sent the cup tipping, and a small splash of hot liquid spilled onto her hand and the table.

“Oh, fuc-” She caught herself just in time, trading the curse for a flustered, “Oh, dear.” She hastily set the mug down, shaking her wrist slightly as she clutched her burned fingers.

Before Bucky even registered the thought, his body moved on instinct. Old chivalry, muscle memory, -maybe both- he reached out, pulling off his glove in one swift motion and gently cradling her injured hand in his own. He wrapped his cool metal fingers around hers, as an automatic attempt to soothe the burn.

She tensed.

The reaction was so small that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. The slight stiffening of her shoulders, the way her breath caught, the way she froze beneath his touch for a fraction of a second.

His brain caught up with his actions.

Shit.

This was something he did all the time with Thomas, an instinctive, unconscious movement, one that made sense when it was his son crying over scraped knees or bumped elbows. But this wasn’t Thomas. This his son’s teacher. A stranger, technically. And here he was, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He winced inwardly, twitching his fingers slightly as if preparing to pull away, to apologize, to-

But then, she relaxed.

Just enough for him to notice. Her grip eased slightly as her fingers rested in his palm, still warm from the tea. And then, to his utter surprise, she let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Well,” she murmured, “I guess that’s one way to handle it. Thank you,” she said, sincerily.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He wasn’t accustomed to people thanking him. Hell, he wasn’t accustomed to people wanting to share a space with him. The proof of that was in how damn difficult it had been to find a school willing to take Thomas in without judgment.

Was it always so hot in here?

The stupid shirt Steve had lent him to look presentable felt glued to his skin, clinging uncomfortably as a fresh wave of heat crept up his neck. He let go of her hand -reluctantly- and with a quick movement, he popped open a couple of the top buttons, trying to breathe. His fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair in the process, loosening a few strands from the short ponytail.

She blinked.

Hard.

His deep voice cut through the charged moment. “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He murmured the words as he hastily pulled his glove back on, as if reestablishing some invisible boundary he had accidentally crossed.

It took her a second -maybe two- to remember how to speak after that sight.

“Oh, not at all,” she finally managed, waving her hand nonchalantly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, so you are perdoned.”

“Oh, good,” he added promptly.

“Yeah, good,” she echoed.

And then- silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that stretched for just a few seconds too long, making the air feel thick and awkward. It was ridiculous, really. She was supposed to be having a professional conversation, and yet here she was, staring at him like a flustered schoolgirl while he sat there, stiff and unreadable, probably wondering if she had a single functioning brain cell left.

Snapping herself out of it, she straightened in her chair, clearing her throat as she grabbed a folder and a pen. Professional. Focused.

“Let’s start with the questions,” she stated, determined to get back on track. “How is the family group composed?”

A faint tick appeared in his jaw. “Just the two of us.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “Do you receive any kind of support from extended family members or close friends?”

Bucky hesitated. “I have… friends.” A pause. Then, a little softer, “Oh, um… my friend Steve is like an uncle to him.”

She froze for half a second, pen hovering above the paper. Steve.

As in Steve Rogers.

And suddenly, the fact that James Barnes -Bucky Barnes- was sitting in her tiny office, answering questions about kindergarten pickup times and playtime habits, felt almost surreal.

But she pushed past it, nodding as if it was just any other answer. “Tell me about a normal day in Thomas’ life. From the moment he wakes up until bedtime.”

The questions continued, one after another. But to his surprise, none of them were invasive.

Nothing about him. Nothing about his past. Nothing about the child’s mother.

She was only interested in Thomas, his routines, his favorite activities, the people who cared for him. What made him happy, what calmed him down, what sparked his curiosity.

And he just felt… like a normal Dad.

She tapped the pen against her lower lip, scanning the notes she had just taken, furrowing her brows slightly in concentration.

Bucky tried to keep his eyes anywhere else; on the folder, on the damn splintered table, but somehow, his gaze flickered back to her.

Her lips were slightly parted. Soft. That translucent lip gloss she wore caught the autumn light just enough to glisten innocently. She didn’t seem aware of it, of the way the movement drew attention, of how effortless it was.

He clenched his jaw. Pathetic.

Maybe Sam had a point. Maybe he really did need to -what was how he had said it?- "get some." Because sitting here, staring at his kid’s teacher like the virgin Steve used to be back in the day, was not normal.

Especially when she was just… there. In a damn tempera-stained jumper, flipping through papers, completely unaware that his brain had short-circuited over something as simple as the way she absentmindedly pressed the tip of the pen to her lip.

He shifted slightly in his seat, making the little chair squeak under his weight. He needed to get a grip.

She looked up then, extending the forms she had just filled out. “Here, read it, and if it’s fine for you, please sign it, and we’re done.”

He reached for the papers, his fingers briefly grazing hers. She was already moving, sorting through more documents, rummaging inside what looked like her purse as he scanned the form.

A moment later, he signed it, handed it back, and stood up.

The room somehow felt even smaller with him standing.

She tucked the papers into a folder, then hesitated for the briefest second before extending something toward him. A small, brightly wrapped raspberry lollipop.

He just looked at it.

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, um- it’s just a thing we do,” she explained, feeling a little ridiculous. “Teachers give a sweet to the parent who comes in for the visit. A friendly token.”

Bucky glanced at the candy, then at her.

Slowly, he reached out, taking it from her hand.

“If you feel too old to try it, give it to Thomas,” she teased lightly. “Though I must say, they’re pretty good.”

Bucky barely managed to keep his expression neutral as an entirely inappropriate image flashed through his mind involving her slightly parted lips against the bright red lollipop, swirling her tongue over the slick, glossy-

Nope. Absolutely not. He shoved the thought into the darkest corner of his brain and slammed the door shut.

Clearing his throat, he glanced at the candy in his palm. He was pretty sure the last time he had something like this was in the ‘20s, running through cobblestone streets in short, ragged pants and scraped knees. It felt oddly foreign now, a relic of a time buried long ago.

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” he muttered, tucking the candy into his jeans pocket, trying to expel the compelling thoughts swirling at the back of his mind.

Her smile lingered a moment as she straightened the papers, and again, the moment stretched just enough to make the air feel heavier than before.

She cleared her throat. “Well, the institution will be asking for another meeting in about three months to give you an update on how he’s doing. It’s the same for all the kids,” she explained, slipping back into professional mode.

Bucky nodded, adjusting his stance slightly, like he was grateful to have something to focus on.

“I’ve also added you to the parents-teacher WhatsApp group," she continued, "as a way to communicate news, the things kids should bring, upcoming events, that kind of stuff.” She hesitated, glancing at her notes before adding, “Um… it says you don’t have the app installed, so it would be great if you could download it.”

And then, silence.

Bucky barely moved, but something in his posture changed. His gaze flickered toward the small table, where his old clamshell phone rested near his keys.

She noticed.

That was not a smartphone, and it was definitely not suited for a parent-teacher chitchat group.

Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “It’s a policy here, since, well… it’s assumed everyone has it.” She smiled, small and reassuring. “But don’t worry, I can send you a normal text separately with the same information. Just… without the cool emojis, I’ll have to stick to ASCII.” She winked.

That got something out of him, a faint huff, not quite a laugh, but close. His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Appreciate that.”

----

After a couple of months, Bucky was relieved -no, grateful- to see Thomas flourishing in his new environment.

The once-quiet, wary boy had slowly started to open up. He was more talkative now, his voice no longer a whisper but something steadier, stronger. He laughed more, flinched less. When he came home from school, he actually talked about his day, about the games they played, about Flora and Matthew, about how Miss Y/n read the best stories and always did the funniest voices.

Bucky didn’t know if she realized just how much of a difference she had made.

One afternoon, while Thomas was scribbling dinosaurs at the kitchen table, Bucky’s old clamshell phone vibrated against the counter.

He flipped it open. A general message from her number.

Dear families, our annual fundraising event is coming up! Each grade and nursery group will participate by preparing goodies to sell, baked treats, crafts, and more! We encourage everyone to take part and help make it a great day for the kids!

Bucky was already closing the phone when it binged another time. It was her again.

Don’t know about your culinary expertise, but we could really use some strong dads to help build the booths this saturday ;)

He blinked.

A just-for-him message.

For a second, he only stared at it, like his brain needed to catch up. The winking face at the end nearly made him short-circuit.

Clearly, she was recruiting him for his enhanced strength.

It wasn’t like the other parents would be thrilled to have him around. He rarely talked to them, never lingered after pickup, never engaged in small talk about school trips or birthday parties. The most interaction he got was a nod or a hesitant smile. Acknowledgment, but never an invitation.

And he understood why. He wasn’t the kind of dad people naturally gravitated toward. He wasn’t friendly like Steve, or charming like Sam. He was… him. Quiet. Intimidating. A man with too much history and too little practice in fitting into normal spaces.

So why would anyone want him there?

He exhaled sharply, glancing at the message again. Maybe she’d sent the same thing to a few others. Maybe it wasn’t just for him.

But… she had sent it. With a winky face.

And despite the self-doubt crawling at the back of his mind, he couldn’t ignore the small, reluctant warmth blooming in his chest.

Because for whatever reason, she thought to ask.

-----

When the Saturday came, Bucky was sharp on time at the open kindergarten gate, with Steve.

Not that it had taken too much to convince him. Steve, being the charitable man he was, never missed an opportunity to help. But Bucky also knew his friend well enough to recognize the other reason he had agreed to come so quickly, curiosity. Curiosity about the place Thomas spent his days. And curiosity about the “winking emote teacher.”

Bucky had two reasons for bringing Steve.

One: With two super soldiers on site, setting up the booths would take a fraction of the time.

Two: He didn’t want to come alone. Not that he’d admit it outright, but walking into a social setting full of parents and staff -people he knew saw him as an outsider even if they tried to mask it- felt a little too exposed. At least with Steve there, the focus will be put elsewhere, and he knew his level of self-consciousness will drop.

Of course, Steve suspected as much. But to his credit, he had the courtesy of not saying anything.

They hadn’t been there long enough when he spotted her across the yard, balancing a few wooden planks in her arms as she walked toward the setup area. She was focused, navigating carefully, until a rogue Lego piece nearly sent her sprawling.

In an instant Steve was there, supporting her before she could hit the ground.

She let out a startled gasp, gripping his forearms instinctively. And then, the realization showed all over her face. Because holy shit, Captain America was in the kindergarten.

“Uh- thanks,” she said, letting go of his forearms, looking a little flustered.

Steve, ever the gentleman, just smiled. “No problem.”

Then, as if remembering there were other people present, she glanced over his shoulder, and finally noticed Bucky, standing just a few steps behind, looking slightly out of place.

Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey! You made it. and with backup! That adds points, you know” She grinned, tilting her head playfully. “More help means more credit when it’s time to take home the leftover cakes and pies.”

Bucky blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms, pretending to be serious. “Hard work should be rewarded. And what better prize than free dessert?”

Steve chuckled, throwing Bucky a look. “See, now that’s motivation.”

Bucky shifted slightly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Um I thought some extra hands would come in handy, anyway.”

She nodded, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Well, I’m glad you did. We can definitely use the help, some of these booths have been in storage forever, and let’s just say… they’re not in peak condition.”

Steve smirked. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll make sure they stand up straight.”

She snorted. “That’s the bare minimum we’re hoping for, yeah.” Then she proceeded to give them a quick rundown of what was needed: booth assembly, structural support, and general heavy lifting. After making sure they understood, she left them to it, moving to a shaded corner where a group of teachers and moms were busy painting banners.

As Bucky grabbed a plank, Steve picked up another, glancing over his shoulder toward her. Then, with a knowing half-smile, he turned to Bucky.

“So… I assume she is Tommy’s teacher?”

Bucky didn’t even look up. Just gave a curt nod, with an unreadable expression.

Steve hummed. “She’s cute.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just kept his gaze firmly on the plank in his hands, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Steve pressed a little more. “Real cute.”

This time, Bucky gave him a noncommittal grunt. No eye contact. No reaction.

"Do you think the teachers might do a kissing booth?" Steve asked nonchalantly, setting a plank into place like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade into the conversation.

That got a reaction.

Bucky’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he shot him a side glance. “…Is that still a thing nowadays?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Dunno if it’s as chaste as it was in our time, Buck, but it’s still runnin’. Clint told me sometimes they have them at his kids’ school.”

Bucky pressed his mouth into a thin line, gripping the hammer a little tighter.

Steve chuckled, sensing an opening. “I mean, it makes sense, you know. A lot of divorced dads…”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Bucky cut him off, hammering a plank into place with maybe a little too much force. The loud crack of wood echoed through the yard.

Steve just smirked. “Touchy subject?”

Bucky ignored him, grabbing another nail.

"You know, Buck, I think you should ask her out."

"Shut up, punk."

"I'm serious. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Bucky turned to him, giving him a look so dry it could’ve drained the Atlantic. His next words were slow, like he was explaining something to a mentally impaired person.

"Let’s see. First of all, she’s my child’s teacher. It’s unethical."

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky steamrolled right over him.

"Two, I can barely deal with myself most days. I can’t trust my own mind sometimes. I’m trying to put my shit together because of Thomas, but you know there are days I can barely get out of bed. So adding another person into our lives right now?" He shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

Steve stayed quiet, watching him.

"And three," Bucky exhaled, returning to the plank, "I don’t think she’d be interested, damn I even don’t know if she is seeing someone. And I don’t want to make our interactions weird."

Steve tilted his head, giving him a look that was both skeptical and amused but, to Bucky’s relief, he kept his mouth shut didn’t press further.

-----

After a couple of hours, Bucky and Steve eventually split up, taking on different tasks. As expected, Steve had a small crowd of parents ‘casually’ gravitating around him, helping with his station while subtly asking for pictures and sneaking in questions between hammering and measuring.

Bucky, meanwhile, retreated to a quieter corner, bending some metal pipes to straighten the framework. It was a stark contrast, really. Steve walked into a place and illuminated it, drew people in without even trying. And Bucky… well.

He worked alone, unnoticed. Or so he thought.

A sudden hand on his shoulder broke his trance, and he startled just slightly.

“Sorry!” she promptly removed her hand. “I called your name, but you didn’t seem to hear.”

Bucky just blinked, “It’s fine.”

She smiled, holding up a thermos. “Thought maybe you’d want some coffee?”

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he tried to shake off the momentary stiffness. “I, uh… yeah. That’d be nice. Thank you.” His voice came out a little rough, and his eye contact was fleeting at best.

Fucking Steve. Bringing up his nonexistent love life like an asshole, and now Bucky was hyperaware of her presence. Every small shift of her stance, every little tilt of her head. It was funny -no, it wasn’t- how their roles had completely reversed.

Once upon a time, Steve had been the one fumbling, awkward, struggling to find his footing with women. And now? He was Captain America, confident and magnetic, while Bucky was… whatever the hell this was. A fucking mess.

“Thank you for coming, James. Really,” she said as she poured coffee into a small cup.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“And thanks for bringing help with you,” she added playfully. “It seems everyone is livelier since you two got here.”

He grumbled something under his breath, bending the pipe back and forth absentmindedly, like someone fidgeting with a strand of grass.

She caught the movement and grinned. “Showoff.”

Bucky huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line to stop the small, unwilling twitch of amusement threatening to surface.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said suddenly, looking at the thermos handle. “The community here is really nice. Luckily, I’ll still be around for the event.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to her “What?”

She blinked. “I said, I’m going to miss-”

“Are you taking a vacation?” he interrupted, unable to stop himself.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “What? No-” Then, she realized. “Oh. James… Jane is coming back.”

Bucky just stared at her, the words not quite clicking in his brain. “Who?”

She tilted her head, looking almost apologetic. “Jane. The actual teacher. I thought you knew, I’m just a substitute. The real teacher was on medical leave, but she’s ready to return now.”

The words settled like a slow drop of ink into water, spreading, tainting something that had been perfect moments ago.

“I didn’t- didn’t know,” he admitted, quietly. Maybe because Thomas had entered late in the school year, they’d missed that little piece of information.

She seemed to notice the shift in him, the way his grip tightened around the empty cup. There was a certain distress in his expression, subtle but there.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently, trying to reassure him. “Jane is an excellent teacher and person. Thomas will be thrilled to have her in the class.”

Bucky nodded, curtly, handing the thermos cup back.

In all the interactions he’d had with her, the drop-offs, their little conversations, the parent meeting, the fact that she was just a substitute had never popped up.

"When’s your last day?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the twisted pipe in his hands.

“The Friday before the event,” she replied. “I’m still going to participate since I helped organize it, but by Monday, Jane will be here.” She paused, as if anticipating his reaction. “I can assure you, It won’t be a sudden change for the kids. This week, she’ll come for a couple of hours every day to introduce herself so they can get used to her.”

Bucky gave a slow nod, gripping the metal a little tighter than necessary.

It shouldn’t have really mattered. It shouldn’t have made him feel anything at all.

And yet, the news bothered him.

Because things had been fine. He wasn’t close to her, not in any significant way, but she was a constant. And if there was one thing Bucky Barnes wasn’t fond of, it was change.

It wasn’t like he had been expecting anything more than what he already had, which wasn’t much. Just crumbs, really. Small moments of connection. Casual chats, occasional teasing remarks that made something in his chest pull in a way he ignored. The way she talked to him like any other parent—like a man, not a reputation.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

There were other things, little details that had wormed their way into his awareness without permission. The way her voice softened when she spoke to Thomas. The way her soft body looked like it would fit perfectly against his if he just- no. The way her eyes lingered on him just a second longer than necessary sometimes, making him wonder if…

Bucky exhaled sharply, straightening his pose, forcing the thoughts back.

It was comfortable. And, somehow, warm.

And now she was going to leave.

And maybe it was stupid, but it affected him more than he wanted to admit.

Chapter 2

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[firingstars]

neighborly advice | ch. 10 [FINAL]

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky finally discuss what your relationship is.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, oral (male receiving), riding, language, bucky's kinda? submissive, angst, fluff, happy ending! yippee!, no use of y/n, alternating pov's, bucky briefly gets in his head with the self loathing, he stalks for like two seconds, peter is your best friend now!

word count: 7.8k

a/n: its over :') what am i to DOOOOOOOO i will miss this characterization of reader i thought she was so funny lmfao idk if anyone does this but i legit made myself giggle more than a few times

previous chapter | masterlist

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to approach her in the upcoming days. He was home, and realized quickly that he shouldn’t be avoiding the apartment he paid for to hide in the compound because he was afraid of a little confrontation. Or rejection, actually. Bucky was very clearly hellbent on the fact that this was a rejection waiting to happen.

Even when he was in his apartment, he stayed silent. He didn’t want her to know he was home. He knew it was foolish, stupid, that he was just delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t help himself. Bucky was at a loss.

It wasn’t difficult for Bucky to find out that she had finally gotten a new lab and new sponsor– both of which were long term commitments written out by contract that would not be broken any time soon. It also wasn’t that hard to find out that Peter was her only teammate helping her work on her technology. 

How close were the two of them able to get in his absence? They had to be close enough, he realized, for her to have gone out drinking with the guy then bring him home.

Bucky didn’t even want to imagine what happened once they crossed the threshold of her apartment door. Did anything else happen where he couldn’t hear? Did things progress quickly between the two of them? Was there someone else that she looked at with that fond smile and sparkling eyes that he adored?

Bucky was never an insecure man. Though he had baggage and some self loathing issues, he had no issue with himself in terms of appearance. Sam never stopped reminding him, either. Yet, this boy, this other man seemed to fit her side much better.

Another university student, much closer to age to her than he would ever be. This kid understood technology, and the two of them would be able to bond over their shared love of science on a level that he wouldn’t be able to converse with her on. Peter looked softer, kinder, and seemed much more gentle than he could ever be. Bucky even looked into Peter’s background, just to make sure that he wasn’t secretly a criminal. Bucky’s heart dropped when he realized he couldn’t even hate the kid. There was nothing that he had done wrong in his entire life.

So, Bucky watched from afar. He felt like some sort of fucking stalker doing this, but he couldn’t help himself. If she was happy with someone else, then who was he to deny her of that happiness? He watched as the two of them would grab lunch together in between research and classes. He felt every inch of pain radiate through his body when she would laugh at something that kid said, and hate seeing the smile on her face– hate that it wasn’t him that she was smiling for.

Peter was a stable choice for her, Bucky decided on his own. Perhaps it would be better for her to find someone normal, he thought. Someone that wouldn’t leave her behind for days to weeks at a time because the world needed him, when all he wanted to do was stay by her side. Bucky realized that he wouldn’t be able to provide her the stability that she deserved, no matter how hard he would try to provide it to her. 

“So your boyfriend–”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So your not-boyfriend, hot neighbor that you’re sleeping with goes on business trips that call for absolute silence, and you’re still pining for him? Am I getting this right?” Peter asked you with a raised eyebrow.

You let out a deep sigh, burying your face in your hands. “You make it sound so bad.”

“I’m not gonna lie… I think that’s kinda bad. Really bad,” Peter said, giving you a look from across the lab table. You groaned deeply.

“Why did I even ask you for advice if you were just gonna point out the obvious?” you asked him with a frown.

“Well, hold on. I’m still trying to process this,” Peter said quickly, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat up straight on the lab stool. “Have you tried texting him first? Calling him?”

“I mean– I did. The other day,” you admit– because you did. You texted him in the middle of the day, hoping that wherever he was the sun was also out. It wasn’t anything large or grand, but just a simple question.

Are you doing okay?

Your phone alerted you that your message was not delivered almost immediately. Multiple scenarios were running through your mind at the time. Maybe his phone was dead or turned off. Dead, since Bucky’s possibly always on the move during his missions. Turned off so there would be no signal interference, or maybe someone was tracking his phone and he needed to go off the radar.

Or maybe, he blocked your number. He didn’t want to talk to you anymore. 

You didn’t even think of the possibility that he was dead somewhere. It was the most unlikely scenario to you. Bucky, in all his glory and strength, couldn’t die. Maybe he would sustain one bad injury every once in a while, but the super soldier was resilient. 

You were more than certain that he blocked you.

“And what? Nothing in return?”

“He can’t have his phone with him during these… business deals…” you said slowly, trying to find the right words to describe his job. Honestly, you might be making Bucky sound like even more of an asshole by not being truthful about his job, but you can’t just expose him like that. 

“Right… Why? Did he ever say that? Tell you why he can’t?”

“It’s sensitive information that he deals with.” You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant about the fact the man you have a crush on has a metal arm, and was recently a wanted criminal all over the world. 

“Do you realize how insane you sound?” Peter asked, giving you a look of concern.

“Yes! Okay, God– Can you be better at girl talk? Why do all guys try to solve the issue at hand when girls complain? I just want you to listen to me, agree that it’s a problem, and then whine with me!” you exclaimed at him. 

“I’ve never had girl talk before, so I’m also learning the fundamentals on how this works,” he quickly said. 

“Did MJ not ever complain to you about issues she had with her friends?” you frowned at him.

“Well, MJ was kinda a self made loner,” Peter said, a small smile coming onto his face as he recalled memories of his maybe-ex-girlfriend. “She became friends with my best friend because I introduced them. Otherwise, it was just the three of us together. She didn’t really have other friends to complain about.”

“Why don’t you get Dr. Strange to undo the spell he did?” you sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“Because it would destroy the multiverse. Weren’t you listening when I told you?” Peter asked, frowning.

“I mean, I was, but I still think you’re full of shit,” you tell him. “Come in here with the suit on and then I might believe you.”

Peter sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. 

The two of you had gotten especially close after that night you went drinking. He crashed on your sofa after you dragged him up the five flights of stairs, and thankfully did not throw up everywhere. When you woke up, he seemed to remember what he had told you the night before and looked absolutely horrified that you knew his ‘secret.’ 

After telling him that you didn’t really believe a drunk man’s words, he ended up confessing to you about the whole situation. You’d be lying if you said you understood everything right away. The multiverse? Different versions of him coming to Earth, along with other enemies that were going to threaten the collapse of all universes?

Then again, you remember Thanos and being snapped out of existence, so maybe it wasn’t such a far fetched story in the end. 

Either way, it seemed like a weight had been lifted from Peter’s shoulders after he confessed it to you– to somebody. You still weren’t sure if you believed it, but the look of desperation on his face was enough for you to tell him that you were someone that wouldn’t forget him. He cried that morning, saying that he’d felt so alone for so long.

You felt a sort of kinship with the guy.

“How many times have you contacted him since he left?” Peter asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Just… once,” you muttered, looking away. You can feel the weight of Peter’s eyes on you, taking in the two words that you managed to force out.

“Are you sure that you like him?” 

“I don’t like your accusatory tone right now, Parker,” you said, head turning to look at him again. The boy raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to explain yourself. You sigh deeply. “I– I’m not his girlfriend, you know? What if I’m clingy about it? If I start texting him all the time when he’s gone, then what does that look like? What if I bother him?”

Peter sighed deeply. “I honestly don’t even know what to say about this. I’m bad at relationships, but this just seems messy in a way that I can’t help.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, dropping your head onto the lab table. 

At the very least, finally being able to talk to someone about all of this made your shoulders feel lighter. Peter, despite his comments, had no judgement in his eyes. Honestly, you think he’s just worried for you. Which, you can’t even be mad about. If this were someone else’s situation, you would be reacting the same exact way that Peter was.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said with a sigh, standing up.

“Where?” you asked with a sad frown.

“To the deli. I realize that girl talk makes me hungry.”

You let out a scoff at that, but move to grab your things as well. You shove some notebooks into your bag as well as a couple of other trinkets that you’ll work on at home tonight, and you pick up your phone. You swallow as you tap on the screen, watching it come to life.

You can’t hide the disappointment on your face.

No new notifications.

Your phone gets shoved to the deepest part of your bookbag as you follow Peter out the door. You have no appetite to eat. You haven’t had an appetite the past four weeks at all. You know that Peter would break down your apartment door if you didn’t join him to eat at least once a day whenever you guys were together– which was almost every single day at this point. You were certain that you saw his face more than you saw your own in a mirror. 

“What if he hates me?” you suddenly asked him.

“Oh my God. Please, no more,” he begged you, sincere.

Peter walked you back to your apartment after the two of you ate at the deli. The sun was going down, and it was a common occurrence for him to bring you home on the late nights that you guys worked together.

“Spider-Man things,” he said with a shrug. “I feel better knowing that you got home safe.”

“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, huh?” you chuckled as you got up to the fifth floor. You’re unlocking the door when Peter grabs your arm, stopping you.

“You said your neighbor isn’t home, right?” he asked, frowning.

“He normally texts me when he is,” you nod. “Which he hasn’t.”

“I can hear movement on the inside of his apartment,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stared at Bucky’s door. You pause, trying to focus on your own hearing. You don’t hear jack shit. You turn back to him with a frown of your own, and he lets out a deep sigh. “Spidey senses.”

“Spidey senses,” you repeat, your voice dry. “What’s next? You're gonna tell me the deli meat was two hours from expiring because of Spidey taste buds?”

“Okay, founder of regenerative nanotechnological medicine, I’m sorry that I don’t have long scientific names to explain what my abilities are!” he hissed at you.

“It’s just a little hard to believe that you’re fucking Spider-Man when you refuse to stick onto the wall like a spider!” you hiss back. You’re not even sure why the two of you are whispering. Bucky isn’t here.

“Oh my God, is that what it’ll take for you to believe me? For me to hang upside down on the ceiling?” 

“Wouldn’t that make you Batman?” you asked, fighting a grin.

“HA! HA!” he laughed sarcastically at you, with just those two syllables. 

You’re about to burst out into real laughter when the door beside yours opens. You both freeze, turning to the door. Your mouth falls agape, staring. Bucky’s there, staring right back at you– staring at where Peter has a hand on your arm.

“Buck–”

“Your boyfriend is the Winter fucking Soldier?” Peter asked, cutting you off. Your head whips over to him now, eyes wide in panic and shock.

“What the fuck! Keep your voice down!” you whisper-shout at him. “How the hell do you know that–”

“Holy shit! You got a vibranium arm now, too? I thought King T’Challa hated you,” Peter continued, ignoring you to stare at Bucky’s metal arm. 

You’re staring at him, more confusion painting your features as you do. Then, Peter turns to face you, pointing at Bucky.

“I fought him, as Spider-Man. Do you remember that Sokovia Accords bullshit? I was on Iron Man’s side,” he quickly tells you, and there's a notable excitement in his voice. “I was like, fifteen years old, and he punched me real hard a couple times. Steve, too. I had a black eye for like, two weeks.”

You take a deep breath, your mind spinning. “Peter. What the fuck ar you talking about?”

“Don’t Peter me!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You made him seem like such an asshole, ignoring your texts for a business trip? You could’ve just said it was the Winter Soldier and I would’ve understood why he has to fucking ignore you when he’s on those so-called business trips!” 

“Peter–”

“You texted me?” Bucky asked, his voice soft, cutting the two of you off. Your breath hitches as you turn to look at him again, and you nod wordlessly. Bucky blinks at you, eyebrows furrowing. “My phone… is in the ocean, somewhere. I have a new number– just got a new phone the other day.”

“See!?” Peter exclaimed. “The Winter Soldier– oh my God. You’re insufferable, you know that? You really could’ve just said it was him–”

“You’re so fucking loud, we’re in the middle of the hallway, Parker,” you hissed, pushing your door open to shove Peter inside. “Why don’t you just announce his identity to the rest of the damn building?”

“Sorry, Sergeant!” Peter called out to him from inside your apartment. Then, he takes the door from you, and gently pushes you further into the hall while taking your bag and keys from you. “You go talk to him though. I’ll work on the regenerative piece.”

Then, he’s closing your own door in your face, leaving you in the hallway with Bucky still staring at you. Your mind is still spinning at how fast everything just happened, the amount of information that was just thrown at you, and you bury your face in your hands. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Bucky suddenly asked, his voice still soft. You lift your face out of your hands to look at him. He’s already opened the door wider for you to come in, and stepped to the side as well.

He looks… exhausted. It’s not the same sort of tired that he usually looks when he comes back from a mission, either. This is different. It makes your chest hurt to see him like this. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, and move to enter his apartment.

You can’t help but feel a bit awkward in his apartment. You’re not sure why. The air is different for some reason. Tense. You try to be natural, moving towards his couch like you always do, and sit down. You try not to notice the way that he’s basically dragging his feet to join you, avoiding your eyes. 

“I’m sorry about… him. Peter, I mean,” you finally speak, clearing your throat. Your leg is bouncing up and down, your throat feels like it’s about to close in on you, and your hands are becoming clammy. 

Bucky’s quiet. He’s leaned forward, elbows on his knees, flesh and metal fingers interlaced tightly. His gaze is trained on the wall, the coffee table, his feet. Everywhere but you. You begin to feel a bit restless. 

“I didn’t– I didn’t tell him anything about you like that. I mean, I talked about you to him, but I didn’t tell him who you were. I was talking about us, and how worried I was that you were gone and that I haven’t heard from you in a while– I never said that you were an asshole,” you quickly said, and you feel like you’re rambling. Your voice dies out on your tongue as you stare at your own fidgeting hands.

“You told him that I was your boyfriend?” Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s still not looking at you. Your heart quickens in your chest. Did he hate it? Hate the idea of it?

“No!” you exclaimed immediately, feeling your face turn red with embarrassment. “I said you were my neighbor and we had something going on and that I wouldn’t mind if you became my boyfriend but I– I didn’t say…”

A strange silence fell between the two of you. You didn’t necessarily feel uncomfortable, but you would be lying if you said that you felt comfortable, too. This was the longest that you had ever been in Bucky’s presence and he hadn’t looked at you. You were used to being under his constant watch, every movement and shift of your body being quietly recorded into his head.

“Bucky?” you whispered, swallowing thickly. “Was… Did the mission go well?” 

You can’t think of any other reason for him to be acting like this, truthfully. Something must have happened for him to be acting like this.  He said he got a new phone the other day, meaning that he was home. He was home, and he just didn’t want to see you. You lived right next to him, and you didn’t even know he was there. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” you tried next. Your eyes scanned his body. You didn’t see any wounds on him, but then again he had already been home for a couple of days. He would have already healed all the minor injuries.

You felt like you were talking to a wall. There was no response from him. He didn’t even move to indicate that he had heard your words. Nothing about this was natural or normal behavior. You wanted to be upset that he didn’t let you know that he was here– ask why he didn’t think to contact you immediately.

But you didn’t have that right to demand that from him.

So, you sat there silently. Waiting. You watched him carefully. The only telltale sign that he was even here in front of you was the slight movement in his chest to let you know that he was breathing. Every second that passed felt like an hour in the room. Yet, you decided you would hold on, and patiently sit there until he gathered his thoughts to be able to speak to you.

“I thought you and that kid were involved.”

You recoiled at his words, eyebrows furrowing. “Peter?”

“I saw you both. Saw you bring him to your apartment when he was drunk,” he confessed, burying his face in his hands. “I thought you replaced me while I was gone, so I didn’t want to bother you. Then today, I heard you two talking outside– and I just… I wanted to see your face.”

“Wait,” you said, blinking. “You avoided me because you were jealous?”

“I thought you were dating him, doll. Not just jealous,” he corrected, sighing deeply.

“Dating– in just three weeks?” you asked, even more confused. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost much longer than that, and we aren’t even official–”

“That’s why!” he exclaimed, finally turning to look at you. “That is exactly why!”

“There’s no way you’re trying to say that I deserve better. Are you?” you ask, eyebrows raised. The way Bucky’s jaw clenched told you all that you needed to know. “Bucky. Are you serious?’

“He’s a good kid,” he dismissed, looking down. “Smart. Bright future. A bit of a tragic past, but you seem to attract people that are mildly to severely depressed anyways–”

“You did a background check on him?” you cut him off, eyes wide.

“I needed to make sure that he wasn’t a psychopath with mental issues that would kill you!”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” you asked.

“Yes, so that’s what I’m saying– he would be a much better fit. He helps you with your research and he’s apparently fucking Spider-Man which has yet to be proven–”

“I’m not attracted to him! Did you not hear any of that conversation out there? I talk about you to him. Extensively! He listens to me complain and whine about the fact that I miss you!” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that he is a much better choice!”

“Is that what you want? You want me to walk out of here and choose somebody else?!” you demanded, standing up. You were heading towards the door, trying to prove your point when he grabbed your arm, forcing you to stop. 

“No! I don’t! Why would I ever want that?!” Bucky shouted back at you. He looked scandalized, as if you’d asked him to wear a maid costume in the middle of Central Park.

“Then what do you want?!”

“You! I want you!”

“I’m yours, Bucky! I’m already yours, what don’t you understand?!”

“What– just like that?” 

“Yes, just like that!”

“Fine!” he scoffed.

“Fine!” you mocked.

The exchange happened so fast, so quick. You two were staring at each other, breathing heavily. Then, he released your arm, dragging a hand down his face in frustration as he took a deep, controlled breath. His eyebrows were pinched close together as he tried to gather himself.

“This isn’t how I wanted this to go,” he murmured.

“How you wanted what to go?” you frowned. “Your self deprecating, loathing speech or this stupid argument?”

“Well, I didn’t want either of these to happen at all, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head as he dropped his hands to his sides. “I… God. I just– I missed you.”

“And I missed you,” you said, your body relaxing from tension you didn’t know you were holding. 

Bucky clenched his jaw, and swallowed. “You weren’t mine. Officially, at least. So if you found someone else while I was gone, then I figured that I couldn’t have a say in it. That it was my fault for just… disappearing this time for three, four weeks.”

“The way I looked at it,” you sighed, “I couldn’t be mad that you didn’t tell me anything. I figured the silence was for your safety.”

“Yours, actually,” he shook his head. “There was a possibility of my phone getting tracked, and I didn’t want anyone being able to get back to you. Which is why my phone ended up in the ocean– it was compromised. Took the battery out and removed the SIM and threw everything out after shattering it.”

“But other than that?” you asked softly, feeling worry course through your veins. “You’re okay?”

“Mission’s over. Chapter closed,” he reported, letting out a breath. “Minor injuries, but nothing that hasn’t already gone away. I’ll be home for a while. Nothing’s on the books right now.”

You nodded slowly, sighing in relief. That was all you wanted– not him staying home, but just knowing that he was safe. 

“And… us,” you said softly. “What about us? Where do we go from here? Because I really don’t know if I can handle another month of silence like this. I’m not asking for daily updates or classified information. I just want to know that you’re alive, Bucky.”

“I can do that,” he quickly said, hands reaching for you. They rested on your arms, and his eyes locked with yours. “We can get encrypted phones that send scrambled data so even if there were someone trying to track messages, they wouldn’t be able to trace ours– no one would be able to get to you. I already have a few people keeping an eye on a couple of your lines to ensure your safety, and will have them report to me if there’s a flag somewhere.”

You blinked. “What– Right now?”

Bucky paused, his mouth falling open briefly he closed his eyes tight. “I… also needed to make sure you were safe while I was gone. My line of work isn’t the best thing, doll. I might be doing good things, but there are some fucked up people that would do anything to stop me and the people I work with.”

“No, I mean… We’re not even… together. Why would you go that far for me?”

“So?” he frowned at you. “You’re important to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you regardless.”

“Bucky, how deep are your feelings for me?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Doll, I’m falling so hard for you and I never want to stop,” he answered immediately. “I think you’re it for me.”

“And you were going to let me go?”

“I just want you to be happy. With or without me– and with what I do for work, I can’t blame you if you end up choosing to walk away from me. I know you plan for the future, and everything you do is carefully thought out. I just… I don’t want to hold you back from anything.” 

You were at a loss for words. He was sincere. Both the tone of his voice and the look on his face let you know that. You couldn’t even conjure up a simple sentence to reply to his confession– the feelings that you wanted to hear from him. So, you reached for him instead. You pulled him down to you, angling your head up towards him into a devastating kiss. He reciprocated immediately.

You missed him so much.

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other one snaking up your back to have his hand cradle your neck to deepen the kiss as he held you even tighter to him. You sighed against him, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your lips. 

“Doll? Does this mean–”

“You’re mine, Sarge,” you confirmed, a little breathless. “Lost your chance to get rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t ever dream of it,” he chuckled, a smile ghosting on his lips as he caught you in another kiss. 

You both tumbled into his bedroom, clothes being haphazardly shed as you two made your way there. His shirt came off first. Yours followed quickly after. While you undid the ties of his sweatpants and began to shove them down his legs for him to step out of, Bucky unclasped your bra and threw the underwear somewhere off to the side that you weren’t even sure that you would find later. Your jeans came off last, and you were thankful you wore something baggier today to be able to shimmy off easily. 

Your hands ran all over his body, feeling for any cuts, maybe any swelling. To your relief, you saw none. You squeezed his sides experimentally to test if he would flinch slightly under your grasp, and quietly thanked every deity out there when he didn’t react. 

He laid you down onto the bed, only for you to use every ounce of your own strength to flip the two of you over. You straddled him now, but did not sit fully on top of him. You simply hovered, keeping your weight off of him.

“What are you doing, baby?” he chuckled, hands resting on your thighs.

“I’m still mad,” you said with a fake, deep sigh. A hand rested on his neck, then slowly trailed down to his collarbone. “I don’t really think you get to touch me tonight.”

“No?” he asked, eyebrow raising.

“No,” you echoed, a small smile playing on your lips as your hand continued its journey down his sternum, moving to feel the ripples of his abdomen under your fingertips. You hummed in approval, stopping at the waistband of his briefs. “If you touch me, I might just pack up and leave. Go back home. Peter’s waiting for me, after all. We were supposed to finish the antiseptic release component of our second prototype for the regenerative nanotech. I’ll probably just send him home early and use that vibrator that you hate so much.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered. Your hand moved slowly, just ghosting over the length of him. He was already hard.

“You always get so excited for me, so easily,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

“What can I say? You have that effect on me,” he grunted, his hips bucking up to meet your hand. Your other hand moved, pressing against his thigh. 

“Nuh uh,” you clicked your tongue at him. He groaned, closing his eyes tight. 

“Doll.”

“Just relax, Sarge. Let me take care of you for once. The mission was long, right? I made you stressed out and jealous, right? I wanna show you how much I really like you,” you hummed, grinning at him. 

Bucky let out a shaky breath, “You said no touching?”

“No touching,” you confirmed.

“Fuck,” he grunted, removing his hands from your thighs. You beamed at him, pressing your hand against his length fully now. At the same time, you pressed your chest against his as your lips attached to skin where his neck met his shoulder. Bucky let out a soft groan, moving his head to the side to grant you more access to him. 

You had to admit, this was different. You hadn’t expected him to let you just take over like this without a fight. All the other times you spent with Bucky, he never gave you the impression that he would want to be in this position. Maybe today was just a special day. 

You left a dark bruise on his neck. Happy with your work, you gave him another one on his collarbone, and another one on his chest. Then, you slipped your hand under the waistband of his underwear to touch him directly. Bucky moaned softly at the first contact, eyes closing shut as you took him in your hand, slowly spreading the precum from the tip of his cock down the sides and starting a lazy pace. 

He was so pretty like this. You never really had the chance to admire him while he was in such a vulnerable state. Bucky was always so focused on you, getting you to be in this kind of headspace. You could see why. You could get addicted to seeing him like this.

You moved once more, kissing lower and lower. 

“Buck, help,” you murmured, tugging on his briefs with your free hand. He opened his eyes to look down at you, where you were. His eyes went wide, just slightly.

“Jesus, doll,” he moaned. “You gonna suck me off?”

You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Wanna taste.”

“Shit,” Bucky whispered, but lifted his hips up slightly for you to help remove the last piece of clothing off of his body. The thick length of him hit his stomach with a soft thud, and you stared for just a moment, feeling your stomach jump at the sight. Your own walls clenched over nothing, but you ignored it for now. 

You reached for him once more, holding him at the base loosely. You watched him as you licked a thin strip up from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip, seeing his eyes close tight, watching him fist the sheets by his side. Then, you licked up the cum that had leaked out as you had stroked him earlier. You moaned at the saltiness of him– he tasted exactly like you thought he would.

His chest was falling and rising at a faster rate now.

Bucky’s jaw clenched as your lips closed around the tip of him, and he swallowed thickly as you started to take him in deeper. You may have been way over your head. You thought you knew the length and size of him from him being inside of you multiple times, but fuck he was large. You opened your mouth wide to take him in, your jaw already beginning to ache as you sucked your cheeks in to create a seal.

When you finally fit him, you started to move, bobbing your head up and down while keeping your tongue flat against him.

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he praised from above you, his voice coming out as a wrecked noise.

You hummed from beneath him, his hips jolting in response to the vibration. The tip of him hit the back of your throat, and you choked, freezing in place as you tried to calm yourself down. Bucky, on the other hand, reacted positively to the feeling of being in your throat. His thighs clenched under your hands and his abs tensed. 

You forced your throat to relax, and you reached for one of his hands. You could feel the hesitation when you touched him, but he allowed you to guide him to your head– and he weaved his fingers through your hair as you took him deeper into your mouth. Your eyes prickled with tears that ran down the sides of your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to care with the reactions that he was giving you.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky moaned out your name, his hand tightening around your hair as he pushed. You moaned into him, eyes falling shut as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, not when he was this responsive. He was damn near trembling underneath you, moaning like you’d never heard before. You were high on endorphins and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

Then, you felt it. The jump and twitch in his cock that you often felt inside of you– the telltale sign that he was going to cum. You heard the broken moan fall from his lips next, another indicator. You wanted it. You wanted to taste all of him.

“I can’t– Shit– Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he warned you, his voice coming out broken and desperate. You moaned around him, trying to tell him that it was okay and to please cum. You weren’t sure if it was the vibration from your throat or if he understood, but he was moaning your name a moment later.

You always loved the feel of him filling you up to the brim. This was a different feeling, and you loved it all the same. The salty bitterness of it was delightful, and you swallowed up every drop greedily. It came out in thick, hot spurts, filling your mouth so full that you thought you were going to leak out from the corners of your lips.

When you finally released Bucky from your mouth, he looked down at you, breathless. 

“You okay?” you asked, your voice coming out slightly hoarse from having him in your throat. Bucky stared at you for a few moments before you were both sitting up. 

You were pulled into his lap, legs on either side of his hips, his mouth on yours. If he cared about tasting his own release, he didn’t voice it. His tongue was on yours, licking into your mouth like a man on a mission.

“Gotta be inside you, doll. Please? Let me touch you now?” he begged, kissing down your neck. A shiver ran down your body at the sound of his voice. He was so needy.

“Wanna ride you,” you told him, reaching between your bodies to feel him– he was already hard again, as if he didn’t just release a fat load into your mouth. His refractory period was always short.

You pushed against his chest next, his back hitting the headboard as you quickly moved. You took off the final piece of clothing that separated the two of you, discarding your underwear somewhere to the side. Bucky groaned at the sight of your pussy glistening, exposed to him. 

You positioned yourself over him, both of you letting out a soft moan as you let him slide against your folds, wetting him with your own juices for a few moments. His hands rested on your hips as you did, but he took no charge in moving you. You finally shifted properly, catching the tip of him in your entrance, slowly sinking down on him.

You hadn’t had him in a month. 

The stretch was delicious, your eyes falling shut, your moan mixing with his as your forehead rested against Bucky’s. His hands tightened on your hips, letting you know how much he was being affected by just the feel of you surrounding him like this. He waited for you to be ready, to move first. 

You grinded against him experimentally, whimpering at the feeling. Then, you started. You lifted your hips, then slammed back down onto him. You watched as his head hit back against the headrest, his eyes closing shut as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Yeah? Let me make you feel better, baby,” he grunted. “Let me fuck you even better.”

You weren’t the most athletic person ever. Your thighs were beginning to burn, your legs were getting tired, your core was getting sore– and you wanted Bucky to fuck you. But you wanted to watch him like this just a little bit longer. 

“Mm… Not yet,” you said, letting out a breathy giggle as you ground your hips against his again. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, leaning his head against yours. He started rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs, trying to coax you as you continued to ride him. “Come on, baby. I know you love it when I fuck you– when I play with your clit and press against your stomach. You want me to do that for you? I’ll fuck you through your orgasm, make you cum again and again for me. It’ll feel so good, doll.”

You whimpered at his words, eyes rolling back. You were breaking. You did want that. 

“I’ll put a pillow under your hips, too. It’ll let me hit inside you deeper. You always ask for me to go deeper, don’t you?” he continued, voice low and lips close to your ear. “Always want me so hard and deep– never fast. Just always wanting to feel all of me.”

“Bucky,” you moaned, gripping onto his forearms.

“Just let me know when, pretty girl. Tell me when, and I’ll take such good care of you,” he promised, squeezing your hip again. 

You let out another breathy moan, contemplating your options, recognizing your burning hips… Then nodded. A moment later, you were on your back with a pillow folded in half under your hips– and Bucky snapped his hips into you with enough force to move the bed a couple inches. 

“There you go,” Bucky whispered, eyes roaming all over your figure as he set a slow, yet punishing pace. He fulfilled everything he said he would. 

His fingers were dancing on your clit, another hand was pressed against your abdomen, he was fucking into you hard and deep– everything to make you fall apart as quickly as possible on his cock.

“It’s too much,” you gasped, eyes falling shut.

Bucky chuckled from above you. “Too much? You wanted this, doll. Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head violently, unable to find the words. You gripped at the pillows at your head, feeling the thread within you begin to pull taut as Bucky continued to play your body like a well tuned instrument. At this point, he might as well be a master at your body. 

Bucky knew your body better than you knew it. 

You didn’t even need to tell him that you were about to cum– he was already moving faster, trying to get you to the end quicker. He never stopped fucking you as your body tensed under his. Bucky moaned, hips stuttering as your walls clenched and fluttered over his cock deliciously.

“Bucky, please,” you moaned, grabbing at him as your hips moved to meet with his. “More–!”

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m not finished with you yet,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. 

“Personally, I think it would be smarter for both of you to just move to the compound. Safer, too,” Sam said as he helped carry the last of the boxes into the truck downstairs. 

“And see you every single day? No,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. 

“The new apartment is closer to the lab, anyways,” you said, smiling at Sam. “Bigger place than either of these spaces, so it’ll be good!”

“Which means you won’t have to bring work home then,” Peter said, sounding hopeful.

You made a face at that. “If anything, I think I might end up at the lab earlier and later because I live closer.”

“Peter, change the codes in the lab every once in a while,” Bucky told him. You froze. Peter nodded immediately. “Don’t let her do that.”

Neither man would listen to your protest as Bucky escorted you into his car– Steve’s old car. Both Peter and Sam piled into the back as Bucky got into the driver’s seat, the moving truck driver following behind you guys as you moved to your new apartment.

The space was definitely bigger, and it was a nicer place. You found out there were some great financial benefits to whatever mission Bucky had last went on, and even more financial benefits that Bucky hadn’t even touched that the Wakandans had given him when he had left their kingdom to come back to the states. You had originally protested the idea of using the savings, but he insisted, saying that he didn’t have anything to spend it on to begin with and there was nothing more that he wanted but to spend it on you.

Besides that, the two of you were already living together already. If you weren’t at his place, he was at yours. There was no logical reason for the two of you to be paying for two apartments at this point, so you looked for a bigger space. One that would allow you to be able to do some work from home if you ever ended up without a lab, and a space for Bucky to be able to have some peace and quiet away from the world that he lived in.

Sam and Peter were here just to help bring boxes up to your new place, which had an elevator. Most of these boxes were yours, anyway. Other than the couch, coffee table, and the bed, all of the furniture was yours.

It took the two of you the entire weekend to unpack, and another weekend to decorate . 

“This is why I didn’t decorate before. Takes too damn long,” he murmured.

“Is that it, or you just didn’t know what to add?” you asked with a grin. 

You didn’t want to make the space look like a museum, but you wanted to bring back pieces that you thought Bucky would appreciate. You had an old record player that was rigged up in a way to be able to play both old record vinyls and connect to bluetooth, as well as forties vinyl records to match it. You included a copy of The Hobbit on the bookshelf next to your textbooks. There were some plants around as well, something to brighten up the space and give Bucky something to do and take care of when you were at the lab. 

As you placed the last picture on the wall– memorabilia of Captain America– you felt Bucky’s arms slide around your waist. Then, his lips were pressing against your shoulder, your neck, and your cheek. 

“Hi,” you hummed, leaning into his touch.

“Hey,” he whispered back. 

You paused at the tone of his voice, and turned in his arms. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry when you saw his face. His eyes were glassy, his own eyebrows knitted together as well.

“Buck?” you asked, holding his face in your hands. “What’s going on?”

“I love you.” 

If he wasn’t already holding you, you were sure you would have fallen over at his confession. Fainted even. However, there was still something else to address at this moment.

“You’re crying because you love me?” you asked, blinking. The confusion must have been evident on your face because he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“No, doll. I'm crying because I’m happy. Overwhelmed. I didn’t think that I would be able to get this in my life. Get someone like you,” he said, smiling. A tear slipped down his cheek, colliding with your thumb. “I feel so damn lucky to have you in my arms every day. I just… I love you so much. You don’t know how much I love you. I think I’ll spend the rest of our lives together trying to prove how much I love you.”

You let out a soft sigh, eyes scanning his face. You smiled back at him, feeling your own emotions begin to get the better of you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you grinned at him. “Thank you for taking care of me when I was drunk that night.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at your words, then pushed his forehead against yours. “You are an awful drunk, you know that?”

“Can’t be too bad though, since you fell for me,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Bucky scoffed, “Yeah, sure. That’s what made me fall for you.”

“Looks like I can’t go out drinking anymore. Wouldn’t want more people falling for me,” you joked.

“Mm… Let them fall, doll,” Bucky hummed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m never letting you leave my side.”

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Love Was Never Part Of The Plan - 1

Summary: You are a jewel thief who’s semi-retired, but you agree to take one last job. However, there’s a catch: you have to steal the jewels from an auction where your former lover is now the head of security.

Character: Security!Bucky x Thief!Female Reader

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Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , -

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The souvenir store was quiet. Almost too quiet.

Wooden masks lined the walls beside racks of overpriced T-shirts that said things like I Climbed Mt. Rinjani and Bali Vibes Only. Cheap postcards curled under the humidity, their glossy finishes fading under the sun filtering through the dusty window. A lazy ceiling fan stirred the warm air like it couldn’t be bothered.

A group of tourists wandered in, wide-eyed and smiling—until they saw the price tags.

“Seventy dollars for a keychain?” one of them blurted.

They turned on their heels and scurried out, muttering in disbelief.

“Come again,” you said, not looking up from your Kindle, where a tawdry romance novel had just reached the part where the heroine was about to run off with the stable boy.

“Seriously, how is this place still operating?” one of the tourists whispered near the door. “The prices are insane.”

“Money laundering,” their friend replied under their breath. “It’s just a front.”

“Shhh. Not so loud,” the other hushed.

A smirk tugged at your lips. Not half wrong, you thought. But they had no idea just how deep that truth went.

This wasn’t just a front. It was a hideout.

Because you used to be one of the top jewelry thieves in the world. Top three, if you were being modest. Interpol had your face on a board somewhere—red-circled, underlined, probably with notes like extremely dangerous and deceptively charming. You were a ghost now, buried in fake names and burned passports, sipping instant coffee behind a counter full of overpriced junk.

You’d had it all once: the thrill, the heists, the world at your feet. But success demanded sacrifices—friends, family... love.

Especially love.

You still thought about him sometimes. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the smell of his cologne, his Sunday habit of buying the same two donuts—one glazed, one chocolate sprinkles. He was too good. Too pure for the world you lived in.

The bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t look up.

Footsteps—slow, deliberate—crossed the floorboards. You could already hear the smirk in his voice before he spoke.

“So this is how you enjoy your retirement?” he asked, lacing mockery with elegance, his British accent as annoyingly smooth as ever.

“This store isn’t dog-friendly,” you replied dryly, eyes still on your Kindle.

He chuckled. The sound hadn’t changed. Infuriatingly charming. “Don’t you miss an old friend?”

He leaned in and rested his elbow on your desk, now face-to-face with you.

You sighed, closed your Kindle with a soft snap, and finally looked up. “What do you want, Edward?”

He smiled, and time did a strange thing—it slipped for a moment, like you were back in Paris, or Istanbul, or anywhere you'd danced on the edge of danger together.

“I’ll go straight to the point,” he said.

From the inside pocket of his blazer, he pulled out a velvet pouch, casually as if it were a piece of gum. He opened it and held something up to the light.

Your breath caught.

The diamond shimmered unnaturally, catching light in a way that seemed to bend it.

“Is that—” you started.

Your eyes narrowed. You tilted your head.

“Wait. That’s not real.”

Edward raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Correct. It’s a replica.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. “So you’re into counterfeits now?”

He shook his head. “No. I just wanted to give you a preview.”

He dangled the diamond between two fingers like a baited hook.

“This,” he said, voice dropping, “will be making its first public appearance… at the upcoming auction.”

Your heart stuttered.

It couldn’t be.

The Lazarus Diamond.

A gem whispered about in underworld circles for decades. Said to be cursed, said to be priceless. No one knew where it was—some claimed it was locked in a dictator’s underground vault, others said it was sewn into the pillow of a mad queen. One rumor claimed it had been smuggled onto a spaceship, hidden in plain sight among the stars.

You’d only ever seen it in sketches, in a rare, out-of-print book hand-drawn by the original creators—diamond smiths who vanished not long after its final cut.

“I thought it was a myth,” you whispered.

Edward’s eyes gleamed. “It’s very real. And the real one will be there. In glass. Surrounded by armed guards, lasers, pressure sensors… and a few people who will kill for it.”

You stared at him, the weight of the moment settling in.

This wasn’t a sales pitch. It was a challenge.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked carefully.

He leaned in closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Because I know you, love. You’re bored out of your mind. Selling fake tribal masks to tourists and reading romance novels in a dusty shop? That’s not you.”

His gaze sharpened. “But this? This is you. One last job.”

Your pulse quickened.

You hated that he was right.

Your hands itch. That familiar tingle in your fingertips—the one you thought you'd buried four years ago—starts to creep back like a ghost. Your heart races, hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to break out.

You stare at the diamond in Edward’s hand.

Fake or not, it calls to you.

There’s something primal about it, like the curiosity of a child wanting to prove if the Loch Ness Monster is real. That diamond is your Nessie. The kind of thing that wakes something feral in your blood. The thrill. The hunger.

You swallow hard, trying to shove it down.

No. You promised yourself. You walked away. You let go.

But the sensation won’t fade. It never does.

Edward watches you with that infuriating smirk, like a cat who’s already caught the mouse. “I can see you’re holding back,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “Let it go. Kleptomaniacs like us? We never really stop.”

You glance at him, jaw tight. “Why me, Edward? I quit. I’ve left that life behind.”

He raises both hands in mock surrender, feigning innocence. “Sure, sure. Four years is a long time. And hey—no one has to steal when they’re already robbing tourists blind with twenty-dollar keychains made in a warehouse probably worse than China’s worst factory.”

You narrow your eyes.

He leans in, tone suddenly all business. “Do you want to hear how much the job pays?”

Silence.

Then, casually, “Four million. Each.”

You blink. “Eight million dollars?”

Edward gives a single, slow nod. “Clean split. No middlemen. Just you and me. Old times.”

You hesitate.

“Where’s the auction?”

“The Valmont Gallery,” he says smoothly. “You’ve hit it before—remember the ruby job?”

Your fingers instinctively touch the red gem on your earring—small, unassuming, and worth enough to buy a small country.

“I did take that ruby necklace from under six guards' noses,” you murmur.

Edward grins. “And now you're wearing the earrings. Sentimental.”

Then, with a flourish, he produces a folded sheet of paper from seemingly nowhere—sleight of hand, smooth as silk. He always does it dramatically since he used to be a magician. “Contract,” he says, laying it on the counter. “Sign here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So this is why you came back?”

But you’re already picking up the pen.

You sign without hesitation. That itch in your fingers? It's back in full force.

You slide the contract across the counter. “This should be easy.”

“Ah,” you say, suddenly serious. “What about the security?”

Edward’s smirk falters. Just a flicker—but you catch it.

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a thick, sealed folder. He sets it in front of you carefully, almost reverently.

“You’ve signed the contract,” he says. “Which means once you open this, you can’t kill me. That’s the deal.”

You scoff. “You always did have trust issues.”

Still, you open the folder.

And then—your stomach drops.

Your eyes widen. Your breath catches. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the folder.

The floor feels like it tilts slightly beneath you.

Edward just leans back, hands in his pockets, watching your face with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You look up at him, fury dancing in your gaze.

“You motherfucker,” you whisper.

💎💎💎💎

The room buzzed with tension.

Rows of high-definition monitors covered the walls, each displaying different angles of the estate: the main gallery, the vault, the loading bays, even the staff lounge. The glow of the screens cast a bluish light across the room. The hum of surveillance equipment blended with the quiet clicking of keyboards and murmurs of the security team.

Technicians in uniform moved swiftly between stations, calibrating motion detectors, checking thermal sensors, and scanning for electronic interference.

“We’ve scanned every corner, sir,” one officer reported, glancing over his shoulder at the man standing in the center of the room. “No blind spots. Everything’s tight.”

The man didn’t respond right away. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the central monitor where the diamond exhibit was displayed. His presence alone demanded attention—calm, composed, and quietly commanding.

“Good,” he said finally, voice low but firm.

James Barnes—Bucky to the people who dared to get close—had worked security at Valmont for six years. Before this, he’d served in the Navy—special ops. He didn’t talk much about it, but the way he moved, the way he watched—it was obvious he’d been trained for danger. And since taking over head of security, not a single breach had occurred under his watch.

He wasn’t always this rigid. Once, he’d been warmer, easier to laugh. That was before the gallery was hit four years ago. A master thief slipped past his system, stealing a priceless ruby necklace that once belonged to Queen Amélie of France.

The very same month, his girlfriend asked him to break up, because he was busy with the gallery.

He blamed himself for both.

So he poured everything into the gallery. Upgraded systems. Increased patrols. Refused any margin of error.

Now, with the Lazarus Diamond arriving in one week, the stakes were higher than ever.

“There won’t be a second chance,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

He turned to the team. “I’ll do an inspection myself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky moved through the marble halls like a shadow. His shoulder-length hair—untied, slightly tousled—fell just past his jaw, framing his face with rugged intensity. He checked every security camera casing for tampering, tapped each fire alarm to test response time, and noted a minor delay in one of the motion sensor lights.

He flagged it on his tablet instantly.

The gallery was pristine. Elegant glass cases showcased centuries-old relics under precision lighting. Velvet ropes lined the perimeter. Bucky scanned for signs of vandalism, irregularities in air pressure, and electronic noise. All clear.

Occasionally, tourists approached with confused expressions, clutching maps and murmuring in foreign languages.

“This way to the Impressionist Wing.” “No, ma’am, the auction preview begins next week.” “Sir, please step behind the barrier. Thank you.”

He liked the calm of the place. It was the visitors who brought the chaos—but it was manageable. Predictable.

Until it wasn’t.

He rounded a corner, deep in his route, when—

Thud. He collided with someone. A bag hit the ground. Lipsticks, pens, a phone, a compact mirror spilled across the floor.

“Shit—sorry, ma’am,” Bucky said quickly, kneeling to help.

His fingers brushed over a lipstick tube—deep red. The same brand. The same shade he bought once in Paris.

He froze.

The voice above him broke the illusion. Soft. Familiar. Dangerous. “Thank you. That’s… important to me.”

His head snapped up.

His breath caught.

You stood there.

Hair tucked behind your ears, a polite smile on your face—but your eyes were a storm.

“Hi, Bucky.”

For a full second, he just stared at you—like a ghost had walked in from the past.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, cautious. “Oh. Hi. You’re… here.”

You gave a nervous shrug, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. I… kinda missed home.”

Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the chaos inside you.

Bucky looked even better than you remembered. He hadn’t tied his hair back—just let it fall freely, slightly windblown. His jaw was sharper. Shoulders broader. That quiet, deadly calm about him had only deepened. He looked like someone who could command a room without raising his voice.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you, Edward.

Your mind spun.

He knew. Edward knew. That bastard sent you here, knowing the head of security was your ex-boyfriend.

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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[mandoalorian]

and if i am undone, let it be by you [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky x f!reader

synopsis: with bob still missing and doom's arrival drawing near, the new avengers begin to fracture under the weight of uncertainty. as the team struggles to hold together, you delve deeper into the secrets of the multiverse… and sam calls in a favour from an old ally.

word count: 8000

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, mdni, unprotected p in v, fingering, intimate moment in the bath 🛁, bucky uses the shower head on you, biting, praise kink, lots of filth and dirty talk, yours and bucky’s first time (finally!), bucky shows a little insecurity, nightmares, more steve angst, canon typical action & jargon re the multiverse, cursing, avengers tower fic, the new avengers are breaking.

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previous part | current | next part [coming soon!]

The doors hissed open, and John Walker stepped in like a storm in boots. “Please tell me someone’s got eyes on Bob.”

Silence.

Yelena didn’t even look up from the holomap. “If someone did, you’d have heard it already.”

“I’ve been out there for six hours,” John growled, tossing his taco shaped shield onto the table with a clang. “And I’ve seen nothing. Where the hell could he have gone?”

“I told you already,” Ava snapped, arms folded. “He’s not gone. He slipped into the void again. Or it slipped into him. Same difference.”

Alexei let out a low growl from across the room. “You speak of him like he is some… dark entity. He is a boy. A scared one.”

“He’s a threat!” Ava fired back, stepping toward him. “You didn’t see his eyes in that last fight. Something inside him is changing. He said so himself.”

“Something inside all of us is changing!” Alexei roared. “We went from fighting people, to fighting gods and monsters! You think we walk out the same as we walked in?”

“Hey, hey—” John stepped between them. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Yelena snorted. “Oh please, don’t act like you’re the stable one here. I’ve watched you throw chairs for less.”

“I am stable,” John said, jabbing a finger at her. “I’m just tired of chasing ghosts while our strongest asset is out there, probably going nuclear.”

“Asset?” Yelena scoffed. “You call Bob an asset, like he’s some military experiment? No wonder you can’t connect with anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you’re the queen of emotional stability now,” John snapped. “Wasn’t it you who shoved a blade through a drone last week just because it beeped at you?”

“It startled me!” Yelena shouted.

“It was an espresso machine.” Ava sighed quietly,

“Enough!” Alexei bellowed, slamming his fists down on the edge of the table. The entire platform rattled. “We are wasting time. My son is out there!”

The room fell silent.

Even Ava flinched. “You think of him like he’s yours?”

Alexei turned, voice suddenly quiet and broken. “He looks at me like I’m his father. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t earn it. But I feel it. Every time he calls me by my name. Not ‘Red Guardian’, but Alexei. Every time he asks me if I’m proud of him.”

Yelena’s mouth tightened.

Ava said nothing.

John looked away.

And then, Ava phased—literally. Her molecules flickered, and she sank into the floor, escaping before emotion could expose her.

The silence was loud now, hanging heavy in the air.

And then Bucky finally spoke. He’d been leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching them all unravel. “Ava, get back here. Now.”

The dark haired girl immediately reappeared, guilt and shame etched on her face. 

His voice cut like a wire snapping. “This is exactly what Doom wants.”

Eyes turned.

“You think he’s coming for Bob?” Bucky asked. “For Reed? For revenge? No. He’s coming because we’re fractured. Because he knows if he pushes hard enough, this team breaks.”

He stood tall now, stepping into the centre of the room. “We’ve all lost people. We’ve all watched universes end. The Blip. The Void. But that kid—Bob? He believed in us. Every single one of us. He saw something good here.”

He looked at John. “You saved his life. Remember that.”

Then at Ava. “You protected him like a sister, even when you pretended not to care.”

He met Yelena’s eyes. “You were the first to train him when he got here.”

And finally Alexei. “And you… you gave him something none of us could. A family.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “We don’t give up on our family.”

There was a long pause.

“…So what do we do?” Yelena asked quietly.

“We plan,” Bucky said. “We get smart. We go back to his last steps, track every anomaly, every void echo. Ava’s gonna help me pull system scans. John, I want you on street patrol. Check every safehouse, every contact. Yelena—dig up anything Reed might’ve missed. Alexei, take the sublevels and tunnels.”

He took one final glance around the room.

“We’ve got three cycles before Doom shows up. We find Bob before then. No excuses. No egos. Just the mission.”

John stepped forward and grabbed his shield.

“…Yeah,” he said. “Alright.”

Yelena nodded, brushing a hand under her eyes.

Alexei cracked his knuckles. “Let’s bring him home.”

────✪────

The elevator ride to the sublevels was silent, save for the low drone of machinery humming beneath your feet. Down here, time felt warped—like every second stretched a little longer, wore a little heavier. It was colder, too. The kind of sterile cold that seeped into your bones and reminded you that this was the edge of something unnatural.

The whir of fluorescent lights overhead barely masked the buzz in your head as you stepped back into the lab.

Reed Richards stood alone in front of a levitating schematic, the blue light washing over his gaunt features. He didn’t even glance up when you stepped inside.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” you said.

He blinked slowly. “Define ‘something.’”

You walked closer, peering over the layers of holographic data. “Doom’s location?”

“Gone.”

Your pulse skipped. “What do you mean gone? Gone like our Johnny is gone?” Your patience was wearing thin. 

“I had a trace,” he said, voice clipped. “Three cycles out, stable and predictable. But sometime around 7pm, the energy signature dissipated. Phased out of spectrum or slipped through something I can’t yet detect. The signature we were monitoring—it blinked out. Cloaked. Or maybe moved dimensions. Or he’s… I don’t know. I’ve rerun every model. He’s vanished.”

You frowned. “So he’s still coming… we just don’t know how or where.”

“Correct. Best estimate still remains: three cycles. But I feel like I’m navigating the end of the world with a paper map and a flashlight.”

You let that hang in the air. The number tasted sour in your mouth. “We… really appreciate your help. Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe you need a break.”

“Doom is coming, I can’t make time for a break,” Reed scoffed, like your suggestion was crazy. 

“But I think that maybe—“ you started but Reed cut you off.

“I’m fine.” Reed finally looked at you, a flash of annoyance on his face. “Why are you here?”

You nodded. “Thought I should check in.”

“With Johnny?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “How’s he doing?”

He rubbed the back of his neck—nervously, which was rare for him. “Worse today. He doesn’t like confinement. Keeps igniting himself just to set off the sensors. I’m worried he’s going to fry the shielding.”

“Fuck,” you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing away all of this. What you’d give for things to go back to normal…

But then, you’d never have met Bucky.

Reed moved aside, allowing you to access the containment room console. “He’s starting to feel like a caged animal. I won’t be able to hold him here forever.”

You didn’t answer. Just keyed in the security code.

The door hissed open.

Johnny Storm sat cross-legged on the metal cot inside, tossing a ball of fire from palm to palm. He didn’t look at you when you entered.

“Ah, the babysitter returns! You should start charging me rent,” he muttered.

“You’ve been here less than 24 hours,” you sighed at his dramatics before approaching cautiously. “Wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“Oh, I tried leaving,” he said, still not looking. “Some pretty aggressive energy shielding kept me from burning through the wall. Not bad for a toaster scientist.”

You fought a smile. “Reed’s doing his best.”

“That makes one of us,” he snapped.

Silence hung between you.

Then he glanced up, expression unreadable. “So. You gonna tell me what’s really going on?”

You sat on the edge of the metal bench opposite him. “That depends. You ready to cooperate?”

“I’m not the one holding you in a room.”

You took a breath. “Fine. Doom’s arrival is accelerating. Reed says three cycles left. Maybe less.”

Johnny’s expression changed. “Doom? He’s back?”

“Back? He was never here in the first place,” you narrowed your eyes. 

“No but…” Johnny froze up.

“Wait, Johnny, do you know him?”

He laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound. “Know him? I’ve fought him. Victor Von Doom—industrialist-turned-magic-wielding-megalomaniac? Yeah. We go way back.”

You stepped closer. “Then tell me everything.”

Johnny paused, watching you.

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. The Doom in your universe—did he ever talk about crossing dimensions?”

“He talked about dominating them. Said this world was soft. Idealistic. He always wanted to burn it down and start over.” He frowned. “Wait… you think it’s my Doom?”

“We don’t know. But this variant has Tony Stark’s face, and he’s already leveling cities off-world. We need any edge we can get.”

Johnny blinked. “Who the hell is Tony Stark?”

You stared.

“Wait—Iron Man? Genius, billionaire—?”

“Never heard of him,” Johnny said, brow furrowed. “That a comic book character?”

Your skin prickled and you figured you’d try your luck. “Okay. What about Captain America?”

Johnny shook his head. “Is that, like, a propaganda mascot?”

You inhaled sharply.

He noticed your expression shift. “Hey, what?”

“It’s nothing. Just… we’ve been assuming some shared universal constants. Clearly, that was naive. Do you have the Avengers?”

“I’m not even going to even ask what the Avengers is,” he said, “my universe has four overworked, underpaid cosmic disaster magnets trying to keep Doom from melting entire cities.”

“And you… you were one of them.”

“Yes!The Human Torch. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” He gave a cocky little smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You gave him a look. “You’re aware you’re currently stuck in a universe that thinks you’re a ghost.”

“Yeah, and apparently I look like your dead best friend or whatever?”

“He wasn’t mine,” you said quietly. “I didn’t know him. My brother idolised him when we were kids, but… I only ever saw him on a screen or in magazines or action figures.”

Johnny’s demeanour shifted.

“Still. That’s gotta be weird. Seeing me.”

“It’s… disorienting,” you admitted. “It’s like staring at a memory I never actually lived.”

He nodded slowly. “Well, for what it’s worth… I’m not him.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s everyone else I’m worried about.”

He tilted his head. “You mean Barnes… I overheard your conversation with Richards.”

You tensed. “You don’t need to say his name.”

“But that’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Johnny leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re scared he’ll see me and unravel.”

“He’s been through enough.”

“So have I.”

That made you pause.

You studied him—closely, quietly. There was still heat radiating off him, but not like before. This was grief, frustration, confusion. The raw edges of someone pulled from his world and dropped into a foreign body. His aura.

“Do you miss your world?” you asked.

“Every minute,” he said. “But I miss my sister more.”

You blinked. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah. Sue. And Reed, Ben—my team.” He glanced at the door. “Even Doom, in some twisted way. At least he made sense.”

You swallowed. “We’ll get you home.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You promise?”

You tried to smile. “I’ll do my best.”

He stood then, walking toward you slowly. Not threatening—just steady.

“I’m sorry I lashed out before,” he said. “It’s been a mindfuck.”

“I get it.”

He stopped just inches away.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Or remind you of someone you lost.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

Something in the air between you went still. He smelled faintly like ozone, like charged air after a storm.

“Three cycles,” you said. “That’s what we’ve got before Doom makes landfall. And Reed can’t track him anymore.”

Johnny let that sink in. “So we fight. Together.”

You nodded. “But for now… you stay here.”

He sighed, resigned but not bitter. “Fine. But someone better bring me food that doesn’t taste like chalk.”

You smirked. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As the door sealed behind you, your heart pounded.

Steve Rogers was long gone.

But his face was standing in a room behind you, glowing with cosmic fire.

────✪────

The rooftop was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below and the rhythmic pulse of helicopter blades somewhere far off. The wind tugged gently at your clothes, lifting your hair as you stepped out onto the open concrete. You found Sam sitting on the edge of the helipad, legs dangling over the side like he didn’t have a care in the world, though you knew better.

You walked over and sat beside him without saying a word. For a while, neither of you did.

The city stretched out endlessly below, lit like it was trying to mimic the stars above. It smelled faintly of ozone and jet fuel, familiar and oddly comforting.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” you said softly.

Sam didn’t look at you at first. He just sipped from the cup in his hands—probably black coffee, lukewarm by now—and tilted his head toward the skyline. “It’s the only place I can breathe lately.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

You sat in silence for a moment longer. Then he turned to you, studying you like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough.

“You look like hell.”

You laughed—quiet, tired. “Thanks.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged. “There’s too much to say. Not enough time.”

Sam leaned back on his hands, the movement casual, but his voice was anything but. “You know you don’t have to carry all this alone, right? You got people.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s just hard to know what parts I can share.”

He gave you a side-eye. “Try me.”

You smiled softly. “Let’s just say… I’m learning there are more versions of this world than I ever imagined. And some of them? They bleed through. Even when you’re not ready.”

Sam was quiet a moment. “Multiverse.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. God. It would be so nice if there were someone who… specialised in that kind of thing. You know, someone who didn’t blink when the fabric of reality tore open in front of him.”

Sam chuckled under his breath. “I might know a guy.”

You blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Nope. He’s eccentric. Kinda dramatic. Has a goatee that makes him look like he just stepped out of a Victorian funeral home.”

You laughed. “What does he do?”

“Magic,” Sam said simply. “Or… something that looks like it.”

You turned to face him. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re telling me you know a wizard?”

Sam grinned. “Yeah. A real one. Flies without wings. Opens portals with his hands. He lives in this big haunted-looking place in Greenwich Village.”

You squinted. “You’re not messing with me?”

“Not even a little.” Sam shifted his weight and nudged your shoulder gently. “He helped us during the Infinity mess. And again with… everything after. He doesn’t always pick up his magic phone, but when he does, he tends to solve problems the rest of us can’t even pronounce.”

You exhaled slowly. “Sounds like exactly who we need.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll reach out. Might take a little time, but I’ll do what I can.”

You turned your head toward him, touched. “Sam…”

He gave you a look—soft, protective. “You didn’t ask. I’m offering. Whatever this is? You’re not in it alone.”

You smiled, swallowing past the knot in your throat. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat there a little longer, letting the silence stretch again, not awkward this time but full of something warm and unspoken. The city below, the sky above, and a million unknowns in between.

Finally, just as he stood to leave, you asked, “What’s his name?”

Sam paused, looked back over his shoulder with a small smirk, and said—

“Stephen Strange.”

Then he was gone, leaving the night colder but your hope a little warmer.

────✪────

You closed the door to your bedroom behind you with a soft click, leaning your forehead against it for a second longer than necessary. The conversation with Sam replayed in your head—his promise, his quiet strength, the name Stephen Strange echoing through your thoughts like a bell rung too close to your ears. Your body was buzzing with exhaustion and tension all at once. The kind of pressure that lived in your chest and shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

You didn’t even notice Bucky at first.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, head turned toward the window where the city lights poured in like liquid gold. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, dog tags glinting in the glow.

His eyes met yours the moment you moved. He read you instantly—because of course he did.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, standing. “What happened?”

You forced a small smile, voice hoarse. “Just… was out on the rooftop. It was cold.” It was only a half-lie.

He crossed the room in three strides and was in front of you, his hands cupping your face before you could think. The way he looked at you—searching, tender, that quiet kind of worry he wore like armour—you nearly crumbled.

“You’re stressed,” he said, low and steady. He saw straight through you. “Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”

You blinked up at him. “Bucky, I don’t need—”

“I’m not talking about fixing the world,” he cut in gently. “I just want to help you breathe again.”

You swallowed hard.

“Come with me,” he said.

He took your hand and led you into the bathroom. You hadn’t even noticed him running the water, but the tub was nearly full, steam curling into the air like a warm fog. Candles flickered from the sink and windowsill. The scent of eucalyptus filled the room—soothing, clean.

“I figured…” he began, then paused. “You take care of everyone else. Let me do this for you.”

You stared at the water, at the candlelight reflecting off his eyes, and suddenly, something inside you cracked open.

You nodded.

“I’ll wait outside if you want privacy,” he offered.

But your fingers were already slipping into the hem of your shirt. “Stay.”

His throat bobbed. “Yeah?”

You met his gaze. “Join me.”

The water lapped softly against the porcelain as you leaned back, steam curling around your shoulders, calming the tension in your chest.

But when you looked up and saw him watching you from the doorway — jaw set, eyes unreadable — something inside you twisted tight with nervous anticipation.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and almost hoarse. “You want me in there with you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He didn’t move right away. Just let his gaze linger on you for a second longer, as if committing the sight of you in the bath to memory. Then he reached for the hem of his shirt.

You tried not to stare. You really tried.

But when the fabric lifted and his chest came into view — all lean muscle, old scars, and the quiet strength of a man who’d survived more than anyone should — your breath hitched in your throat.

He stripped slowly, deliberately, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to rush. As if he were giving you a chance to look away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His metal arm glinted faintly in the soft, golden light, catching on the rivulets of steam that curled through the room. You followed the line of his torso with your eyes, past the faint trail of hair down his stomach to the waistband of his boxers.

Bucky paused when he caught your stare.

“I’m not exactly… a pretty sight,” he muttered, eyes dipping to the water like he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze.

“Bucky,” you said softly, and he looked at you again — wary, like he was bracing for something that never came. “You’re beautiful.”

The words spilled out before you could second-guess them. And once they were out, you didn’t want to take them back.

He huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, and finally stepped out of the last layer between him and you. You caught the faint tremble in his hands as he did, the unspoken weight of vulnerability in every movement.

And then he was climbing in beside you, the water shifting and rising with his presence.

You made room for him, settling against the opposite side of the tub. Your knees brushed under the surface.

It was quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, but thick with something unspoken. Reverent. He didn’t look at you right away. Just leaned back and exhaled, the heat loosening the muscles in his shoulders, in his jaw. Like it was the first time in days — maybe years — he’d let himself relax.

And then his eyes found yours again, dark and unsure.

Then you reached for him — gently, slowly — and he came without hesitation, shifting so you could rest your back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your middle beneath the water. His lips brushed your temple.

You leaned back into his chest, your head resting beneath his chin, the heat from the water soaking into your bones — but it was him that made you feel warm. His presence, his arms around your waist, his breathing slowly falling in sync with yours.

Then, without a word, Bucky reached for the bath oil on the rim. Unscrewed the lid, poured a small pool into his hand. The floral scent mixed with steam, soft and soothing.

He brought his palms to your shoulders, slow and steady, and began to knead.

A sigh slipped out of you before you could catch it.

“Yeah?” he murmured near your ear, voice low and fond.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His thumbs worked into the tension at the base of your neck, careful and steady, tracing the edges of your shoulder blades and easing the tightness you didn’t realise you’d been carrying. His metal hand stayed at your side, warm from the water, anchoring you there — holding you like you were something precious.

You melted under his touch, sinking further into him, into the way he treated your body like it deserved to be cherished.

“You’ve been holding the world on your back,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. “Let me carry it for a while.”

You didn’t say anything. Just turned your face into his neck and let yourself breathe.

His fingers drifted upward, threading gently through your hair.

“You mind?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Please.”

He reached for the shampoo with one hand while the other gently gathered your hair behind you. He was so careful — so tender — massaging your scalp in slow, circular motions, working the lather through each strand as if this moment were the only one that mattered. He cradled your head like it was the most natural thing in the world, rinsing the suds away with soft strokes and whispered reassurances.

“Feels nice,” you murmured.

His voice came next to your ear, low and warm. “Good. You deserve nice.”

You turned in his arms just enough to see his face — calm, almost bashful — and gently reached for the bottle yourself.

“My turn,” you said with a small smile.

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Sit back.”

And to your quiet amazement, he did — just like that. Trusting you with something so small, but so vulnerable.

You poured the shampoo into your hand and moved in close, brushing your fingers through his dark, damp hair. His eyes fluttered shut as your nails scratched lightly against his scalp, his head tipping back slightly into your touch.

It struck you, then — how often did he get to be taken care of? To let his guard down?

You weren’t sure. But you were damn sure going to make this count.

“Feels good,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Good. You deserve nice too, y’know.”

He opened one eye at that, and the look he gave you — equal parts grateful, adoring, and stunned — made your chest ache.

The bathwater shifted gently between you as you rinsed the soap from his hair, your hands lingering at the nape of his neck. Your noses brushed. His breath hitched.

And for one suspended moment, it felt like the world outside the bathroom simply... stopped.

The bathwater sloshed gently around you both, warmed by the glow of candlelight and the low hum of Bucky’s breathing behind you. His strong thighs bracketed yours, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. It was quiet—soothing. His fingers trailed idle patterns on your stomach, up along your ribs, barely ghosting the underswell of your breasts.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, voice thick with warmth and something else—something heavier, molten.

You turned your head slightly, catching the corner of his mouth with yours. He kissed you slow, tender. Lips parting like it was the first time all over again. When you gasped softly into his mouth, his hand drifted lower. Curious. Careful. He cupped your heat beneath the water, the gesture instinctual but full of restraint.

“Can I…?” he asked against your lips, his voice low, rough, reverent.

Your breath caught. You nodded. “Please.”

He kissed your neck as his fingers slipped between your thighs, parting you gently beneath the water. His other arm tightened around you, grounding you as he slowly slid one finger inside you. You gasped, your body tensing from the sudden stretch and the feel of him—so intimate, so close.

“Shh… you’re okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing behind your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

And he did.

Every movement was patient, controlled, worshipful. He curled his finger inside you just right, watching your face tilt up toward the ceiling, your mouth falling open in a soft moan. The bathwater rippled with each slow thrust of his hand, the tension building, his palm pressing against your clit in smooth, gentle circles that made your thighs twitch.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your hips rocking involuntarily, pushing back against him, chasing the edge.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered. “So goddamn perfect.”

A second finger slid inside and your breath hitched. His metal hand cradled your hip as you writhed against him, water sloshing softly with each shift. He kissed the side of your throat, your shoulder, murmuring low praise into your skin.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.”

And you did. You fell apart in his arms with your hand clenched in his hair and your mouth on his shoulder, moaning his name like it meant salvation. He held you through it, rocked you through every tremble.

And even as the waves of pleasure faded, he didn’t let go.

He just whispered, “That’s my girl.”

You were still trembling in his arms when you felt the soft brush of his lips on your shoulder, lingering like a promise. Bucky cradled you tighter, one hand gently splayed across your stomach, his other still between your thighs, not moving—just resting there, keeping you open and warm in the aftermath.

"Still with me?" he murmured against your ear.

You nodded, eyes fluttering open. “Barely.”

He chuckled low, kissed your cheek. “Good. Because I’m not done showing you how good this can feel.”

You blinked at him, heart skipping.

He shifted behind you, the water sloshing softly as he reached for the detachable shower head hooked to the wall. You looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Trust me?” he asked, voice quiet but full of that same molten heat he always kept hidden behind a steel jaw.

You nodded again. “Always.”

He smiled—a soft, dark smile—and turned the dial. The shower head vibrated gently to life, the narrow stream of water hissing softly as he adjusted the setting. A low, teasing spray pulsed in rhythmic beats from the nozzle, and Bucky tested it against his palm before bringing it down between your thighs.

Your breath caught—your entire body going taut.

“Relax,” he whispered, letting your head rest against his shoulder again. “I’ve got you, doll.”

The first pass of the water was a gentle caress—just enough to make you gasp, your thighs instinctively pressing together. But Bucky’s hand was there again, metal and sure, keeping you open.

The second pass made you moan.

You felt your hips twitch forward, a low whimper falling from your lips as the spray focused directly on your clit. The pulsing rhythm from the nozzle hit your nerve endings like lightning. Bucky’s mouth was at your neck again, teeth grazing your skin, one hand stroking your stomach as the other expertly guided the water over your most sensitive spot.

"That's it," he murmured. "Look at you… fuck, you’re perfect like this.”

You whimpered his name and felt his arm tighten around your waist.

“Please,” you whispered, breathless.

“I know, baby. I know.”

You relaxed into him as the stream found your clit, and a soft moan spilled from your lips—unexpected, delicious, embarrassingly needy. He angled the water again and fuck, your hips jolted forward.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You like when I do that to you?”

You whimpered in response, legs trembling in the water.

“You ever touch yourself like this?” he asked, voice a little darker now—deeper. “In the bath? In the shower?”

Your lips parted, heart pounding. “…Back at the safe house,” you admitted softly. “That night we had to share the bed… I couldn’t stop thinking about you, in the other room, undressing. Had to pretend like— like I didn’t want you right there and then.”

Bucky groaned in your ear, the sound low and guttural. The water pulsed against you again, and he held you tighter, guiding your hips just slightly to ride the rhythm.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “If I had known that… things would have went a lot differently.”

You let out a shaky moan at his implication, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

“You wanna know what I did?” he whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “Every time I was alone in the shower… hand wrapped around my cock, water beating down on me… I was thinking about you. Your mouth. Your thighs. Your pretty little noises. Even when you hated me, I wanted you.”

You whimpered helplessly, pressing back against him.

“I’d picture you dripping for me,” he murmured. “Begging for me. Just like this.”

The confession was too much. Too vivid. Too filthy.

Your thighs tightened, a cry stuck in your throat.

“You gonna come for me again, baby?” he whispered, rotating the angle of the spray just right. “Come knowing I used to fuck my fist just thinking about making you fall apart?”

Your mouth dropped open in a breathless gasp as your entire body went taut, every nerve ending alight. The pleasure hit hard, slamming into you like a wave—your muscles tensing, water splashing over the edge of the tub as you cried out, hips grinding helplessly into the rhythm of the spray.

Bucky held you through it, his hand firm across your stomach, mouth on your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he breathed against your skin. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

You collapsed back into his chest, boneless and dazed, barely able to catch your breath. He pressed kisses along your shoulder, your jaw, your temple, grounding you through the aftershocks.

You let out a shaky laugh, your voice hoarse. “Jesus, Bucky…”

He chuckled, kissing your cheek again. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

Your heart still thundered as he turned off the water and cradled you against him, both of you wrapped in warmth and silence for a long moment.

Your limbs felt boneless, melted from the pleasure still echoing through you like waves lapping the shore. The soft slosh of the bathwater was the only sound, save for your shallow breaths. You blinked slowly, dazed and spent, leaning into Bucky’s chest as the warm water began to cool.

“Hey,” he murmured against your temple, brushing your damp hair back. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you dried off now.”

His voice was so gentle, reverent. You barely managed a nod.

With slow, practiced strength, Bucky slipped his arms under your legs and back. You squeaked softly as he lifted you, and he chuckled—low, fond. Water dripped down your bodies, your skin slipping against his chest, your pulse skipping as you felt his heartbeat against your shoulder.

“Still with me?” he whispered, grinning as he held you tighter.

“Barely,” you murmured. “But I like it here.”

“Me too,” he said, and then he kissed your forehead.

He carried you effortlessly from the bathroom, cradling you like you were something precious, something breakable. The cool air kissed your wet skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Bucky noticed instantly.

“Hold on,” he said, setting you down gently at the edge of the bed. He grabbed one of the thick towels hanging near the bathroom and wrapped it around your frame with the utmost care, tucking the corners around your body like you were a gift he never thought he’d get to unwrap.

“You’re trembling,” he said, crouching before you. “Was it too much?”

You smiled softly, eyes glazed. “No. It was perfect. I just… I can’t believe you did that.”

His gaze flicked down briefly, watching the water drip from your collarbone down into the towel. His jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

You reached for him.

“Your turn,” you whispered.

Bucky rose slowly, water still glistening on his skin, and let the towel slip from your shoulders so he could wrap a new one around his own waist. As he stood, you caught sight of the unmistakable ridge straining against the terrycloth—hard and thick, barely contained.

Your breath hitched.

He followed your eyes and gave a lopsided, bashful smile. “Yeah,” he rasped. “That’s what happens when I watch you come like that.”

You stared. “You’re—”

“Hard as hell,” he finished for you, stepping close between your knees. “For you. Always for you.”

You reached up with both hands, dragging your fingers slowly down the plane of his abdomen, over the curve of his hips, the towel damp and warm beneath your touch. You looked up at him, wide-eyed and awestruck.

“I want you,” you whispered.

Bucky swallowed hard, chest rising.

“Then you have me,” he said, and bent down to scoop you up once more.

This time, he didn’t bother asking permission—he laid you down across the bed with something close to reverence, kissing your bare shoulder as he adjusted the towel around you again.

His hands roamed your body like he was learning scripture—slow, reverent, almost trembling with how much he needed to memorise the way your skin felt under his palms. He wasn’t just touching you; he was worshipping you. Like you were holy. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Bucky murmured as his lips trailed down your neck, voice hoarse with wonder. “Every inch of you… you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

You gasped when his hand slid between your thighs, his eyes drinking in your reaction like it was his only salvation. Your back arched instinctively, your body begging for more.

“I want you to feel good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the curve of your breast, then another just below your ribs. “Wanna take my time. Wanna taste you everywhere. Let me?”

“Please,” you breathed, and he smiled like a man ruined.

He kissed down your stomach with reverence, pulling your towel off your body slowly, like he was unwrapping the last good thing in his life. When he spread your legs and settled between them, the heat of his breath made you shudder.

But when he looked up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with hunger, he froze.

“You sure?” he asked, voice breaking just a little.

“I want you, Bucky. I want all of you,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. “I always have.”

He groaned like the words hurt—like they healed something too.

When he finally pushed inside you, thick and aching and perfect, you bit down on his shoulder—just hard enough to make him hiss, just enough to leave your mark. His body jolted at the sting, a deep growl ripping from his throat, and he held you tighter.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so tight. So warm. I can feel you everywhere, baby. You feel like heaven.”

You barely had time to respond—your mind was already gone, lost in the way he filled you so perfectly, in how he whispered your name like it was a sacred thing. His metal hand held your hip like he was grounding himself, but the other caressed your face, thumbing over your cheek like you were fragile, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

“Gonna take care of you,” he promised between kisses. “Gonna fuck you slow so you feel it for days. Gonna make sure you know what you mean to me.”

You whimpered something unintelligible, overwhelmed with sensation and the way he made you feel so seen, so wanted. Your nails scratched down his back. Your teeth found his neck again.

“Mine,” you whispered against his skin.

That sent him over the edge—his rhythm faltered, his breath catching as he groaned your name again and again, buried so deep inside you it felt like the world disappeared around you.

And still he moved.

Slow, sweet thrusts. Words of worship between panting breaths. He kissed your temple. He kissed the corner of your mouth. He kissed you like you were the last good thing in the world.

“Oh my God, Bucky…”

“Shh… I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

His movements were deep, and steady thrusts that made you feel every part of him. His pace built gradually, like he was savouring every second, watching your face twist in pleasure, whispering how beautiful you looked, how good you felt, how long he’d waited for this.

Then it turned feral.

His hand locked under your knee, hitching your leg higher. His hips slammed into yours, faster now, rougher, but still full of so much feeling. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes never leaving you, every breath a moan.

“You’re mine,” he groaned. “Mine. You feel that?”

“Yes—Bucky—I—fuck, I feel you—”

“Come for me again, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

His words undid you. You shattered again, legs quaking, crying out his name as he fucked you through it—his own release close behind, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you with a deep, broken growl.

He collapsed over you, panting, trembling, pressing kisses along your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone.

You held each other in silence, sweat cooling, hearts slowing, the smell of candle wax and sex thick in the air.

He looked at you like you were the stars.

Outside, the city buzzed with life.

But in here, wrapped in Bucky’s arms, with his warmth still inside you—you finally felt safe.

Your legs were still tangled with his when the silence settled. A soft, reverent kind of silence. Not the awkward kind that follows something rushed or uncertain — this was the kind that came after something real.

Your body was still buzzing from the aftershocks, but your heart… your heart felt raw and full all at once.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, his hand drawing slow, grounding circles over your back. You felt his lips brush the crown of your head like a vow. Like he didn’t quite know how to say what he was feeling yet — only that it mattered. That you mattered.

“You okay?” he murmured against your hair.

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah. Are you?”

His arm tightened around you. “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

You lifted your head to look at him. “In a bad way?”

“No.” His eyes were so soft, so open, so bare. “In the best way.”

You smiled. Sleepy. Full of warmth. But you still noticed the faint furrow between his brows.

“Buck?” you asked gently, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “What is it?”

He exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding something in. “Just didn’t expect that to feel like… that.”

You leaned forward and kissed his jaw. “Me neither.”

He sat up a little, just enough to shift beside you on the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover your body. He took his time — tucking them around you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he stood.

“Don’t go far,” you mumbled.

His chuckle was soft. “Just grabbing a clean towel, sweetheart.”

When he came back, he knelt beside the bed and gently started wiping between your legs — slow, careful, with more tenderness than you ever expected from a man with hands like his. You winced slightly, and he immediately stilled.

“Too much?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. Just a little sore.”

His jaw flexed. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, Bucky.” You reached down, touching his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. “You were perfect.”

He nodded once, like he didn’t quite believe you — but he wanted to. Then he cleaned himself off, tossed the towel in the hamper, and crawled back into bed beside you. Not just beside you — into you. Curled around your back like he was built for it.

You felt his hand slide under the blanket, finding yours beneath the pillow, threading your fingers together.

“Don’t wanna let go of you,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

The room was dark, but not cold. The covers were heavy but comforting. The sheets still smelled like him. Like you. Like this.

“Are you okay?” you asked after a minute.

He hummed. “I keep thinkin’ about how you looked. When I was inside you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you twisted just enough to glance at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You looked like… mine.”

A pause stretched between you.

“Do you want me to be?” you asked softly.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

You swallowed thickly and turned to face him fully, pressing your forehead against his. Your legs tangled again. Your hand found his chest.

“Then I’m yours.”

You felt him smile — and you knew, in that moment, that for all the chaos waiting beyond these walls, you had built something real here. Something that wouldn’t break.

Not easily.

Not ever.

────✪────

The room was still. Just the quiet hum of the city outside, the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

You lay curled in the sheets, your breathing slow and even against Bucky’s chest, your hand tangled with his beneath the blanket.

But Bucky was elsewhere.

His mind had drifted, tugged down by exhaustion and emotion, and when his eyes closed, the world around him changed.

The bed was gone. The warmth. The flickering candlelight.

Now it was dusk, and the Brooklyn pier stretched out before him—old wood creaking underfoot, the water lapping gently against rusted metal pylons.

He heard footsteps.

Turned.

And there he was.

Steve Rogers. Cap tilted back, blond hair catching the dying sunlight. He looked just like Bucky remembered him before the war: young, alive, untouched by the centuries of loss that followed.

Except his eyes weren’t soft.

They were steady. Knowing. Sad.

“You’re late,” Steve said, hands in his pockets.

Bucky froze. “Steve.”

“You haven’t talked to me in a while.”

“Maybe i’ve moved on,” Bucky said, a little sharper than he meant it.

Steve didn’t flinch. “And yet you’ve been burying yourself in guilt for it.”

Bucky exhaled shakily and looked away, out at the water. “I didn’t mean to dream about you.”

“You always do,” Steve said quietly. “Usually when something’s eating at you.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed. “You left.”

“I had to.”

“You didn’t have to,” Bucky snapped, rounding on him. “You chose to. You handed off the shield, said goodbye like it was nothing, and you left me to clean it all up. Again.”

Steve took it. He didn’t argue. Just looked at Bucky with the weight of someone who had known him longer than anyone ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And somehow, that hurt worse than if he’d said nothing at all.

“I didn’t know what to do without you,” Bucky whispered. “I still don’t.”

Steve stepped closer. “Then why are you trying so hard to pretend like you’re fine?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… trying to get over it.”

“With her?”

That stopped him.

Steve’s gaze softened. “You love her.”

Bucky’s throat worked around the words. “I… I don’t know.”

“Buck,” Steve said gently, “when you love someone, you should tell them. Because sometimes the chance doesn’t come again.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky admitted. “What if she wakes up one day and sees me for what I really am? Not just the parts I try to show her, but the broken stuff. The old war dog with blood on his hands. What then?”

Steve stepped up until they were face to face. His voice was low.

“She already sees you, Buck. And she’s still there.”

Bucky looked down, breathing hard. “I don’t know if I deserve her.”

“You’ve always deserved to be loved.”

Steve reached up, placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you.”

The pier began to dissolve, light washing it all away in a slow blur.

“Don’t waste it,” Steve said, his voice distant now. “Let yourself be happy.”

Bucky gasped awake, chest rising fast, eyes wet.

The room was warm. Quiet. You were asleep against him, peaceful and soft, your cheek resting on his arm.

He looked down at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

She already sees you. And she’s still there.

He gently brushed your hair back and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I think I love you,” he whispered, barely audible.

And you didn’t stir—but somehow, a tiny smile curled on your lips.

────✪────

It started with a faint vibration.

Subtle, at first—like the kind you’d feel when the subway rumbled deep beneath Manhattan, gentle and distant enough to be ignored.

But it didn’t stop.

Somewhere deep in Avengers Tower, a low hum began to build—power surging through reinforced circuits, cascading red alerts lighting up control panels, one by one.

Reed Richards was already awake when the tremors began. He hadn’t slept in days.

He stood over his lab’s main console, eyes glued to a flickering monitor, its screen flooded with lines of alien code, dimensional pulse readings, and quantum flux trails.

Then a single alert cut through all of it:

MULTIVERSAL SIGNATURE DETECTED DOOM // EARTH-9211 // COORDINATES LOCKED STATUS: BREACHED ATMOSPHERE

ESTIMATED IMPACT: INCOMING.

Reed's breath caught in his throat.

"No. No, no, no, no—he was three cycles out, he was—"

He spun around, fingers flying over the keyboard, scanning the waveforms, matching the signature.

But it wasn’t on the outer rim of the multiverse anymore.

It was here. Earth. Now.

The data didn't lie.

Victor Von Doom had just broken through the upper atmosphere.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world @positivenergy @cherriesnmango @navs-bhat @hits-different-cause-its-you @avivarougestan

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[the-winter-spider]

Yours, Always | Part One

Steve x Reader, Bucky x reader

AU

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Angst, fluff

A/N: I know the major majority voted for This Love to be the next one I post buuuuuuut my gut was telling me to post this one. I will be posting on Ao3 soon to just because a few people messaged me about it!

As always i will still be updating my other stories i just have its easier for me to be creative when i have multiple things going. Next part of Say dont go soon!

Masterpost

---

The smell of tomato sauce fills the kitchen as you stir the pot, trying to focus on the task at hand. The garlic bread is almost ready, the pasta is done, and Steve will be home any minute. It’s a typical night, like any other night, but there’s something tugging at the edges of your thoughts, something that’s been there for days, weeks even. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it’s theres like this persistent knot in your chest that refuses to unravel. It's heavier than the typical weight you’re used to.

Lily’s laughter echoes from the living room, her voice a sweet hum in the background as you stir the sauce one last time. She’s watching some cartoon, probably the one with talking animals who save the world that you’ve memorized every word to by now. You glance at the clock. Steve should be pulling into the driveway soon. Everything is falling into place, just like it always does. Just like it should, just like you hoped for, just like you wanted.

It’s the kind of life you imagined for yourself, stable, predictable, good. And yet, lately, you feel like something’s missing. You don’t feel whole, but yet you haven't felt whole in years.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you wipe your hands on a dish towel before picking it up. It’s a text from your mom. You smile, unlocking the screen to see what she’s sent.

Mom: Look what I found! :)

There’s an attachment, an old photo, grainy and slightly faded. You tap it, and the image fills the screen.

Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a picture of you and Bucky.

You were maybe eight years old, standing on the playground, grinning like it was the happiest day of your life. Your arm is slung around Bucky’s shoulders, and his arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. His smile is lopsided, the same one you always knew, that mischievous gleam in his bright blue eyes. You had forgotten how blue they were. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in different directions, but it suits him. It always did.

The sight of it hits you like a wave, washing over you in a rush of memories you didn’t realize you’d been holding back. The sounds of the kitchen fade, the smell of the sauce disappears, and you’re not standing there anymore. You’re back there,, back in a time before everything got complicated.

You’re back in third grade, on that day when it all began.

It’s fall, and you’re seven years old, almost eight. Standing on the cracked blacktop of the elementary school playground. The air has that crispness that makes your skin tingle, and the sun is warm on your face, but you don’t notice. You’re too busy staring at the ground, clutching your lunchbox in both hands, wishing you could disappear.

They’ve been circling you for a while now, the group of kids from the fifth grade, the ones who always find something to pick on. Today, it’s you. Today, you're sure it’s your clothes, you were wearing one of your Dads old shirts it was huge and it had holes but it still smelled like him. Or maybe it’s your shoes, the ones that squeak when you walk, or the way your hair frizzes up when the wind blows just right.

You don’t know why they’ve picked you today. You never know. You just know that your throat is tight, and your hands are shaking, and you’re trying not to cry.

“Hey, Y/N,” one of the boys sneers, his voice sharp and cruel. “What’s wrong? Gonna cry again? You gonna run home to Mommy? Since you don't have a Daddy!”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears back. You’ve cried in front of them before, and it only made things worse. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry today, you were going to be strong, because you were strong, your Mom said so. But the lump in your throat is growing, and no matter how hard you try to swallow it down, it won’t go away, it never does.

They laugh, jostling each other, getting closer, their voices growing louder. You want to run, but your legs won’t move. Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground.

“Leave her alone.”

The voice cuts through the taunting like a knife, sharp and clear. You blink, looking up, startled. The group of boys falls silent, and you see a boy standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his face set in a determined frown.

It’s Bucky, he just moved here. You don’t know him at all.

He steps forward, planting himself between you and the group of kids, his chin held high, his blue eyes blazing with a kind of courage you’ve never seen before. He’s smaller than most of the boys, but he doesn’t seem to care. He stands there like a wall, like he’s daring them to do something.

“What do you want, Bucky?” one of the boys mutters, but there’s a shift in the air now. They’re not laughing anymore. They’re not pushing you around.

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “I said, leave her alone.”

For a moment, the boys hesitate, glancing at each other. You can see the uncertainty flickering in their eyes, the way they’re sizing him up, trying to decide if he’s worth the trouble. And then, one by one, they start to back off, muttering under their breaths as they turn and walk away.

You stand there, frozen, your heart still pounding in your chest, staring at the boy who just saved you from what felt like the worst moment of your life.

Bucky turns to you, his expression softening as the danger fades away. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gentler now, like he’s talking to an old friend.

You nod, still too stunned to speak. You don’t know what to say. You’ve never had anyone stand up for you like that. You’ve seen him around school before, but you’ve never really talked to him. And now, here he is, looking at you like he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“I’m Bucky, I’m new” he says, sticking his hand out like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You blink, glancing at his outstretched hand, and then back at his face. He’s smiling now, that crooked grin that makes you feel like everything’s going to be okay. You reach out and shake his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

“Y/N,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“I know,” he says with a wink. “Wanna be friends?”

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if he’s serious. No one’s ever asked you to be their friend like that, so straightforward, so sure. But then you smile, and you realize that you want nothing more than to say yes.

“Okay,” you say, your voice a little stronger this time. “Yeah. Let’s be friends.”

And just like that, everything changes.

You’re still standing there, staring at your phone, caught in a moment that isn’t here anymore.

You can still hear the laugh that must have come right before the picture was taken. You can still remember the way the sun hit his brown hair just right, making it look lighter than it was. You can still feel the warmth of his arm around you, the way he always pulled you just a little closer, like you were his to protect.

Your fingers hover over the screen, tracing the shape of his smile. You were both so little.

You don’t even hear Steve come in.

The front door opens, closing softly behind him. A rustling of keys, a quiet greeting as he passes the living room. “Hey, kiddo.” You vaguely register Lily’s excited response “Daddy!” then something about cartoons and garlic bread, but you don’t move.

You don’t even notice when his footsteps come closer, steady and familiar, until suddenly, there’s a warm kiss pressed against your cheek, and his voice is right there so soft, loving. “Babe.”

You jolt slightly, blinking, the world around you snapping back into focus. “Huh?”

Steve smiles gently as he pulls back, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his blue eyes. You follow his gaze as he glances down at your phone, which you’re still gripping too tightly in your hands.

Before you can react, he reaches around you, his fingers brushing against yours as he zooms in on the photo. His voice is light, teasing. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen many childhood photos of you?” He tilts his head, grinning. “You’re adorable.”

A small laugh escapes you, though it feels fragile. He never saw any past your eighth birthday because they were all filled with him. You try to relax, try to be present, but the weight in your chest won’t let you.

Then Steve’s expression shifts slightly, the amusement fading just a little as his gaze moves to the boy beside you in the photo. “Who’s that with you?”

Your fingers tighten around the phone before you can stop yourself, your voice small. “Bucky.” The name lingers in the air, heavier than it should be.

And just like that, Steve stills.

He’s heard the name before. Of course he has. He knows the trauma you carry, the grief that shaped you in ways you never talk about. He knows about the years of silence, about the loss that still lingers in the spaces you refuse to acknowledge. Mostly from your Mom filling him in. He knows loss, that's why the two of you work so well, you both lose people around the same time but Steve’s worked through is, you though, you’ve just bottled it up.

But he’s never actually seen him.

Never seen the boy who once held your whole world in his hands.

Steve doesn’t say anything right away. His hand rests lightly on the counter beside you, his other arm brushing against yours as he continues to look at the photo. His silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, thoughtful.

“He looks…” He exhales softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just… I’ve never put a face to the name before.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “Yeah.”

Steve shifts, turning slightly so he can see your face. His voice is quieter now, careful. “You never really talk about him.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Instead, you keep staring at the photo, at the two kids who had no idea what was coming. “I know.”

Steve watches you for a moment, his fingers brushing against yours again. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more than you’re ready to give. Instead, he does what he always does, he gives you space to breathe. “You okay?”

The kindness in his voice nearly undoes you.

You force yourself to nod, to look away from the past and into the present, the man in front of you, the life you built, the warmth that should be enough. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I’m fine.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. But he doesn’t call you on it, he never does.

Instead, he leans in again, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your head, his lips soft against your temple. “Okay,” he whispers. “If you ever want to talk about him… I’m here.”

You close your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. You don’t deserve him. But right now, you just nod. “I know.”

And just like that, Steve lets it go.

He squeezes your hand before stepping back, moving to take off his jacket. He calls out to Lily, something about setting the table, and just like that the moment passes.

But your phone is still in your hand. And Bucky’s face is still staring back at you.

The sound of the oven timer snaps you back to the present, jerking you out of the memory like a splash of cold water. You blink, shaking your head as the kitchen comes back into focus. The sauce is bubbling, the bread is ready, and Lily is calling your name from the other room.

But your mind is still stuck in that moment, stuck on Bucky’s face, on the way he looked at you, on the way everything felt so simple back then. You glance down at your phone again, the old photo still displayed on the screen, and something inside you twists.

You haven’t thought about Bucky like this in a long time. You haven’t let yourself. There’s too much there, too much to unpack, and you’ve built your life carefully around avoiding those memories. But now, here he is, staring back at you from the past, and you can’t help but wonder how things got so complicated.

“Mommy!” Lily calls from the dining room, her voice full of impatience. “Is dinner ready yet?”

You force a smile, tucking the phone back into your pocket. “Almost, sweetie! Did you set the table?”

She runs off, and you turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce one last time. The garlic bread smells perfect, the pasta is ready, and everything is exactly as it should be.

The three of you gather at the table, the kind of scene you’ve played out a thousand times before. Lily’s already in her seat, bouncing in excitement, her eyes bright green shining as you bring the food to the table.

“Daddy! We’re having pasta!” she exclaims, as if Steve hadn’t already figured that out.

“Looks like it, kiddo,” Steve says, smiling at her. “How was school today?”

Lily launches into a detailed explanation of her day, who she sat with at lunch, what book her teacher read to the class, how she got to be line leader, and what game she played at recess. Steve listens with that attentive smile, nodding and asking just the right questions. He’s good at this, being present, being the father Lily adores.

You’re sitting there, your fork twirling spaghetti absently, but you’re not really listening. You’re watching them, but your mind is miles away. You can still feel the weight of your phone in your pocket, the picture of Bucky tucked away, waiting for you. His grin, his bright blue eyes… It’s all coming back, flooding your thoughts with memories you’d locked away for years.

You don’t realize how quiet you’ve gone until Steve’s voice cuts through the fog. “Y/N?”

You blink, snapping out of your daze, meeting his concerned gaze from across the table. “Hmm?”

He smiles gently, but there’s a crease of worry in his brow. “You okay? You’ve been kind of quiet.”

You nod quickly, forcing a smile that you hope is convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

But Steve doesn’t look convinced. He knows you well enough to see through the surface. He watches you for a moment longer, his eyes searching your face, but then Lily tugs at his arm, pulling his attention back to her.

Dinner wraps up soon after, and you help Lily brush her teeth and get into her pajamas, tucking her in with her favorite stuffed animal. Steve reads her a bedtime story, his voice soothing and steady, and you sit beside him, offering a few smiles as Lily drifts off to sleep.

Everything should feel perfect. This is your life, your family, the life you’ve built with Steve. But as you head down the hall toward your bedroom, that picture of Bucky lingers in the back of your mind, pulling at you in ways you can’t shake.

In the bedroom, Steve pulls off his work shirt, changing into an old t-shirt as you start pulling back the covers. The familiar routine plays out just like every other night. But tonight feels different. There’s a distance you can’t seem to bridge.

Steve climbs into bed, settling against the pillows. He looks over at you, still watching, still noticing.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

You pause for a moment, trying to find the words. You don’t want to lie, but you also don’t want to open up a conversation that you’re not ready for. “I’m fine,” you say, hesitating only slightly. “It’s just… That picture threw me off.”

“C’mere” He says softly, pulling you against his chest. Steve doesn’t say anything for a while.

You’re still resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your back, a comforting rhythm that should soothe you.

But you can’t stop thinking about the picture.

The one still glowing from your phone screen on the bedside table.

The one Steve had looked at for longer than he probably realized.

The one where you and Bucky were standing under the summer sun, arms slung around each other, grinning like the world belonged to you.

But something about the moment lingers.

Maybe it’s because you know that Steve, for all his kindness, for all his patience, has never actually seen Bucky before.

He’s only ever known of him, the shadow of him, the weight of your grief, the way you never talk about him. And now, for the first time, he had a face to go with the name. It was his adolescent face and you thought what would he think if he saw his face the way you tried to forget. With his little stubble, that dimple on his chin, his ocean eyes, his smile, his everything. You could almost see it so clearly in your head but at the same time you couldn't. You didn't even remember what he sounded like.

You wonder what he thought when he saw it.

You wonder if he were to see other photos of you and him. The ones where the way Bucky would hold you, like it was the most natural thing in the world. If he would notice the way you were looking at each other, no just like best friends, but like something more.

Something that never had the chance to exist.

Steve shifts slightly, exhaling a quiet breath. Then, softly, he asks, “Do you want to tell me about that day?”

Your stomach clenches.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because you do.

You swallow, fingers curling into his shirt. “You really want to know?”

“I’d like to,” Steve says simply. “He was important to you. Is important to you. And I’d like to know more about him from you.”

It’s such a Steve thing to say. So genuine. So unthreatened.

And yet, past tense.

Was.

Steve didn’t mean anything by it. You know that. But the past doesn’t feel like the past. Not when it’s still sitting in the center of your chest, not when it’s still carved into the parts of you that never healed right.

But it’s not Steve’s fault. You know that. There wasn’t a malicious fibre in his body.

So you push the thought down. You swallow hard, ignore the lump in your throat, and nod.

Steve presses a kiss to the top of your head, then leans back against the pillows, waiting. Letting you take your time.

You close your eyes.

And you let yourself go back.

“Come on, come on, you have to!”

Bucky’s voice was breathless with excitement, his hands gripping yours as he dragged you through the crowd. The fairgrounds were packed, kids running with half-melted popsicles, parents struggling to keep up, the sound of laughter mixing with the distant hum of carnival games and the occasional crackling announcement over the loudspeakers.

“Bucky, slow down!” you had whined, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“No way, you’re gonna love this!”

You had barely caught your breath before Bucky stopped in front of the biggest bounce house you’d ever seen.

“Look at it,” Bucky breathed, his eyes wide with awe, like he was staring at something magical. “It’s huge.”

You had crossed your arms. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on.” Bucky turned to you, grinning that grin, the one he always used when he wanted to get away with something. “What’s the Fourth of July without a little fun?”

Before you could protest because you both knew you were about to, he was already kicking off his shoes, already climbing inside, and the next thing you knew, he was bouncing, laughing, calling your name, looking so happy it was impossible to say no.

So you kicked off your shoes, too. And the next ten minutes were pure chaos.

You had both gone flying across the inflatable floor, bouncing so high you nearly crashed into each other half a dozen times. Bucky had grabbed your hands at one point, spinning you in a circle, laughing as you shrieked, as if he could make time stop just by holding onto you..

You had been trying to get back to your feet, still giggling, when Bucky tripped, taking you down with him.

You landed in a tangled heap of limbs, and when you tried to get up, your face was way too close to his, your noses almost touching.

For the first time all afternoon, Bucky had stopped laughing.

For a second, you just… looked at each other.

“Bucky! Y/N! Time for pictures!”

Your mom’s voice snapped the moment in half, and you scrambled away from him, your face warm as you followed her voice. You were thankful for the bounce house because you were blushing like crazy you had almost had your first kiss with Bucky. All the girls in your class had already had their first kiss. But it felt too soon you were only eight so you were grateful for your Mom.

Bucky was still grinning like a fool when he caught up with you, his arm slinging around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Smile!” your mom had called.

And you had. You always smiled when Bucky was near.

Both of you, smiling, glowing, bright with childhood joy, frozen in a moment you’d never get back.

When you open your eyes, the room is quiet.

Steve hasn’t said anything, hasn’t moved. His fingers trace slow, absentminded shapes against your back, like he’s trying to hold you here, in this moment, in this life you built with him.

But your mind is still somewhere else.

Still in that bounce house, in the warmth of a Fourth of July that feels like another lifetime.

“My mom took that picture right after we got out,” you whisper. “We were covered in dirt, sweating, our hair was a mess. But we were happy.”

Steve exhales softly. “He sounds like he made you really happy.”

Your throat tightens. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “He did. He was my best friend.”

The words barely make it out.

Steve doesn’t say anything else. He just holds you, letting the silence stretch, letting you breathe.

But even in the quiet, Bucky’s laughter still echoes in your ears.

He leans over and kisses your forehead softly, his hand brushing against your arm. “I love you, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I love you, too,” you say, and you mean it. Of course you love Steve but you also can’t help but mourn the love that never was, the one you lost.

Steve is asleep within minutes, his breathing slow and steady, but you lie there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The room is dark, the only sound is the faint hum of the heater kicking on in the hallway.

Your hand drifts to the nightstand, and before you can stop yourself, you reach for your phone. The screen lights up in the darkness, casting a soft glow on your face. You scroll back to the picture your mom sent, opening it again, staring at the image of you and Bucky.

You trace the outline of his face with your thumb, the memories of that day flooding back, the way he smiled at you like he’d always be there.

You never thought much about what life would look like without Bucky in it. But then, life happened. Choices were made. Time passed.

And now, here you are, lying in bed with your husband asleep beside you, staring at a picture of a boy you once knew, wondering how everything got so complicated.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the memories swirl around you, but when you open them again, you’re still here. In this life. In this bed. With Steve.

You turn off the phone and place it back on the nightstand, the glow fading as the room is plunged back into darkness. But even as you close your eyes and try to fall asleep, that picture of Bucky lingers, imprinted on the inside of your mind, refusing to let go.

You wake up feeling… off. Not exactly sad. Not exactly anxious. Just off.

His face still lingers in the back of your mind, hovering like something unfinished, like a conversation you walked away from too soon. You try to shake it, try to focus on the morning routine, getting Lily ready for school, making breakfast while Steve drinks his coffee and reads the news on his phone. You go through the motions, plastering on a smile when necessary, laughing at Lily’s excitement over something one of her classmates said yesterday.

It’s normal. Everything is normal.

So why does it feel like everything inside you is unraveling?

“Beautiful?” Steve’s voice breaks through your thoughts. He’s watching you over the rim of his coffee mug, brow furrowed slightly. “You doing okay?”

You force a small smile, reaching for your own mug. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitate, then glance at Lily, who’s humming to herself as she doodles on a napkin. “I was thinking about heading down to visit my mom this weekend,” you say casually, stirring your coffee though you’ve already added enough sugar. “It’s been a while.”

Steve smiles, setting his cup down and reaching for your hand across the counter. His touch is warm, grounding. Safe. “That sounds nice,” he says, rubbing small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. “I know she’d love that. Do you want me and Lily to come with you?”

Guilt presses against your ribs. He’s always like this, so sweet, so thoughtful. You don’t deserve it. Not when you’re sitting here, pretending this trip is just about visiting your mom when, in reality, it’s something else entirely.

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I think I just need a little time.”

Steve studies you for a moment, searching your face like he’s trying to read between the lines. Then he nods, squeezing your hand before letting go. “Okay,” he says easily. ���But promise me you’ll drive safe?”

You smile, relieved he’s not pressing because he knows why. “Always.”

He leans over, kissing your forehead softly. “Good.” Then he pulls back, grinning. “You know I’ll just be calling to check on you every few hours anyway.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way.” You laugh, but it feels hollow. You know you love Steve but why does it feel like a stranger’s hands are gripping your shoulders, turning you around, pulling you backward into something you swore you left behind?

The drive to your mom’s house is long. Almost three hours, but it feels even longer with your thoughts weaving in and out of the past. You keep the radio on, some soft indie playlist filling the silence, but nothing can drown out the memories creeping in. Especially when your mind starts to think of all the new songs you’ve added to this playlist, the ones he never got to hear, the ones you know he’d love but you’ll never get to find out.

It’s late afternoon by the time you pull into your childhood home. The house looks smaller somehow, though nothing has changed. The same mailbox, the same front porch with the wind chime that always scared you when you were little remind you too much of the horror movie sounds Bucky would terrorize you with.

You step inside, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and old books. Your mom greets you with a tight hug, fussing over you before leading you to the kitchen, but there’s an unspoken understanding between you. She knows why you’re here, even if you haven’t said it out loud. She knew the moment she sent the picture.

“So,” she says, setting down a cup of tea in front of you. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

You wrap your hands around the mug, staring down at the steam curling into the air. “I just… I was thinking about some old things.” You hesitate, then force the words out. “About Bucky.”

Your mom nods, her expression unreadable. “His letters are still upstairs. I never touched them. Everything is exactly where you left it”

A lump forms in your throat. “Thanks, Mom.”

She reaches out, squeezing your hand “Well I oughta run to the store to get some stuff for dinner!” She smiled before placing a kiss on your cheek and letting you go.

You barely register walking up the stairs to your room but here you are and the box is exactly where you left it.

It’s tucked away in the corner of your bedroom closet, buried beneath stacks of forgotten sweaters and high school yearbooks. Your hands tremble as you pull it out, settling onto the floor. Dust clings to the lid, and for a long moment, you just stare at it.

You shouldn’t open it.

You shouldn’t because the can of worms you'd open with it..

But your fingers are already moving, lifting the lid, revealing a neat stack of envelopes inside. Some are crinkled at the edges, others yellowing with age. Your name is written on every single one, in his handwriting.

You pick one up at random, your breath catching as you recognize the date, seven years ago.

Slowly, carefully, you unfold the letter.

Y/N,

I don’t know why I keep writing these. You never answer. I don’t even know if you’re reading them. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I still need to say these things, even if they never reach you.

It’s late here. The kind of late where everything feels too big, and I can’t sleep, I never can anymore anyway. The only thing keeping me sane is remembering home and thinking about you.

Remember that summer when we were sixteen? The one where we spent half of July sneaking into the lake after dark? You always said the water looked like liquid silver under the moonlight. I don’t think I ever told you this, but I remember the way you looked then. I mean, really looked. The way your eyes caught the light, the way your laugh echoed across the water. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sound as good as that laugh. I remember feeling so overwhelmed in that moment, so scared of the things I was feeling that I decided to pretend something grabbed my foot.

I also remember the way you shivered when the wind picked up, but you wouldn’t admit you were cold. You were stubborn like that. Still are, probably. I wrapped my jacket around your shoulders, and you gave me that look, you know the one. The one where you’re about to say something sarcastic but then change your mind.

I wanted to kiss you that night. Did you know that?

Of course you didn’t. I never told you. I was always too scared to ruin what we had. But I think about that night a lot. About if things would have changed if I had just kissed you.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard your laugh. I don’t even know if I remember the sound anymore. I do remember it was my favourite sound in the world.

Yours, Always

Bucky

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Steadfast 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I’ve wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we’re all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however… I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“A tavern ahead,” the king declares as he slows the horse’s canter. “We should rest lest the bandits be upon us.” 

You shift and bow your head. You hold back from giving his title. “Yes, poppet,” you agree. 

He hums and approaches the low stone wall around the wood and wattle inn. As he does, you catch sight of a young boy sat upon a rootless stump. He looks up as he tucks away the sling in his hands. He approaches the gate as the horse stops at the post. 

“Board for the night. For the beast too,” the king puts on a gruff affectation. 

“No rooms, good sir. Only the loft above the chattel,” the boy replies. 

“You should bring clean hay,” the king stirs beneath his cloak and presents a silver coin. “Feed the beast sweet oats and you will have another.” 

He hands the reins to the stable boy and nudges your hip. He keeps hold of you as he helps you unhook your legs from over the mare and eases you to the ground. He slides off after you. The chestnut horse is led away as your muscles snag and tug. 

The king stretches with a groan then offers his bent arm. You loop yours through in quick acquiescence to his act. You recall the duke’s words. You must keep the king’s true self unfounded, thus you must pretend as he does. 

Inside, the space is dingy with the smell of unwashed bodies and yeasty ale. You follow your escort to the corner and sit with him on the wooden bench behind a table. He crosses his arms over the splintered surface as you wring your cold hands in your lap. 

“Pip,” he sits back, sensing your fidgeting, “are you very cold?” 

Before you can answer him, his large hand is over both of yours. He does not wear his embroidered velvet gloves, rather a leather pair he must have acquired from the stabler. You still and let him warm your brittle knuckles. 

“...it isn’t so bad,” you assure him. You are addled at not addressing him properly. In a castle, that would be an oversight worthy of a switch’s bite. 

He removes his glove and once more clamps down on your hands, “like ice. We must have you a better cloak for the road. Once we dock upon Gander River, the winds will not die.” 

You nod and your brows furrow with a question you dare not ask. It floats away from you as a servant in apron and cap approaches. She offers two flagons and a pitcher. The king demands bread and some hearty stew in exchange for another coin. She goes and he rubs his bearded cheek as he peers around. 

“I will not say much and more about our path, but I do hope you are not prone to seasickness,” he girds. 

You follow his gaze around the lantern-lit chamber. The hearth burns at the other end. You look down at his other hand still upon yours. 

“Come, wife, be close to me,” he says suddenly and you steel yourself as he leans closer. He whispers as he tilts his chin down. “Those who watch must believe we are not who we are. Be not shy with me.” 

He nuzzles your temple and draws away. A fluttery warmth rolls through you. You dip your chin. 

“As you wish,” you abide. 

He reluctantly draws his hand from yours. He pours a cup for each of you, offering the dark ale to you first. You sip and nearly choke upon its wheaty pungency. He drinks without pause and two bowls of soup are set down with heels of thick rye. 

You wait the king to eat first. He takes the bread from before you and splits it, offering you a piece. You accept it and lean forward. You dip the crust into the lumpy stew and stir it. You look at him. He watches you calmly. It will be a long road to be so unsettled. 

You take a bite. He mimics you, stirring the rye through his soup before he indulges. It is blander than the castle fare. You assume the king is not used to such plain sustenance. Merely the scent of the spices they baste upon the noble’s meals is enough to make you salivate. 

“Be mindful, little one,” he warns as he squints over his bowl. 

You follow his gaze. A man stares back but not at the king. At you. You shrink down as he sidles closer. 

“You will not leave my side,” he commands. 

You hum and nod, ‘your highness’ teetering on your tongue. You clear your throat, “yes, poppet.” 

“Good pip,” he praises. 

You eat until the bowl is empty. Food is food, you do not mind the staleness of the barley as you gulp from the brim. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and the king slaps his middle. 

He doesn’t speak as he stands. He takes your hand and draws you after him. The shadows flicker on the wall as you hide from the glances in your direction. Road-weary men are the villains of many whispered tales. 

The king brings you into the night and the boy sits on his stump, hunched beneath a wool cloak.  

“Is the loft ready?” The king asks. 

“Horse fed,” the boy assures and receives another coin. 

The king guides you to the stable. The stink would be repulsive to many unused to it. The droppings and horse-sweat do not bother you much. He slides shut the door and leads you to the ladder’s feet. He urges you up first, hands on your hips until you mount the first rung. 

He climbs up after you and pulls the ladder with him. Only the moonlight lights the space through the slats of wood. You crawl around in the fluffed hay as he bends beneath the slant of the roof. He unhooks his cloak and comes close. He surprises you as he sits next to you. 

He turns and lowers himself upon his side. He drags you close to him and fans his cloak over both of you. You shiver against his warmth. He nestles into you and rests his chin on your crown. 

“We will be off before the sun is here,” he bids as he holds you snug. “Sleep, my pip.” 

[marksbear2]

My Bucky request....hmmmmm. I don't remember it 🤣 I know I sent it but I don't remember what it was. BUT I do know I wanted more of Bucky in a dress. And in case here's some (hopefully) helpful ask.. I want Bucky in like one of those maid dresses. Reader comes home to a surprise and turns the surprise into a whining begging mess? Idk if that'll help or if it's too much information? But I do remember the willy requests

(sending this on the second account in case it wouldn't send on the main one)

I was tweaking so bad since I accidentally deleted the first request when I was finished with it like I was so close to deleteing my damn acc 😞

BUCKY BARNES X TOP MALE READER

⚠️Warnings- Maid dress Bucky!! Top reader, Smut, smut with a tiny bit of plot. Begging, whining, whimpering, upskirt and more!⚠️

“Make sure your eyes are still closed.”

Bucky said to Y/n as he had texted Y/n beforehand telling him to cover once be get home his eyes since he had an ‘surprise’ waiting on him at home.

“They are close babe.” Y/n softly laughed as he covered his eyes as he closed the front door behind him.

Y/n had no clue as to what Bucky surprise was but, it didn’t stop him as he held Bucky’s hand as he led him through the house. Bucky sat Y/n on the couch and Y/n felt the excitement in his veins for whatever the surprise was.

Bucky looked over the dress a few more times before smiling softly ear to ear standing in front of Y/n.

“Okay you can open them.”

Y/n pulled his hands away from his face and the first thing he noticed was the smile on Bucky’s face before his eyes trailing down taking full notice of the maid dress his partner was wearing.

“Wow…” Was the first word Y/n breathed out his eyes lingering at the exposed skin of Bucky’s thigh.

“All of this for me?” Y/n said laughing softly as he reached out touching the hem of dress. “You look so good for me.” Y/n spoke as he laid an hand on Bucky’s hip pulling him to sit down on his thigh. Y/n ran his hand over Bucky’s thigh.

“You look so beautiful, baby.” Y/n said whispering into Bucky’s ear.

“I want you wearing a dress everyday…surprise me with something new each time.” Y/n softly as he moved his hand higher in this dress.

“Nothing underneath, hm?” Y/n whispered pressing his mouth to Bucky’s ear whispering into it.

Bucky let out a soft gasp as he felt his dick getting grabbed. Bucky whimpered as his head fell back onto Y/n’s shoulder. Bucky slowly rolled his hips up into Y/n’s hand holding onto his forearm as well to stable himself.

Y/n used his free hand to also move under the skirt going down lower waist of Bucky’s before eventually touching the surprisingly already prepped hole.

“You even prepped?” Y/n mused as he began to jerk off Bucky’s now hard cock even faster.

Teeth latched onto Bucky’s skin leaving bite marks as well sucking and leaving hickeys onto the skin. Bucky was letting out gasps and moans as he thrusted his hips into Y/n’s hand. Bucky tilted his head looking at Y/n before kissing him. Both men began to make out. They’re tongues moving against one another, hums and deep breaths filled the noise as well.

Y/n moved his hand touching Bucky’s nipples through the maid dress, pinching and pulling them.

The two break the kiss, but stayed close to one another’s mouth resting their foreheads against one another. They kept eye contact as Y/n strokes off Bucky’s cock.

“That’s it…that’s it, such a good boy Buck.” Y/n said against his boyfriend’s lips. “You wanna cum? You want me to make you cum?” Y/n questioned in a teasing tone already knowing the answer by Bucky’s breathing picking up speed and more gasps.

“You wanna cum all over my hand don’t you?” Y/n said kissing Bucky and pulling away looking down at him.

Bucky pressed his and Y/n’s face’s closer together and not long after cumming. “Mpmh!~ hmm…fu-fuck.” Bucky gasped out with more words that were mostly mumbles and broken English. Bucky’s body tensed and quivered as his white streaks of cum gets all over Y/n’s hand and a bit on the own dress.

Y/n held him watching him until he’s still in the high of his orgasm. Y/n laid Bucky down on the couch, before hovering over him before unbuckling and undoing his pants and belt. Y/n pulled his hard cock and spat into his hand while also using the cum from Bucky to wet his cock.

Stroking his cock Y/n used his free hand to spread Bucky’s cheeks so his hole is visible. Y/n jerked himself off for a few moments making sure his cock is all wet before pressing the tip against the hole before pressing the tip inside.

“Yeah take it, you’re doing so good.” Y/n whispered kissing the back of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky only responded back in a moan as he laid his hands on the couch gripping and holding onto the couch.

Y/n pulled his hips back and forth pulling out then going back in as he pushed more and more of his cock inside of Bucky.

“Raise your hips up more for me.” Y/n whispered in Bucky’s ear. Trembling a small bit, Bucky raised his hips allowing Y/n to thrust his cock inside fully. Bucky let out a loud moan, but Y/n didn’t give him any time to relax before already pulling back a bit and thrusting back inside.

Y/n held Bucky’s hips up thrusting his cock deep inside of him. Bucky held the couch for his life as he breathed heavy and moaned. Y/n praised and whispered in his ear.

Y/n thrust was hard and fast causing Bucky’s eyes to water in pleasure. "Y/n!~ Y/n! s-slow down!~ please slow down!~" Bucky moans out knowing full and well he doesn't want Y/n to slow down.

"Want me to go faster? Yeah i'll go faster baby." Y/n responds back with a smirk speeding up his pace snapping his hips back and forth.

Bucky couldn't keep himself together anymore. Moaning and screaming endlessly as his boyfriend fucks him,

"Buck--- I'm gonna cum! i'm so close!" Y/n warns holding onto Bucky tighter. Bucky was in pure bliss as he cums all over the couch and some on his dress . Y/n not caring what Bucky was saying only moaning and sobbing. Bucky was brought back to reality as Y/n cums deep inside him. "Y-h/n!~ so f-full!" Bucku moans out as he shoots his load.

With Y/n thrust becomes slower and more gentle as he thrust inside him as he rides out his orgasm also helping out Bucky as well.

Y/n pumped his cum fully inside of him kissing his cheek. Y/n licked and big Bucky’s ear.

Slowly pulling out Y/n fixed Bucky’s maid dress. Bucky was breathing heavy as he watched Y/n pull out. Y/n hovered above him fixing his dress and hair and helping him up.

“Thank you for the surprise, pretty boy.” Y/n said kissing Bucky on his cheek again.

THE END

[jemgirl86]

“would you be able to share recs for sambucky AUs? more so complete AUs rather than canon adjacent or divergence (and i love a bit of angst or stakes over pure fluff)”

So, anon, these aren’t all explicitly angsty per se, but they do have high(ish) stakes for the most part, and one of them is very angsty.

Okay, so let me start by shamelessly recommending a few of my own lol

Stolen Moments, 98.8K words

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”

Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Steve has Sam. Bucky wants Sam. Sam wasn’t expecting any of this.

The Game of Love ,18.7K words

“You know what tonight is, right?” Steve asked, cutting him off.

Bucky didn’t quite grunt by way of replying, but it was close.

Of course he knew what was happening that night. He didn’t live under a rock. The whole country knew, and there wasn’t a New York native alive who wasn’t at least a little excited about it. Even people who had been calling the Knicks bums for the past twenty or so years were rooting for them. For the first time since nineteen ninety-nine, the Knicks had made it to the NBA Finals. Even more unbelievable, people who weren’t even from New York thought they might actually win it.

And it was all thanks to Sam Wilson.

Or: Ten years is a long time - maybe too long, but maybe not…

Baby Come Back, This is a series that currently has 6 works, 29.9K words total

Sam and Bucky are divorced, trying to co-parent, and really just trying to make it. These are their stories. Dum dum dum.

Or: This is basically a soap opera.

Now for some of my favorites:

The Looking Glass by @six2vii, 75.7K words

Famed professor and skilled empath Dr. Saamuel Wilson is back from paternity leave and ready to start his academic career anew at the School of Marvle for Mages, Mythics, and Magical Beings. He is viewed as a threat by the Consortia of Magic due to his immense power and its terrifying potential. They send the Winter Warlock, Sentinel James Barnes, to spy on him. The powerful mages clash instantly but learn to work together to defeat an even greater foe.

The First Gentleman by @glittercake, 55.7K words

Sam knew what he was signing up for when he married a senator running for Office. He knew what Riley’s job demanded. He knew the hours, the stress, the milling, and the perpetual buzz. Living his life constantly surrounded by everything, by an entire nation.

But he had always dreamed of a quiet life. A place in the country with the man he loves, acres of greenery and trees, and flowers around them. A long winding road they could drive down on a warm Sunday afternoon. A big old farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a French kitchen. Some horses and a stable, and a little creek covered with a blanket of mist in the mornings.

He gets what he wants in the most horrible of ways.

The Boys of Summer by @siancore, 84.2K words

Sam Wilson returns home to the small town he grew up in to complete his med school residency. He hasn’t been back for an extended amount of time since he left for college. While he only consistently kept in touch with childhood friend, Steve Rogers, he was keen to see the people he had grown up with. With the exception of Bucky Barnes. They had a falling out the summer before Sam left for college.

What happened between them? Can they move past it now that they’re adults?

These Things That Would Eat Us by @abarbaricyalp, 18.5K words

What's supposed to be a fun summer as camp counselors soon takes a turn for the horrific when monsters attack

(Horror movie au)

Okay, so each of the authors mentioned above have multiple SamBucky AUs, and these authors don’t miss! I would recommend going through each of their ao3 accounts. I promise you will not regret it 😊

[mosslikeschaos]

"You could stay, for me?"

cowboy!bucky x male!stablehand!reader

summary ; Bucky and Steve come into town, meet a handsome stable hand whom Bucky falls for. They spend some time before Bucky and Steve need to go again.

warnings ; none

content ; fluff, dumbasses, mutual pining

mentioned characters ; Bucky, Steve, Reader, Peggy, Fury, Banner, Sam.

Bucky POV; 3rd person.

NO USE OF Y/N - reader is nicknamed mouse, due to being taken in by Banner at a small age, and him always being in the stable. mouse is not used much.

word count; 3,324

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Alpine and Reggie's hooves thudded softly against the mud road leading through town, heading toward the cobbled stable yard.

People milled about the town, men, women and chilren. Kids were playing cowboys with their fathers too-big cowboy hats and kicking up the sand as if they rode on horses. Shouting at eachother and fake shooting.

One man took the hat off a kid, smiling when he told the youngen off for something Bucky didnt hear.

Women in scruffy dresses carrying washing, food and other tidbits moved out of the way for the two men on horses.

But people didnt stare, they continued business as usual. Newcomers were not rare here, let alone passers by only asking to fill their stomach and spend a night in a good bed.

"D'ya think there'll be a good pub 'round here?" Steve hummed, turning to his buddy.

"Saloon looks clean and open. Maybe we'll get a hot meal."

The scenery changed when they came in to the stable yard. Busy atmosphere phasing over into a certain calmness where soft chewing could be heard from inside the stable.

Only one horse abandoned its food for a minute, popping its head outside to look at the newcomers. A pretty bay with dark, kind eyes. She whinnied low, to which Alpine simply snorted. Reggie pricked his ears, looking over but staying otherwise silent.

Steve petted his neck, swinging his leg over and dropping to the ground. "Hold him and i'll find the owner or a stable hand?"

Bucky steered the two horses to a tiny patch of grass, letting them munch on the lush greens. The grinding of their molars chewing the small tufts of grass lulled him into thought. The town was big, with pretty wooden housing and big painted signs. A general store and a saloon. A tailor that -according to the black sign out front- specialized not only in clothes, but tack and hats too.

Before too long Steve arrived back with a boy hot on his heels. "He says its two dollars a night, or if we stay a week its three dollars every two. and that places to stay are cheap."

Bucky hummed a sound of affirm, handing Steve his piebald back.

"If you'd just follow me, ill show you where you may house them and put your tack. Gelding, stallion or mare?" asked the boy, running a hand through his hair.

"Good o'l Gelding,"

"Alpine's a mare," Bucky couldnt help but take another look at the stable hand. He was yae tall, not towering, not short. His hair was cut roughly and pushed back out of his eyes, not too long, not too short. The clothes were also to be noted, a good pair of boots but the rest looked a bit tired. A worn pair of jeans and a loose, dirty gray shirt. Somehow it complemented him just fine.

"Alpine is a pretty name. For a pretty horse too."

"Sure, nursed her back to health when i found her as a little abandoned filly."

"you did a good job," he hummed, stopping and turning around to face the men, but talking to Bucky. "Com'on, ill take you down," then turning to face the blonde. "ill be back in a minute. dont stray too far." and off they went.

The walk down to the open stall was short, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they listened to the continued chewing from the horses. A couple pretty faces popped up to greet Alpine and the boy swatted away one mare who tried to nip. Before too long they were at an open, uninhabited stall.

"Here, a nice straw bed and some hay to munch."

"thank you, whats your name kid?" he asked, leading Alpine in and starting to undo and take off her tack. The bay horse from before poked her muzzle through the bars, letting Alpine smell her.

"here let me take that," the boy motioned to the saddle, carrying it with ease as Bucky continued. "They call me Mouse."

"how come? youre not so tiny."

"ah but i was when mister banner took me in."

"dont you got a proper name too, Mouse?"

"Sure i do, but everybody calls me mouse. i dont mind s'much. Most people got themselves a nickname."

"Well in that case you can call me Bucky."

he nodded quickly, letting Bucky leave the stall before he shut the door and latched it.

Bucky trailed behind him as he was shown the tack room and which empty hooks he could use.

The main stable had smelled of hay, warm horses and horse shit. all around not such a bad smell, but the tackroom somehow smelled better. Mouse had left, so Bucky took the opportunity to study the tackroom. It was clean, roomy and smelled of leather cleaner. The wooden walls were a deep brown, with two big windows, one out into the stable, and one out to the yard.

A lamp sat on the first wall, easy to grab in the dark if need-be. On the opposite wall was a door in the same dark wood as the walls. Tack-hooks covered the left wall except where the window was, and on the right were buckets of oats and grain for the horses alongside a green cabinet for medicine. Beneath the cabinet was a worn down wooden chair, with a frame infront of it. Perfect for cleaning tack.

He checked the door infront of him, finding it unlocked.

What he hadnt expected however was a tiny room with a bed pressed against the wall. Realising this was probably the stable-hands room he shut it, backing out until he stood in the middle of the tackroom. The few things he did notice was fhe room was walled with the same dark wood, that the bed was unmade with half a dozen blankets piled on one side, and that there was a little dresser on one side.

Shaking the thought from his head, he turned on his heel and walked out to find Steve again.

When Bucky found him, he was chatting lightly with the stable hand. Steve noticed him, turning and immediately exclaiming "did you know the kid owns the pretty bay Alpine said hi to earlier?"

"the one she neighbors now?"

Mouse nodded, prompting Steve to continute. "so shes only yours, do you gotta pay to have her here?"

"no, shes in reality mr.banners horse. His mares filly from about six summers ago."

"why dont he ride her?"

"shes got too much attitude in his opinion. he prefers her momma."

"so he gave her to you?"

"sure, mr.banner lets me keep her."

Bucky gave a chuckle, seeing the fondness creep into the boys face. It was clear he liked the pretty bay.

But instead of staying on his beloved topic, the stable hand hopped up on the stall door. "Are you goin to the pub tonight? gets real full on a friday. if ya'lls want a hot meal, better get there sooner rather than later."

"thanks kid, does everyone in town go?" Steve didnt turn around as he continued brushing the piebald gelding.

"yup, pretty much."

The light dimmed as the sun started to hide behind the clouds as they chatted. "are you going?"

"nah,"

Bucky raised a brow, taking over the conversation. "How come?"

"too much work to do."

~

"two hot meals for the gentlemen." the bartender hummed, sliding the two bowls to Bucky and Steve. The man wore an eyepatch, dark skin glistening from the heat as he poured a beer for a different patron.

Steve was talking to Mr.Banner, having found him in the crowd based off a rough description the stable boy had given him earlier. As the men chatted, Bucky tuned out, letting his thoughts take over.

His conciousness seemed to phase from observing the Saloon to thinking about the stable boy.

The saloon was spaceous, filled with tables and chairs, a set of stairs on the east side going up to another floor. Plenty men were playing for money. poker and cards complemented the full glasses of beer they chugged down. The man behind the bar currently was also known to be the town sheriff, mr.Fury. A pretty woman with pinned hair and pretty skirts helped serve at the bar. Steve seemed to have taken a liking to her, as bucky caught him staring at her on multiple occasions.

Bucky felt like he was zoned out as he took another spoonful.

The warmth felt like it perfectly mirrored the stable hands smile. He seemed to exude warmth, somehow. Happy to work, happy to be. He loved the horses, that much was obvious.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder snapped him from his thoughts. "Hey newbie. need somewhere to stay t'night?"

The man shone a toothy grin at him as Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, thought we'd find somewhere. could be handy."

"Well come to the hotel right beside here when ya'll are done. so you dont get lost. the name's Sam." He gave Bucky a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Bucky."

~

The pretty bay was eating from the small patch of grass in the yard when Bucky went to the stables. Her headcollar was tied to the hitching post loosely by a dark red leadrope.

As he gave her neck a good scratch the stable boy came across the yard. His outfit was mildly different from the last time they had seen eachother. His hair was pushed down by a hat, and his mucky gray shirt had been switched out for a much nicer -albeit slightly bigger- brown shirt.

"g'day sir," he hummed, tipping his head in a greeting.

"goin out for a ride?"

"yup, gotta help the Carters herd cattle,"

The bay kept munching her grass as the stable hand threw the saddle over the hitching post. "cmon Willow, up ya come,"

her head shot up, staring disapprovingly at her owner. "yes i know you want the grass sweets."

"Her name's willow?"

"yup," he grunted, throwing the saddle over, making sure it landed softly on her smooth back. "she loves chewin on 'em, so why not name 'er after 'em."

Bucky smiled, continuing to itch her neck for her. He soon found a spot she seemed to love, since she started pushing the weight of her entire neck into his hands. "The hat suits ya."

"Thanks, its Banners old hat. Bit too small for him."

He flashed Bucky a toothy grin as soon as he got up on her back, to which Bucky chuckled, giving willow one last hefty pat, then looking up to lock eyes with the boy, "stay safe out there, doll."

"i will, sir." he gave Bucky another nod, this time using his right hand to further tip the brim of his hat before turning Willow and dissapearing out of the yard.

He gave a sigh, watching willow and her rider dissapear off. His grin seemed to have been burned into Bucky's scull, the image of him, smiling widely, face slightly shadowed by the brim of his hat. He was thinking of the way he had carried the heavy saddle against his hip, bridle hanging off his arm. The way wearing the hat seemed to make him feel more confident. How nice the brown shirt looked, despite hanging a little loosely, tucked into his jeans. Maybe hed come with to the Saloon tonight.

"earth to buck?"

He seemed to snap back to reality as Steve waved a hand infront of his face. Bright blue eyes stared at him, "you were out of it mate, the same look as when youve seen an exceptionally pretty lady."

"oh," he hadnt even realised. "really?"

"yeah, do the stable lad have a really hot sister or something? or is it mouse himself you like?"

Bucky simply waved the comment away, walking past steve. "cmon, get reggie. mr.Fury asked if we could pick up some stuff from the neighboring town."

"yeah yeah i know."

~

The trip went well and Fury had given them a fair bit of coin for their help, but Bucky couldnt seem to focus on it. Steve was talking about the fact that this could sponsor a good deal of hot meals on the road, but he couldnt bring himself to be excited to get back out there. Leave again, as they had done so many times. They usually only stayed a week, doing odd jobs for sheriffs to get a little coin, then continue on. In reality they were looking for somewhere to settle. Get a proper job. Find love maybe.

Maybe he really should ask if the kid wants to have a drink later.

"i wonder if miss carter will be at the saloon today."

"y'think shes pretty?"

Steve looked almost offended, then after a moment he seemed to soften. "i mean, she is, but thats not why."

"y'sure? apparently Mouse was gon' help out her family with the cows today."

"Aha! so it was him you were looking all starstruck about!"

Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve grinned triumphantly. "I wasnt starstruck, but okay."

"oh no you were."

"was not!"

"whats the yappin about?"

they had been so busy bickering that they hadng even realised a little company had come to the yard, led by the stable boy.

Half a dozen men, dusty and dirty with their horses not looking much better. Most of them tipped Bucky and Steve their hat in greeting as they passed, but willow was brought up to the hitching post beside Reggie and Alpine.

"Mouse, kid! you not takin' Willow i'side?"

"Gotta wash her off, mr.Carter."

The man nodded, accepting the answer.

"well you look happy," Steve hummed, having gone to Bucky's side of Alpine.

"Cow herdin is fun, nice to get out sometimes."

"heard it was out at Carters, thats Peggy's parents isnt it?"

"yuup, how'd ya know Miss Carter?"

As the two started chatting about the carter family, and that Steve maybe found the daughter pretty, Bucky started brushing Alpine. Her white coat slowly getting silky smooth, as she and Willow started messing about a little bit.

He watched quietly as Steve and Mouse chatted. How the boy leant against the hitching post, crossing one leg over the other when he was done untacking Willow.

And that his hair seemed damp when he took his hat off and ran a hand through the strands. How it seemed to shine in the hot afternoon sun.

Bucky sighed, almost longingly as the boy laughed.

"you should come down to the saloon, if everyone else is going."

"just might, if mr.Banner lets me slack off on some work."

"you always got so much work to do."

"thats what happens when youre the lone stable hand, Steve. Got a lotta stalls to muck and horse t' feed." He chuckled, giving willow a firm pat. "'Least i enjoy it."

Steve nodded, turning to his buddy. "'Ey Buck, what'cha say, should we put in a good word for him so he can have an evening off?"

"oh, uh" he realised he was being talked to, snapping his head up to meet Steves mischievous gaze. "Sure."

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "if you want you can go talk to mr.banner now. he should be with the geldings, talking to mr.Carter. take reggie and i can take Alpine and Willow for ya."

"Oh, thank you,"

"Will do, thanks Mouse," Steve hummed, poking Bucky as he passed him to untie Reggie.

Two men could be heard talking as soon as they entered the stables. As Steve went to put Reggie away in his stall, Bucky went up to the two men.

"Ah hello Bucky!"

"hey, i was gonna ask, mr.banner, does Mouse have any more work today? we were gonna try convince him t'come to th' saloon with us."

Carter chuckled hartily. His face was all straight lines, rich with stubble and a good-looking mustache. "The kids always working isnt he?"

"hes a hard worker, never complains," Banner smiled, putting his hands in his pockets. "Hes got nothing else for today, other than dinner feed, but tell him im happy to do it."

"you give him so much freedom, like a good father."

Bucky hummed, not quite understanding why Mr.Carter found that to be so funny, so he gave a nod to Banner instead, quickly thanking him before scurrying off to find the Stable boy.

He found him giving carrots to the two mares, one for Willow, one for Alpine. The carrots gave way for the soft sound of horses crunching.

without looking up, he asks Bucky "sooo, how'd it go? and wheres steve?"

"still taking care o' Reggie, he'll prolly be 'ere soon. But it went well, you aint got no work to do later."

He finally looked up, smiling. He had such a pretty smile that soon turned flustered when he realised Bucky was looking at him.

"hey! why're you studyin me?"

"you look nice, is all."

"oh—"

Before the conversation could continue, a certain blonde popped up behind Bucky.

"Were you able to come with us?"

Bucky pushed steve off him, chuckling. "yeahyeah banner said it was fine."

.

"so you really never settle down?"

"nope, usually stay a week. then go again." he hummed, resting the side of his face in his palm.

the stable boy hummed, shifting in the barstool. "What's the goal with all the travelling then? a specific destination i suppose?"

"somewhere to live, stay. Hell id love to settle down."

There was no answer for a minute as the saloon kept going around them. they could hear Steve and ms.Carter, Peggy as she'd told them to call her.

"i suppose that makes sense," a sigh as he seemed to look anywhere but at Bucky.

The air felt like it changed, grew a little tense. Bucky didnt like it.

"what do ya say, Sweetheart, we could take a ride. take a look at the stars."

"thats so sappy."

Bucky watched as he took another sip of his beer. "so what? dont you want to?"

"course i do, id love to." he was trying to finish the drink. "if its with you anyway."

.

the night air was cool, and the sky was clear. not a single cloud to be seen, nothing to cover the endless amount of stars. The moon was crescent, giving just enough light to see, but not enough to hide the stars.

Yet bucky wasnt looking up.

Neither of them were.

They would catch glances of eachother as the silence grew comfortable. Bucky was just following, wondering where the stable hand would lead them.

The horses barely made a sound as they walked through the sandy path, only their breathing cutting through the quietness.

Soon another sound emerged. Water.

He couldnt see it yet, but the path started sloping down as the sound got louder.

when they got down the slope, both men hopped off their horses, and unclipped the reins to let them drink.

A tiny stream, water running along soft pebbles, grit and sand as tiny plants spouted in the wet dirt surrounding it.

As they sat, looking out across the land, Bucky spoke. "Its gorgeous."

"yeah, i love coming here."

a comfortable silence stretched between them, a symphony of calm. Bucky looked at him as if he were the stars, glistening and shining, lighting up the dark.

Eyes met his with a smile, and Bucky chuckled. "what?"

"You dont have to leave, yknow?"

the comment took him by surprise as he stayed quiet, trying to figure out what was meant by it.

"you and steve. you could stay. i bet fury could find work for you." he shifted, still looking up at the stars. "i dont think steve would complain, he could get to know Pegs better. and, you could stay, for me?"

He finally looked at Bucky.

"of course, sweetheart. i'd love to stay. for you."

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

A/N ; This has been fun to write. it's not my best work, but its been a project for a couple days while i dont have internet.

hope you enjoyed, and you did feel free to like/reblog <3

[vunblr]

Foundations (#6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 6.4.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Previous Chapter

Bucky exhaled through his nose as he threw another punch at the training bag and his knuckles landed with a solid thud against the reinforced material. The compound gym was mostly empty this early, which was fine by him. He never did well with crowds.

Steve stood a few feet away, casually wrapping his hands, watching with mild amusement. "You know, Buck, as the guys say, you look rested for once. Must be the extra help at home."

He grunted in response, not offering him much. It was true, having her around had helped. But thinking too much about that came with… complications.

And then, the doors swung open, and Sam walked in fresh from a run, with a towel slung around his neck. "I saw your nanny last night," he commented, pointing at Bucky like he was delivering breaking news. “Boy, can she dance.”

Bucky’s hand froze mid-punch for half a second. It was barely noticeable, but Steve caught it.

"Yeah?" Bucky forced his voice into something bored, tugging the wrap of his hand tighter than necessary.

"Yeah," Sam continued, oblivious -or maybe not- grabbing a water bottle from the rack. "Didn’t know she had it in her, but man, she was feeling that music."

Steve turned, brows raising ever so slightly in interest. Oh, he was going to have fun with this.

“What pub was this?” he asked, tone oh-so casual.

"Some place called The Velvet Pine," Sam said, stretching his arms. "Never been before. Seemed nice. Drinks were decent."

"Huh," Steve mused, rubbing his chin. "And who’d she dance with?"

Bucky knew exactly what the punk was doing.

Sam shrugged. "Started out with her friends, y'know, girls hyping each other up, just having fun. But eventually-" he took a long sip of water, "I saw her with some guy."

Bucky this time tightened the wraps around his wrist. The fabric stretched to its limit as something hot and unpleasant curled low in his stomach.

Steve definitely saw it.

"And?" he pressed, because of course he did.

Sam lifted his hands. "I don’t know, man. I wasn’t exactly watching her all night. At some point, I noticed her friends were still there, but she wasn’t."

Bucky bent the metal clip on his wrist wrap. Didn’t even realize he did it.

From a few feet away, Clint -who had been silently lifting weights until now-chuckled, dropping his dumbbells with a clank. “Oh. Naughty nanny.” He grinned.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath his stubble as he exhaled slowly through his nose. His grip on the wrist wrap tightened further, the already-strained fabric pulling taut around his poor fingers.

Steve, who had been enjoying poking the bear just moments ago, suddenly didn’t feel so amused anymore. He saw it then, the shift in Bucky’s expression. It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t even anger.

It was something heavier.

Possessiveness? No. That wasn’t fair. But something bordering close to it.

Steve cleared his throat, giving Clint a quick, subtle glance to shut him up before casually steering the conversation back. "Well, wherever she went, I’m sure she was just having a good time," he said carefully like he wanted to smooth over whatever storm was brewing in Bucky’s head.

----

Monday came, and she picked up Thomas from kindergarten like usual. The walk home was filled with his excited chatter, small hands swinging in hers as he told her about his day. When they arrived at the apartment, Bucky was already there, waiting.

He greeted Thomas as warmly as ever, ruffling his hair and kissing the kid’s temple.  But something was off, she felt it immediately.

Short answers. Little eye contact. Still, she tried to keep things normal, moving around the kitchen, and talking to Thomas about what they needed to pick up at the store. It had become their thing, a routine that had started naturally. But today, when she asked if they should go before the hot discount items run out, he shook his head.

“I’ll go alone,” he muttered, already grabbing his keys.

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard, but she nodded, pretending not to notice the way her chest suddenly felt too tight.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was quiet. She played with Thomas, helped him with the items he needed to bring the next day, and folded some laundry.

Bucky never came out of his room. He wasn’t asleep, she could hear the occasional creak of the old bed frame when he moved. But he stayed away. It was like he was hiding.

Eventually, she knocked on his door, pressing a hand against the frame. “Dinner’s ready,” she called gently. “And I’ll be heading out soon.”

Silence.

Then, after a beat, his voice came through, low and hollow. “Alright. Thanks.”

She lingered for half a second longer than necessary before pulling away. No see you tomorrow. No safe trip home. No let me walk you down.

----

He knew she had noticed something, how could she not, if he was acting like a boy? Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face.

This had to stop.

He wasn’t sixteen. He wasn’t some kid sulking because a girl he liked went out and had a good time. He didn’t have any claim on her.

She was just the damn nanny, for fuck’s sake. Someone who kept his home in order, who made sure that Thomas was cared for when he couldn’t. So what if she had a life outside of these walls? So what if she went out, laughed with people, danced with some guy, or even fuck-

No.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away before it could turn into something ugly, something he wasn’t ready to face. He had no right to feel this way and no right to let it fester.

Because this worked. The dynamic they had, the structure, the balance, it worked. And he wasn’t going to fuck it all up just because his dumb, touch-starved brain had decided to fixate on something it could never have.

So he’d suck it up. Just like he always did.

Tomorrow, he’d get his shit together. He’d act like a normal person. He’d even -fuck- ask her about her weekend like any regular, functioning adult would.

And he’d pretend.

Pretend it didn’t matter.

----

Tuesday afternoon, after she brought Thomas from the kindergarten, Bucky tried. Really tried. He put on that practiced smile -the one Sam always told him didn’t fool anyone but was the best he got- and forced himself to act normal. Like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t spent the last two days trying not to picture her dancing with some faceless stranger, disappearing into the night with him. So, when Thomas ran off to the bathroom at some point while she was making a snack, he casually made his way to the fridge for a glass of cold water, buying himself a few seconds.

He shouldn’t ask. But before he could stop himself, the words were already out. “I forgot to ask, how was your girl’s night?” His voice was so detached, so casual. Like he wasn’t already bracing for impact.

She stopped mid-motion, hovering the butter knife over the slice of bread, and looked at him as if deciding what to say. Then- “Not so great.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed before he could stop them. If dancing with some guy and leaving early wasn’t so great, well… “Oh?” He set the glass down on the counter, watching her carefully. “Why’s that?”

She pressed her lips in a thin line, exhaling sharply through her nose. “I-” She hesitated, then forced it out. “Someone put something in my drink.”

The world stilled. Bucky’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The fridge door clicked shut as he took a step forward, and his body moved before his mind could even catch up. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath came out slow and measured like he was trying to keep something dangerous contained. “What?”

She swallowed, dropping her gaze to the counter for a second before she continued. “A guy invited me to dance. He seemed nice, you know? Attentive. At some point, he bought me a drink, and I accepted. After a while, I started to feel… weird. And he started to-” She waved her hand vaguely, like she couldn’t -or didn’t want to- say it out loud.

Bucky saw red.

His jaw locked so tight it ached, and something dark curled in his chest, coiling tighter and tighter with every beat of silence that passed. He wanted to ask questions, to demand names, and answers. But he restrained himself and let her talk.

“I don’t remember much,” she admitted, quietly. “But someone noticed something was off. The bartender, I think. He called someone from the staff, and they got me a secure cab. I managed to tell them my address.” She took a breath, “I sent a voice message to my friends while I was in the car. I couldn’t think straight, so the woman driving the car had to help me inside. I… was fine after a couple of hours. Just dizzy. Nauseous.”

Bucky was not fine. His fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles cracked, and his vision tunneled as he fought the instinct to destroy someone.

She must have noticed the shift in his behavior because her hand suddenly did touch his, just barely, the lightest press of her fingers against his wrist. "I'm okay, Bucky," she said softly. "It didn’t go further than that."

Didn’t go further than that.

That shouldn’t be comforting. His chest ached with the effort of holding it all back, of swallowing the rage and forcing himself to breathe. “Who was he?” The words came out quieter than expected. Deadly.

She hesitated again before shaking her head. “I don’t remember his name but either way, it could have been a lie.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose. You should've told me. Called me. Instead, what came out was, “You should’ve taken yesterday off. You needed time to recover.”

Then he realized. He had ignored her all of Monday while she’d been dealing with this. While she’d been sitting with the weight of what happened alone. He felt like a fucking dick. “Do you wanna go home?” he asked softly.

“No. I- I don't want to be alone right now, if that makes sense. I prefer to distract myself.”

Of course, it made sense. She just escaped a fucking rapist by a hair. Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, and his protectiveness twisted tighter and tighter inside him. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

Fuck it.

“Can I… I'll understand if you say no, but- just need a hug.” The last words came out lower like she was embarrassed to ask. But before she finished saying them, her body was enveloped in his. Warm, big, protective. And she let herself dive into it.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest, and he let out a slow breath, resting his chin on the top of her head.

It felt… right.

For both of them.

She shouldn’t want to stay there. Shouldn’t want to let herself sink into his warmth, into the solid comfort he provided her. But she did. And when she felt his arm pressing just slightly around her back, when he lingered, she dared to think that maybe… he didn’t want this to end either.

But while she was thinking about holding on, Bucky’s mind was already elsewhere.

Already planning.

He wasn’t a killer anymore. He wasn’t the man who mindlessly hurt and destroyed on command without thought. But when he finds the bastard who did this… when Bucky finishes with him, he’ll wish he was dead.

----

That night, he didn’t hesitate.

He called Steve and asked him to take care of Thomas, kept it vague. Steve asked if everything was alright and Bucky just answered, “I need to handle something.”

His first stop was the pub. It took all of ten minutes to get the surveillance footage. No one argued when he asked. Whether it was the weight of his name or the look in his eyes, he didn’t care.

The next stop was the Tower.

"Friday, pull up the security feed from Saturday night. Find her." Seconds later, there she was, black dress and nice hairdo, the picture of someone out to have a good time. Completely unaware.

Bucky fast-forwarded until he spotted her on the dance floor, spinning in some asshole’s arms. His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to keep watching.

Fast-forwarded again, there they were at the bar. “Friday, enhance the footage. Close-caption the movements."

And there it was.

The bastard dissolved something into her drink while her back was turned. Then he rejoined her near the dance floor, charming, smiling. They flirted -another painful churn in Bucky’s gut- and then, she took a sip.

It didn’t take long. A shift in her posture, a slight lag in her coordination, the way she started leaning more into him, like gravity had shifted.

Then the hands. On her thigh, on her hip. Bucky didn’t finish watching. He couldn’t. It felt wrong.

But he had seen enough.

"Friday, run a facial recognition scan. See if he has a record." It took less than ten seconds. Convicted of multiple sexual offenses. Vicious ones.

Bucky’s blood turned to ice. "Give me his last known address."

A pause.

Then, a map appeared on the screen.  And Bucky was already grabbing his jacket.

----

The news broke early the next morning, spreading like wildfire across the city. A known sexual predator had been found unconscious at the doorstep of a police station, it seemed his battered body was dumped there in the dead of night. Law enforcement officials remained tight-lipped, refusing to release details, but unofficial sources painted a far more gruesome picture. Multiple broken fingers, a savage beating that left him barely recognizable, and the most horrifying detail of all: his own severed testicles shoved into his mouth. Whoever had done it had made sure he lived through it, going so far as to cauterize the wound with a knife, ensuring he wouldn’t bleed out before he was found.

Speculation ran wild. Some whispered about vigilante justice, others murmured that the man had it coming. The brutality of the act sent shockwaves through the media, but behind closed doors, some simply nodded in grim understanding. No suspects had been named, no witnesses had come forward, and no security cameras had caught a thing. It was as if the man had been plucked off the streets, punished, and discarded without a trace.

Bucky sat at his kitchen table, sipping his morning coffee as the radio droned on in the background. He didn’t react to the report, nor did he stop munching his toast when the anchor speculated about the motives behind the attack. He simply stirred a little sugar into his cup, took another slow sip, and went about his morning routine as if it were any other day.

----

In the afternoon, Thomas asked to watch a movie, so she picked Toy Story. The kid was thrilled by the idea that his toys might secretly move and talk when he wasn’t looking. Every now and then, she caught him sneaking glances at them, with his eyes full of wonder, as if he could catch them in the act.

At some point, he begged for popcorn, and she laughed, ruffling his hair before heading to the kitchen to make some.

She was rummaging through the cabinets, searching for the right pot, when Bucky emerged from his bedroom. His hair was a mess, sleep-tousled and falling loosely over his shoulders. He moved on autopilot, going straight for a couple of plums. His heavy steps and sluggish posture told her he hadn’t been awake long from his nap.

She turned on the burner, setting the pot down, and spoke as casually as she could. “Saw the news today.”

He didn’t answer. Just let the water run as he rinsed the fruit, lowering his head slightly, his strands of dark hair covering his face like a curtain.

She gripped the pot handle a little tighter. No point in dancing around it. “The man at the police station,” she continued, voice even. “It was him.”

He stilled. Just for a second. A fraction of hesitation before he reached for a bowl, placing the plums inside with slow, deliberate movements.

"Figures," he muttered, shutting off the tap, and reaching for a towel. But before he could step away, she moved without thinking, brushing her fingers over his bicep, rubbing slow, careful circles with her thumb against the fabric of his shirt.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He still didn’t look at her.

“I would do it again,” he murmured.

There it was. The cat was out of the bag.

Now she knew -or was reminded- exactly what he was capable of. What kind of man stood before her.

Would she flinch away, look at him differently? He wasn’t sorry for what he did, wouldn’t regret it for a second, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that actions didn’t have consequences. And maybe this -whatever this was- was something he was about to lose.

But then, instead of pulling away, she did the last thing he expected.

She pressed her forehead gently against his arm. “Want to watch what’s left of the movie with us?” she said softly, as if nothing had changed. “Thomas is loving it.”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

He nodded, still without looking at her. "Then go sit with Thomas and I'll bring the popcorn when it's ready." She instructed, taking a step back and turning around.

----

She wasn’t stupid.

When she saw the news the next morning -just the night after she told Bucky what had happened- it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.

He could have just reported the guy, turned him over to the authorities, and let the system deal with him. Instead, he had gone out, hunted him down, and made sure he’d never hurt anyone again.

This wasn’t about justice. It wasn’t even about punishment.

It was personal.

Why? Because she was Thomas’ nanny? Because, somewhere along the way, she had become part of something he wasn’t willing to risk losing?

She thought about that night, when he had offered her his bed, and told her outright that he didn’t mind her there, that she was part of his household. Maybe that was why he felt compelled to do this. Maybe, to him, this was just… protecting his own.

----

Bucky was done pretending.

Done pretending this was just a comfortable, familiar routine. Done acting like this was enough when it had long since stopped being so.

And after what happened, after hearing what almost happened to her, the dam was close to breaking.

He was on edge.

Because if she had been with them that Saturday, she wouldn’t have been in danger. She wouldn’t have had to look for a good time with strangers and wouldn’t have been put in that position. And maybe that was the worst part. Not that she had gone out. Not that she had almost gotten hurt. But she had to go somewhere else to look for what she wanted.

What she needed.

Because he was a coward.

Trailing after her like a touch-starved idiot for months, basking in the warmth of the status quo. Letting himself be pampered, doted on, and wanted, but never taking it. It was time to admit, to face it head-on, that under all his layers of self-deprecation and doubt, part of him had noticed the signs. The ones Steve had subtly and not so subtly tried to make him see.

It used to be easy for him. To read those signs. To know when someone wanted him. And if they didn’t, well, he had once been the kind of man to make it happen.

But that man had died the moment he fell from that train.

Now, he was this. A fractured thing. A man with too much past and too many scars, with a kid who deserved a better role model than someone who spent his nights fucking his own hand inhaling a damn scarf because it smelled like her.

Yeah.

She hadn’t lost it, as she thought.

He had found it in the laundry pile weeks ago and, instead of leaving it out like a normal person, had tucked it away like some depraved, desperate little secret.

Like a fucking creep.

And now, after what happened, he didn’t just want to protect her. He wanted to keep her. Not just so she wouldn’t have to expose herself to the dangers of the world, but because-

He was a selfish bastard.

And he’d had enough.

----

Bucky was sprawled across the couch when she returned, popcorn in hand. He shifted slightly, making room for her, but hesitated -just for a second- before not removing his arm from the couch’s backrest.

Oh.

Subtle. But not that subtle.

She sat down, careful and deliberate, placing the bowl within reach. At first, she kept her posture straight, too aware of the space -or lack of it- between them.

Minutes passed. The movie played on. Eventually, her back started to ache, as a dull protest against how stiffly she was holding herself. She needed to lean back. And still, he didn’t move his arm.

There was no way he hadn’t noticed, no way this was anything but intentional. A week ago, he would have given her space, even would have put Thomas between them. But now…

She let out a slow breath and took the offer. Slowly, carefully, she eased back, resting her head against his shoulder.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm shifted, pressing her closer, barely brushing the edge of her sleeve with his fingers.

Okay, she wasn’t imagining this.

She was cuddling with her boss.

Her boss, who had just tacitly admitted that he was the one who hunted down and beat the life out of the man who had almost hurt her.

The realization should have made her tense, should have made her overthink every second leading up to this moment, but instead, her body acted on instinct. She shifted -just a little- closing more of the space between them, pressing herself against the warmth of his body. She felt it. The way he caught his breath, the way his muscles went tight for a brief second, before exhaling and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

----

As the movie went on, Thomas remained fully engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. But the same couldn’t be said for the two adults on the couch. Neither of them was really watching.

At some point, she shifted again, adjusting herself against his body, and Bucky felt it, all of it. The warmth of her body against his side, the subtle weight of her head resting just right on his shoulder. She smelled like something soft, and warm, like lavender and the faintest hint of chamomile, and he knew if he moved even an inch closer, he’d drown in her scent.

She wasn’t faring much better. Every slow rise and fall of his chest made her hyper-aware of just how solid he was. How warm. How big. His arm, resting along the back of the couch, wasn’t quite touching her, but she could feel its weight hovering there like it wanted to.

Her fingers, resting idly beside her, shifted just slightly, brushing against his thigh. A featherlight touch. Accidental. But the way Bucky tensed made her stomach flip.

Neither of them moved away.

Another slow inhale. Another shift.

Bucky turned his head slightly, just enough that his nose brushed against the top of her hair. He breathed her in, slow and quiet, and let it out on a slow, controlled exhale. And then, in the quietest, rawest voice she had ever heard from him-

“Fuck.”

It was whispered, barely audible, slipping past his lips before he could bite it back. She felt it more than heard it, the vibration of his voice against her temple.

He went still after that, like he’d just let something slip.

And she couldn’t help it. Slowly, carefully, she tilted her head up to look at him, brushing her nose along the rough stubble of his jaw.

He inhaled sharply, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Then, almost hesitantly, he moved, shifting ever so slightly, just enough to press his forehead against hers.

A slow, shared breath.

The space between them was nonexistent.

It would be so easy to close the distance. To press her lips to the corner of his mouth, to finally give in to whatever had been simmering between them for months.

And judging by the way his fingers pressed ever so slightly on her arm, he was thinking the exact same thing.

But.

As much as she wanted it, as much as he seemed to want it, Thomas was sitting mere inches away.

It was wrong.

All it would take was a second -a moment of distraction from the boy, a glance in their direction- and he would see everything transpiring between them.

A sudden laugh from the kid at just the right moment brought reality crashing back down. So, she swallowed, ignoring the heat curling in her body, and lowered her face slowly, resting her head on his shoulder again.

And that was when Bucky moved.

His arm, which had been resting on the back of the couch, scooped her closer, dragging her fully against him. Her cheek was pressed into his chest, and her hand landed against his ribcage, feeling his strong heartbeats beneath her palm.

She let herself sink into his body, into the way he held her there, firm and certain, like he needed it just as much as she did.

----

The movie ended, and with it, the fragile atmosphere built between them.

Thomas was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in his seat as he fired off questions, questions that Bucky could only half-assedly answer because, truthfully, he had barely processed a single second of the film.

How could he?

Not when he’d spent the last hour fighting the urge to shift, to press closer, to let his hands wander where they shouldn’t.

Not when the scent of her arousal had curled into his senses, sweet and warm and impossible to ignore while she let him hold her, and press her against his chest.

Not when the dull ache between his legs had made every passing second feel like torture.

Fuck, he was wrecked.

She got up, answering Thomas’s rapid-fire questions easily -she’d seen the movie countless times- while making her way to the kitchen, and Bucky forced himself to move, standing up with a quiet grunt as he rolled his shoulders, discreetly tugging at his pants to adjust himself, willing his body to calm the fuck down.

A cold shower. He needed a cold fucking shower.

Throwing a glance toward the kitchen, he watched her move, hawking at the sway of her hips as she reached for a cutting board, the way she bent to reach a pot. Jesus. He clenched his jaw and forced his feet to move, heading straight for the bathroom.

----

She heard the shower start, and that was when she remembered. The towels.

Her fingers stilled on the knife for a beat before she turned to Thomas, mustering the most casual voice she could. “Sweetheart, can you take a clean towel to your dad? I forgot to put them back after laundry.”

The boy nodded happily, grabbing one from the pile and running down the hall.

And just like that, she was alone.

Alone with the feeling of his body pressing against hers. His smell. The weight of his arm. The slow, almost reverent way his fingers had traced just under her breast.

The way her body had reacted to his, aching, wanting-

Eventually, the sound of the bathroom door opening snapped her out of it.

And when she turned-

Oh.

Bucky stood there, fresh from the shower, water still clinging to his collarbone, shoulders, and forearm where he had missed a few drops before putting on a tank top that left almost none to the imagination. His beard was neatly trimmed, his jawline sharper, cleaner. And fuck, that damn ponytail again, like he knew exactly what it did to her.

She swallowed, forcing her gaze lower, only to regret it instantly.

The grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, and her stomach flipped violently, while heat crawled up her neck.

And God, then he looked at her.

Like he was devouring her with his eyes while he reached for a piece of bread from the table, biting into it with slow, deliberate movements,

She swallowed, gripping the wooden spoon tighter, forcing herself to focus on the food in front of her. Stirring. Stirring. Not thinking.

She gave the sauce one last absentminded stir, then shut off the burner.

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she exhaled slowly before turning back to the table. "Alright, I should get going."

----

Thomas frowned from his seat, already settling in for dinner. "Already?"

She ruffled his hair with a small smile. "Yeah, kiddo. Gotta catch the bus before it gets too late."

Bucky, who had been watching in silence, shifted in his seat. Then, without a word, he stood, tugging his phone from his pocket and typing something before shoving it back in.

“I’ll walk you down.”

It wasn’t a surprise. It had become routine at this point, the act of accompanying her to the door, sometimes even down the street if it was late. If she ever protested, he’d just look at her. That flat, unimpressed stare that made it very clear she wasn’t going to win that argument.

So she just nodded, grabbing her jacket before saying goodbye to Thomas, who, as always, made her promise she’d be back tomorrow.

With that, she followed Bucky out of the apartment.

The hallway was quiet, save for the buzz of the overhead lights and the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them looked at each other. Even as they stepped into the elevator.

She risked a glance at him, catching the way his fingers picked absently at a cuticle, and his jaw worked like he was thinking too much.

The elevator descended, floor numbers ticking down in a slow rhythm.

7

6

5

Her stomach flipped for no reason at all.

4

Bucky moved.

His arm slowly reached out, and before she could process it, his palm pressed the stop button.

The elevator shuddered to a halt.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head, looking at him.

And, oh.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… dark, intense, burning.

Her lips parted, and then-

His hand shot out.

Not to touch her. Not quite.

But close enough.

His fingers braced against the wall beside her head, caging her in, while his body got mere inches from hers, radiating heat. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost across her cheek.

His voice, low and rough, sent a shiver down straight to her pussy.

“Tell me what you want, doll.”

Her stomach clenched, and her pulse hammered against her chest.

Oh, fuck.

There was no point in pretending anymore.

She shifted her face to the side, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

He tensed beneath her lips. But she didn’t stop.

Slowly, she traced a path along his jaw, breathing warmly against his skin, teasing, waiting, until she reached the corner of his mouth.

And then he just took what she offered.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as his vibranium hand came up, cradling her face with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger of his kiss. His other hand remained firmly pressed against the elevator wall, keeping her caged between him and the cold metal.

He kissed her hard, like he had been holding himself back for too long, because he had.

And she melted.

A moan escaped her lips as she parted them for him, surrendering as his tongue swept inside, claiming, coaxing, demanding more.

Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His body pressed into hers firmly, as if daring the space between them to disappear entirely.

The elevator walls blurred away, and the world narrowed down to nothing but heat and mingling breaths.

He growled against her mouth, raw, almost desperate. His hands found the bare skin of her thighs beneath her jumper, digging his fingers into her soft flesh as he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her back against the elevator wall.

A gasp tore from her lips as her instincts took over, wrapping her legs around his waist, and locking him in. And then, he ground against her. A slow, deliberate roll of his hips, pressing the hard, aching length of his cock against the heat between her legs.

His eyes rolled back, as the pleasure ripped through his body like a live wire.

Fuck.

The thin fabric of his sweatpants did nothing to dull the friction, to stop the rush of sensations shooting straight up his spine. He barely had a second to gather himself, to hold on to what little control he had left, because if he didn’t, if he kept moving just like that-

He was going to fucking come in his pants like a damn teenager.

She took advantage of his momentary stillness, curling her fingers into his hair, and giving a soft, teasing tug at his ponytail. His breath stuttered, and his grip on her thighs tightened just before she latched onto the exposed skin of his neck.

Her mouth was warm, and her lips soft as she nipped and suckled at his skin, careful -too careful- not to leave a mark. Not that she could, really. She’d have to work damn hard to bruise him, to claim him in any visible way.

And still, he let her.

He thought he was going to die right there.

His neglected, touch-starved body struggled to process all the stimulus, the heat of her body pressed against him, the teasing scrape of her teeth, the friction, the fucking wetness soaking into the fabric of his sweatpants. He didn’t even know if it was his or hers or both, but he needed-

His hand moved on its own, slipping beneath her jumper, sliding up and brushing the rim of her panties, guided by pure desperation-

And then his phone blared between them.

The sharp sound sliced through the haze, snapping them back to reality for a fraction of a second.

He tensed. She gasped.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His past self had set that damn alarm. A fail-safe, a reminder, because he knew something could happen. Not this, definitely not this far, but something. He didn’t want to leave Thomas alone in the apartment for too long. Panting, he pressed his forehead against hers, squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered a curse under his breath.

She couldn’t stop herself, just one last time, and she rolled her hips against his, biting her lip when she felt just how hard he was.

His sharp gasp sent a thrill down her spine.

“Sorry,” she blurted, breathless.

His eyes snapped open, dark and hazy, his pupils blown wide. His chest heaved against hers, their warm breath mingling in the charged space between them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid her down, letting her body drag against his, while his hands glided up the backs of her thighs, fingers splayed. She barely had time to catch her breath before he squeezed both hands on her ass, hard enough to make her gasp.

But before she could say anything, he exhaled sharply and fished out his damn phone, silencing the alarm. His fingers curled around the device as if fighting the urge to crush it in his palm.

“Sorry,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Thomas…”

“Of course,” she managed to say, forcing herself to focus. “He’ll wonder why you’re not back.”

She ran her hands over her clothes, smoothing fabric that had been wrinkled in his grip, and fixing her hair in a vain attempt to make herself look less like she had just been thoroughly manhandled.

Bucky wasn’t fairing much better.

She caught the way he stiffened and looked down, muttering a curse under his breath.

She followed his gaze-

A wet patch stained the front of his sweatpants, where the fabric struggled to contain his very prominent erection.

She swallowed, and heat sparked again deep in her belly.

Bucky scowled, tugging his tank top down in a pitiful attempt to cover himself. It didn’t help. At all.

With his jaw tight, he reached for the elevator panel and pressed the button, setting it back into motion. The sound of the machinery filled the small space, but neither of them spoke.

He barely even looked at her.

Couldn’t.

Not when he still felt her warmth against his skin, still tasted her on his lips, still throbbed painfully inside his damn stained sweatpants.

When the doors slid open, she stepped out first, and he followed instinctively, keeping close behind, using her frame to shield the evidence on his pants from anyone lingering in the hallway.

They walked in silence. When they reached the doorway of the building, she finally turned, meeting his gaze, with a small, timid smile playing at her lips.

Something in his chest pulled.

Without thinking, he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek, tracing the warmth of her skin. And, instead of doing what he wanted -instead of kissing her the way he needed- he dipped his head and pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of her hair.

Soft. Safe.

All he could trust himself with right now.

“See you tomorrow, doll,” he murmured.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” she murmured, almost hesitant. Before he could pull away, she lifted her hand, cradling his where it still rested against her cheek.

Bucky swallowed hard as she brushed her thumb over his knuckles, slow, absentminded. Like she didn’t want to let go. But then she pulled back, releasing him and letting the air settle cool where her warmth had been.

She turned, walking toward the bus stop without another word. Will have the whole way home to think about what happened.

And him?

He had all night to regret letting her walk away.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira @technicallytinyheart @put-trash-here @chinggay85-blog @tulippix @dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol @thriving-n-jiving @vxllys @hi172826 @imaginexred

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[chloe-skywalker]

Be Safe - Bucky Barnes

Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mention of Bucky losing his arm

Word count: 1,138

Summary: 1940’s - What if they found Bucky after the fall? What if HYDRA never took him?

Authors Note: Neat little idea I had and I LOVE it!

Masterlist

Avengers Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“You promise that you’ll both be safe?” Y/n was worried about her boys. Y/n and Peggy were very similar in the way they fought alongside the men. But they weren’t allowed to go on every mission. When they couldn’t be there it made the two women more anxious. Peggy worried about Steve, and Y/n worried for her friend Steve, but mostly for her husband Bucky. Jame Buchanan Barnes. The love of her life.

“We’ll try.” Steve smiled at his lifelong friend.

“We’ll come back, doll.” Bucky stated reassuringly. He smiled at her and kissed her cheek. “Promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” Y/n wished she could just believe him but that's not how war works.

“I’ll come back to you, doll. I promise and I’ll bring this punk back with me.” Bucky rested his forehead to her’s, not a worry in his eyes. He truly believed the words he was telling her.

“We gotta go back.” Steve spoke up standing next to Peggy. Steve smiled at Y/n as the couple pulled apart. “Bye, y/n/n. We’ll be back soon.”

Peggy and Y/n stood next to each other as the two women watched their men leave. Y/n couldn’t help the feeling that something was gonna happen.

^     ^     ^

Y/n tired to keep busy, keep her mind off the fact that Bucky was in danger.

Luckily they came back before nightfall of the next day. Peggy and Y/n smiled as they saw Steve, knowing Bucky wouldn’t be far behind. But when Y/n saw him on a stretcher that's when her heart rate picked up drastically.

“Bucky?” Y/n said out loud in shock at his state before her eyes. “Oh my God.” she covered her mouth at the site of him missing his arm.

“He’s stable, okay? They're gonna help him.” Steve pulled y/n into him, comforting her the best he could. Steve held her tight hoping to calm her, knowing how scared she must be. Bucky was covered in blood and missing his arm.

“What happened Steve?” Y/n asked pulling back some to look up at the blonde. Peggy rested a comforting hand on Y/n’s shoulder. Y/n was trying to keep her emotions in check. Be strong but it was getting increasingly harder.

“He got shot out of a train. I-I couldn't grab him in time and he fell.” Steve stuttered as he explained, telling it just made it feel more real. Scarlier.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/n reached out to hold Steve’s hands tightly, trying to comfort him. Knowing Steve he was taking all the blame for Bucky being hurt.

“It feels like it.” Steve dropped into a nearby chair, putting his head into his hands.

Y/n sat beside him worried for Bucky as well, but also staying strong for Steve.

^    ^    ^

“Y/n?” Bucky said in a rough voice but loud enough for her to hear.

“Right here Bucky.” Y/n spoke up scooting closer to his bed. Bucky had been out of it for a couple days. They had transferred him to a hospital in the city back in brooklyn the morning after they got back to base. Y/n hadn’t left his side since.

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky asked, turning his head to look at his wife.

“He’s right outside.” She told him lifting his hand to her lips.

“He’s blaming himself isn’t he?” Bucky grimaced, feeling more pain the more he woke up.

“Yeah.” Y/n nodded sadly knowing Bucky doesn’t even blame him for what happened. But Steve doesn’t want to believe it.

“What do you remember?” Y/n questioned him, secretly hoping he didn’t remember to much of the traumatic accident.

“I remember being shot at and hanging off the side of the train. Then nothing.” He told her with a shake of his head and watery eyes.

Y/n explained to him what  Steve had to her in the last couple days of what exactly happened. There were lots of tears shed. Y/n had Steve come in when Bucky was ready. The two talked and Bucky tried to assure Steve there was nothing he could have done.

Bucky had to say in the hospital for a couple weeks but once he left Bucky and Y/n had gotten a call from Howard to come to his lab. So the couple headed to Stark’s  lab to find out that Howard had been hard at work making a bunch of different prosthetic arms for Bucky that were incredibly advanced. He wanted Bucky to be able to have finger control, and to possibly have feeling from the arm, so he could feel hot and cold and touch almost as if it had nerves.

“How’s it feel?” Howard asks, biting his thumb anxiously.

“Good. I can feel heat, cold, touch, just like you said.” Bucky nodded honestly, he was really impressed and immensely grateful. Grateful for everyone's support, and all their hard work to help him.

“Great! That was the goal.” Howard clapped with a huge smile. He felt relieved it had taken a lot of tries and hours to work it all out. But he wanted to give Bucky so normalcy back.

Howard walked away to give Bucky a moment.

Y/n walked closer to Bucky. “You okay?”

Y/n noticed Bucky’s demeanor had dropped once Howard walked away.

“Hmmmhmm.” He hummed not looking at her but at the metal arm now attached to him.

“Bucky I don’t want to push but you have to talk to me.” Y/n pleaded talking lowly so no one would hear her.

“Its not the same.” Bucky mumbled, sadness evident in his voice. He honestly didn’t expect it to be like his real arm, but still it was odd to feel things but feel them in a new way.

“It’ll never be the same. But at least it’s something and Howard is doing everything possible for it to be as much like your real arm as it possibly can be.” Y/n felt bad for him but knew he didn’t need pity. He needed support and someone to tell him the truth in a kind way.

“I know.” Bucky nodded knowing she was right. The arm was made out of the same metal as Steve’s shield, and it had a lot of features that wouldn’t be around for many many decades.

“I still love you. Arm or not my love for you will never change.” Y/n smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips lovingly, hoping to ease some of his insecurities that he is not used to having.

“I love you too. Thank you for sticking with me.” Bucky smiled at her, grateful to have her with him. Staying by his side through everything.

“Always.” Y/n promised. Nothing would separate them. Nothing.

Taglist:

@gruffle1 @padawancat97 @starkleila

[emdashbitch]

the way mcu Peter is the one existing in the least financially stable position out of the three we've had yet is the one who gets called middle class and an insult to Spider-Man's origins the most is baffling to me

yes, he's technologically more privileged than the other Peters having been given access to the suits and connections he has, but that isn't because he's wealthy or middle class, it's because of grooming. the tech he has is a by-product of child exploitation. and that then led him to being further exploited by others afterwards. hardly a fair trade off.

(And as for Midtown High, Peter's a scholarship student and an exemplary student at that, needing scholarships and grants is literally how Tony gets his literal and proverbial foot in the door with him.)

All three live action Peters have ties to some incredibly rich men, but one has a significant and important contextual difference I've seen ignored constantly:

Raimi's Peter and TASM Peter were both childhood friends with a boy their own age in authentically and organically formed relationships, formed before either Peter acquired their powers. Both Harrys were peers to the Peters, despite the wealth gap, and the Harrys don't make the Peters feel lesser for not having the same resources or living situation. It wasn't smooth sailing and there were issues that arose due to that gap, but at their core, the Peters and the Harrys were friends without ulterior motives. This is also the case with many other versions of Peter and Harry.

MCU Peter at 14 was specifically targeted and exploited by a 46-year-old man who'd been stalking him (justify it however you like, the fact Tony had been aware of Peter as Spider-Man and did digging to find out who he was and where he lived. He'd been watching Peter for up to six months... that's a form of stalking).

He had no prior relationship with Tony outside of childhood hero worship for Iron Man. Tony Stark is one of the most powerful men on Earth, financially, socially, academically and politically speaking, as well as militaristically as Iron Man, and Peter is a child who got powers six months ago wearing swimming goggles and a hooded sweater. Already, all of this creates several power dynamics that aren't to Peter's benefit.

Tony locks him in the room with him after entering his home under false pretenses and offers him gifts/bribes him after rifling through Peter's belongings mocking and making Peter feel small for what he did have. Tony had ulterior motives for seeking Peter out that, no matter how you spin it, are child exploitation. He turned Tony down, we never see Peter willingly agree, yet Tony didn't take no for an answer and used blackmail to get him to fight for him without telling Peter anything, particularly scary since he had Peter fighting against his own human rights as a genetically enhanced person. All he told Peter was that Steve had "gone crazy" for not wanting enhanced people to... say, have to wear 24/7 identification and monitoring trackers. Wild.

And despite admiring Tony who's given him all these things, he's frequently disobeying Tony. He and Tony have contradictory ethics. Their morals are at odds, they're constantly shown disagreeing on how to handle situations because Peter is far more like Steve Rogers than he has ever been like Tony (something we also see between how Peter handles Norman, under the control of another entity to kill May, and how Tony handled Bucky, also under the control of another entity to kill Maria.)

Peter might be into tech and a genius, but that's where his likeness to Tony ends. It's people like Happy around him who try to make him fit into the box of a Tony mini-me (ex. in FFH, we're shown Peter through Happy's grieving eyes as this, and then through the use of the music and the camera frame shifting solely to Peter, we see that it's a false legacy Happy's invented in his grief. Peter has a completely disinterested reaction to the music, even though he claims to "love" it and gets the artist wrong. This isn't a reach, it's symbolism, used to convey complex themes without having to spell it out.)

It can even be argued that Peter failed to clue into Quentin Beck because Beck treated him exactly the same way Tony did, which we're shown was on purpose once Beck drops the act and we learn he personally knew Tony and how he behaved. Peter has been constantly exploited, not just by Tony but also by "Fury"/Skrull Fury and SHIELD, since the age of 14. None of Peter's peers are in the superhero/spy world and he was never given the chance to properly talk to any of Earth's other heroes, just Tony, so he has no point of reference to know what is and isn't acceptable dealings in superheroism. Every single time he's been recruited, it's been with lies and manipulation. Victims of abuse, of any kind, are 4x more likely to go through it again as they go through life and that only goes up if they were under 16 at the time of first instance.

Anyway, I'm just really tired of seeing important context about MCU Peter ignored. No one seems to realise that they're not calling out proof that MCU Peter is lazy for using this advanced tech or living in a billionaire's back pocket, they're highlighting the symptoms and direct results of child exploitation.

[luciemggio]

The line between part II

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers’sister

Warnings: none

Summary: After decades apart, Steve’s sister discovers the Winter Soldier is Bucky. In Civil War, he begins to remember her — and their love — and they finally reunite.

2012 – SHIELD Medical Facility, New York

She didn’t wake with a gasp like in the movies. There was no dramatic thrashing or screaming.

She opened her eyes in silence. Cold, aching silence.

Everything felt wrong. Too bright. Too sterile. The world outside the glass was one she didn’t recognize.

“Vitals stable,” someone muttered behind the glass. “She’s conscious.”

And then came a voice. Familiar. Shaken.

“…Y/N?”

Her eyes slid toward the figure stepping into the light.

Tall. Blonde. Blue-eyed.

Older, yet still the boy who used to wait for her outside school with drawings in his coat pocket.

“Steve?”

She didn’t cry. She just whispered, “You got taller.”

His laugh broke — cracked in half. He reached for her hand like it was the only real thing in the room.

“You’ve been asleep a long time, sis.”

Her eyes fluttered. “Where’s Bucky?”

Steve paused.

And that silence told her everything.

Two weeks later she was staying at the Avengers Compound with her brother. Steve sat beside her bed, his legs bouncing with restless guilt. She lay half-reclined, still too weak to stand for long stretches. Every few hours she stared at the city through the window — stunned by its chaos, its towers, its speed.

“Phones have no wires now?” she asked one night.

Steve chuckled. “No wires. No privacy either.”

“God help us.”

They spent hours trading memories. Her voice was hoarse, but she lit up when Steve told her about the Battle of New York, about Thor, and Tony, and aliens.

But when the conversation turned to Bucky, her smile dimmed.

“Do you know what happened to him after the train?”

Steve looked away. “I… I thought he was gone.”

“But?”

“There’s… speculation. Rumors. Files with redacted names. I think Hydra found him. Like they found you.”

Her jaw tensed. “Then I’m going to find him.”

“You need to heal.”

“I need him.”

She trained with Natasha nearly every day. Muscle memory returned quickly — sharper than before. Red Room combat, Hydra tactics, Soviet defense conditioning — everything they’d etched into her bones remained.

“You move like someone who had their heart carved out,” Natasha said once during sparring.

She wiped her forehead with a towel. “I did.”

They became inseparable — Natasha was the only one who understood. The quiet grief. The long, stretched-out mourning of a life stolen.

Tony called her “Ice Princess” for months. Clint taught her to use a compound bow. Sam Wilson introduced her to Marvin Gaye. Bruce helped her manage trauma-induced cortisol spikes.

But it was Steve who grounded her. Every morning, they drank coffee together in silence.

She asked him once if he ever dreamed of Brooklyn.

“Only when I’m happy,” he said.

“Me too.”

She found it by accident.

A redacted file. “W.S. – Asset 3256 – Elimination Orders 1950–2009.”

Her blood went cold.

There was a photograph. Grainy. Poorly lit. But it was him.

Her fingers trembled as she traced his jaw.

“James…”

The file listed dozens of operations. Disappearances. Targeted killings.

All tied to him.

Steve found her hours later in the archive, hunched over the folder, eyes swollen.

“Why didn’t you tell me you suspected it was him?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t want to see it either.”

She was on the bridge in the car with Sam, Steve and Nat when the Winter Soldier fired the first round.

The explosion was deafening. Natasha was hit. Cars flipped. Chaos reigned.

Then came him.

Out of the smoke — black mask, metal arm, eyes colder than death.

She froze.

He turned toward her. Paused.

Their eyes met.

Time slowed.

“…James?”

Nothing.

No flicker. No warmth. Just calculation.

He raised the rifle toward her chest.

Steve tackled her to the pavement just in time.

Later, in a safe house, she sat wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at a broken tea cup on the table.

Steve approached slowly.

“You okay?”

She looked up. Her voice was a whisper.

“I think he knew me. For a second.”

Steve knelt beside her. “We’ll bring him back.”

“How?” Her voice cracked. “He looked at me like I was a stranger.”

Later That Week.

They uncovered the Hydra infiltration.

Zola’s algorithm. Pierce’s betrayal. The helicarriers.

And Bucky — the Winter Soldier — standing beside Alexander Pierce.

A weapon. Not a man.

But she remembered something that SHIELD couldn’t catalog. Something no file contained.

How Bucky used to hold her hand. How he kissed her wrist when he thought she was asleep. How he called her “doll” like she was something precious.

And then…

…he saved Steve.

Pulled him out of the Potomac when he should’ve let him drown.

That gave her hope.

Outside the Avengers compound the snow fell in thick, wet clumps outside the window. She sat on the windowsill, legs pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the flurry of white.

Steve entered quietly, holding a manila file.

She didn’t turn around.

“Another dead end?” she asked.

He hesitated. “No. Not this time.”

That made her move.

She turned to face him, heart thudding as she reached for the file with shaking fingers. Inside was a grainy surveillance photo — a man in a hooded jacket and gloves, walking with his head down through a Romanian marketplace.

“That’s him,” she breathed. “That’s Bucky.”

“He’s been seen off and on for months. Always alone. Never violent. Keeping a low profile.”

“Then he’s fighting it,” she said softly. “He’s trying to be himself.”

Steve sat across from her. “Y/N, we don’t know how much of him is still left. He might not even know his name.”

She looked at her brother — her eyes suddenly steely, jaw set.

“Then I’ll remind him.”

She was now in Romania ready to see him again. She stood in the narrow stairwell of a run-down apartment building, the scent of oil and cigarettes clinging to the walls. Steve waited at the bottom, keeping watch.

She reached the apartment door — 217 — and hesitated.

The last time she saw him, he was trying to kill her.

Now she prayed he would remember how he used to kiss the inside of her wrist when no one was looking.

She raised her hand and knocked.

Silence.

Then — footsteps. Slow, cautious.

The door creaked open just a crack.

Blue eyes. Wild. Guarded.

She froze.

“Bucky…?”

The door almost slammed shut — but she slipped her foot into the frame just in time.

“Wait—wait, it’s me!” she gasped. “It’s me, Y/N. Your—your girl. You wrote me letters. I—I have one in my coat right now—”

His voice, low and gravel-edged, interrupted.

“…I remember that voice.”

She stared, barely breathing.

“You do?”

He opened the door just a little more. “I think about it sometimes. In dreams. In places that don’t make sense.”

His hand gripped the edge of the door tightly.

“You were… kind. You had a red ribbon in your hair sometimes. You said I made the best damn coffee in Brooklyn.”

Her breath caught.

“You did. It was awful. But I drank it anyway.”

His mouth twitched — barely. A flicker of something that wasn’t the soldier. Something human.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Because you’re not lost. And I couldn’t sit and wait anymore.”

He looked down. “They made me do terrible things.”

“I know.”

“I killed people.”

“I know.”

He finally looked at her again.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

He closed his eyes — head bowed like it physically hurt to stand so close to her.

“I remember the way you laughed,” he said quietly. “In the rain, with your arms out like you could fly.”

She stepped forward.

“I remember you too,” she whispered. “Every goddamn day.”

And suddenly he reached for her — not roughly, not like a soldier — but like a drowning man.

His hands trembled as they came to her face, like he wasn’t sure if she was real.

“I used to love you,” he whispered.

“You still do,” she said, leaning into his touch. “You just forgot for a while.”

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m scared of who I am now.”

“But I’m not,” she said. “Not if you’re standing in front of me and still fighting to remember.”

He blinked down at her. “I never thought I’d get to see you again.”

She gave a broken laugh. “I’ve been chasing ghosts for seventy years. You’re the first one who looked back.”

He stepped forward — hesitant — and then she was in his arms.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the fierce, breathless embrace of lovers reunited.

It was quiet. Fragile.

He held her like he thought she might vanish.

And she held him like she knew he never would again.

Later that night in Bucky’s flat. The room was dimly lit. Cracks ran down the paint of the walls. A kettle hissed faintly on the stove.

Bucky sat at the edge of his worn couch, hands braced on his knees, the metal one still gloved. She sat beside him, nursing a chipped mug of tea.

“I don’t sleep much,” he said.

She glanced over. “Nightmares?”

“Sometimes it’s worse than that. Sometimes… it’s nothing. Just blank space. Like I don’t exist at all.”

She reached for his hand.

“You exist. I’m right here with you.”

He looked at her hand in his — a perfect contrast to the steel.

“I used to wake up with your hair in my mouth,” he murmured suddenly. “You’d fall asleep on my chest, and I’d try not to move so I wouldn’t wake you.”

She smiled softly. “I always knew. I just pretended not to.”

Another flicker of that ghost-smile. Then quiet.

She broke it gently. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

His voice was soft. Barely audible.

“…Yes.”

She curled up beside him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. He hesitated — then wrapped his arm around her, almost shyly.

Like it was the first time.

Like it was the last time he’d ever feel warm.

And in the silence of the broken world, two people long dead found each other again.

Some days later, she knew something was wrong the second she stepped into the apartment.

Bucky’s bag was half-packed. His boots were by the door. His curtain twitched from the open window.

“Bucky?”

Silence.

She moved slowly, hand on the pistol Steve insisted she carry.

That’s when the explosion hit.

It blew the entire floor inward. Glass shattered. Fire bloomed against the dusk sky. She barely had time to duck before another detonation rocked the building.

“BUCKY!”

From the smoke, a figure leapt — gas mask, gear, Hydra tech — a special ops strike team.

They’d come for him.

Again.

Bucky was a blur of movement, dispatching operatives with fluid, terrifying precision.

But when he saw her — fighting off an agent with a broken lamp — he froze.

“Y/N!”

“Go!” she shouted. “They want you!”

“No way in hell I’m leaving you—!”

A bullet flew past her ear.

Steve burst through the lower level, shield raised, barking her name.

“Y/N! Bucky—GO!”

They ran.

Down a hundred steps. Out into the alley.

Into the chaos of the world chasing them again.

They were now arrested by the Government.

Steve. Sam. Bucky.

And her.

Vision kept her under house arrest in the compound. Tony offered a deal — a pardon if she cooperated, testified against Steve.

She refused.

“You’re not locking him up again,” she said to Stark. “I lived seventy years without him. I’m not losing him now that he’s almost whole.”

The fake psychiatrist (Zemo) entered in Bucky’s cell.

Minutes later, alarms blared. Lights cut out. Screams echoed through the compound.

She ran.

By the time she found Bucky, he was breaking through glass, metal arm gleaming.

“Bucky!”

He turned — red-eyed, unseeing.

Winter Soldier mode.

“No—no no—James, it’s me—!”

He grabbed her throat. Slammed her to the wall.

Her eyes welled.

“Please,” she choked. “You promised you’d never hurt me. You—You gave me a necklace with your dog tag. In Brooklyn. In the alley behind Rosie’s diner. You were shaking. You said you’d always find your way back to me.”

He faltered.

His grip loosened.

Her hand reached up and gently cupped his jaw.

“You called me your girl. You told Steve you’d kill anyone who made me cry.”

His breathing hitched.

Eyes flickered. Focused.

He stumbled back — horrified.

“What… what did I…?”

She collapsed into his arms.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I almost… I—” He couldn’t even speak.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here, Buck. Just breathe.”

And for the first time, he did.

After the fight in the airport against her friends, their friends. She rode with Steve and Bucky to Siberia in the quinjet, silent in the back, watching him.

He was quieter now. Paler. Exhausted.

But himself.

“Bucky?” she asked softly, during the flight.

He turned.

“You remember me, don’t you?”

He hesitated.

Then: “I remember the curve of your smile when you called me a showoff.”

Her breath caught.

“I remember the perfume you wore in the war. That one that drove me insane. I remember you in that blue dress on V-E Day, crying and laughing and kissing my face like the world had ended.”

She stared, stunned.

“And I remember you stitching my wounds in a tent near the front line, telling me not to die because ‘Steve would never let me hear the end of it.’”

Tears filled her eyes.

“And most of all,” he said, voice rough and broken, “I remember loving you more than I loved my own damn life.”

She lunged forward and kissed him — tears between them, salt and memory and seventy years of waiting.

He gripped her tight, as if he could pull the past into the present, as if kissing her would anchor him to the man he used to be.

When they parted, he leaned his forehead to hers.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“I never will,” she said.

The first time she saw him again after Siberia, it was in Wakanda, he was barefoot in the red earth.

A soft breeze rustled the tall grass beyond the terrace, the sky blazing gold with sunset. Shuri stood at her side, arms crossed, watching him.

“He has good days,” Shuri said quietly. “And bad ones.”

Y/N said nothing — just watched Bucky stretch out his left hand, watching it like it didn’t belong to him. The white tunic hung off his shoulders like a second skin.

His hair was longer now. He looked like a ghost from another life.

A gentle one.

“I’d like to see him alone,” she murmured.

Shuri gave a small, knowing smile. “He’ll want that too.”

Moments later, she stepped into the light. The stones beneath her sandals were still warm from the sun.

“Bucky?”

He turned slowly — his eyes clearing like fog lifting from a window.

He smiled.

It was small. Tired. But his.

“…Hey, doll.”

Her heart cracked open.

“Hey yourself,” she said, voice tight with emotion.

They stood in silence, a few feet apart. A hummingbird zipped past. Somewhere, a child laughed in the distance.

She finally moved toward him. Carefully. As if afraid he’d vanish.

He didn’t flinch when she touched his chest — right above where his dog tags used to hang.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” she whispered.

“I’ve wanted nothing else.”

His hand — the flesh one — came up to cover hers. He pressed it there, over his heart.

“It’s quieter now,” he said. “Up here.” He tapped his temple.

“Because of Shuri?”

“Because of you.”

Her lip trembled.

“I missed you.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“You came all the way to Wakanda just to see the shell of a man you used to love?”

She stepped closer. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“But it’s true.”

She reached up and cupped his face, gently turning it toward her.

“You’re not a shell, James Buchanan Barnes. You’re a man with a soul, with memories, with me in them. I know what you’ve done. I also know who you are.”

He blinked fast. “I keep dreaming about you. About the war. The alley behind Rosie’s. That night you kissed me under the streetlight.”

“I never stopped dreaming about you either.”

Then, softly: “Can I hold you now?”

She nodded.

And then they were in each other’s arms — not like lovers desperate for touch, but like old souls finding home.

A month later in the Wakandan Recovery Village, Bucky walked beside her on the path that led to the tech labs, their hands brushing now and then. His new prosthetic — the Wakandan vibranium arm — was still covered with a wrap. He hadn’t let them remove it yet. Not until he was ready.

“I still don’t sleep through the night,” he said, his voice low.

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah. Mostly memories now. Mine. Some good. Some… not.”

She glanced at him. “And me?”

“You’re in the good ones.”

He gave a soft smile.

“Do you know what the first memory I ever had of you was? The first one that came back after the Winter Soldier haze started to lift?”

She shook her head.

“You had that stupid strand of hair always falling in your face. You’d blow it away while yelling at Steve for doing something reckless.”

She laughed. “That sounds right.”

“I used to tuck it behind your ear,” he added, softer now. “Every time I touched you, it made me feel human again.”

They walked a little longer before she stopped and looked at him.

“You feel human now?”

He hesitated. Then looked at her — really looked.

“I feel like I’m becoming him again. And you… you’re the only thing that still feels real.”

Later that night in Bucky’s room, she sat on the edge of his bed, combing her fingers gently through his hair as he lay with his head on her lap, eyes closed.

“I’m scared,” he said suddenly.

She froze. “Of what?”

“That this isn’t real. That I’ll wake up back in a cryo tube. That I’ll forget you all over again.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this time, I’ll remind you every day.”

He turned his face into her leg.

“You’ve always been my tether, haven’t you?”

Her voice was soft.

“I always will be.”

He opened his eyes. Looked up at her.

“I used to think I didn’t deserve love. Not after everything.”

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Chicken

John Egan X Farmer! Reader

Summary: When Meatball kills the farmer's chicken. Bucky flies to the rescue.

Warning: Animal death/ swearing/ mention of boobs/ use of Y/n/ mention of blood.

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: I'm alive y'all! And my brain functioned again!

When John Egan came to Thorpe Abbotts, he was aware of the people that already lived there. He knew they were here, but he didn’t know them personally. When he saw her riding her horse, he knew he had to introduce himself. But he didn’t have the courage to go talk to her, she looked so intimidating, riding her horse and handling the goats.

Y/n lived on her family’s farm, but her family was away, they were in Austria, the farm was their summer house, but they wanted Y/n to keep it clean and work there. Usually, she would’ve been back in Austria, but with the war, it wasn’t safe to travel. Her chores were simple, making sure the goats didn’t run away, getting the eggs from the chicken coop and keeping the stables clean. It was easy, especially since she got her horse, Fred. He was a mustang, a beast that she had trouble training, but she kept persevering and was able to ride him. She was riding Fred everywhere; she loved her horse.

‘’Cleven! Good morning’’ she greeted the blonde. They quickly became friends when he came on the base, he went to introduce himself to the people living on the base, already saying he was sorry for the future disturbance that the soldiers were going to cause. When Gale saw Y/n, he thought she was amazing and they talked for hours, quickly becoming friends. They would trade stuff together, for example, if Y/n wanted a bottle of whiskey, she would give Gale a dozen eggs. ‘’Morning Y/n! How are you?’’ he asked. ‘’Good, just counting the chickens’’ she stopped when she heard a dog barking. ‘’Why do you have a dog here?’’ she asked, stepping in front of the chickens. ‘’Brady got him, I’ll make sure he doesn’t come near the coop’’ he reassured her. ‘’He better, because if he eats any of my chickens…’’ she threatened. Meatball came running towards Buck. ‘’He’s cute, but I meant what I said’’ she looked at the dog, smiling. ‘’I’ll make sure of it’’ he smiled.

John Egan heard a horse neigh; he knew that Y/n was close. And he was right, her (Y/h/c) hair were flying in the wind, she had a cowboy hat on her head. A white tank top that made her boobs look 5 times bigger and jeans that made her legs look amazing. She was beautiful. ‘’Y/n, what’s wrong?’’ Gale asked. She got down her horse, patting him before looking at the boys. ‘’I can’t come here and say hello?’’ she smiled as she looked at Bucky. ‘’Technically, you’re on a private property’’ Murph said. She scoffed. ‘’Technically, you guys invaded our property’’ she replied. ‘’Touché’’ Murph laughed. ‘’Nice ride’’ John Egan said, looking at the horse. ‘’Thanks, that’s Fred.’’ She replied. ‘’Um, do you guys have a minute to spare? We need help moving the hay’’ she asked. ‘’Sure, we can help’’ Bucky quickly replied.

‘’Be careful with that Jeep, don’t run over my animals’’ she smiled at Bucky, before she climbed up her horse. ‘’Wanna race?’’ Bucky proposed. She gave him a challenging smile, Fred was a fast horse, he was originally supposed to be a racehorse, but Y/n bought him at the town auction. ‘’Sure, but don’t cry if you lose’’ she smiled. When Fred started to run, Bucky knew he’d already lost, he didn’t want to go too fast, in case of a loose animal. She looked like a goddess, riding that horse. He thought about her riding him for a second, but his thoughts quickly faded when he heard Meatball bark, his mouth was all bloody and he had feathers on him.

‘’Calm down! It’s only 3 chickens!’’ Gale Cleven tried to calm her down, but she was ready to skin the dog alive, Bucky was holding her so she wouldn’t kill the dog. ‘’IT’S LESS EGGS! LET ME GO! I’m going to kill that dog’’ she tried to get away, but Bucky’s grip was too hard on her waist. Meatball didn’t have any regret; he was looking around like his life wasn’t on the line. John Brady, the owner, arrived at the scene in a Jeep, with Harry Crosby and Rosie Rosenthal. The 3 bodies were lying on the ground, headless. Y/n took deep breaths and calmed down a little. ‘’What’s going on?’’ Brady asked. ‘’You’re the owner?’’ she asked, angrily. Brady nodded. ‘’Your stupid dog ate 3 of my chickens!’’ she spat, showing the corpse with her hand. Brady swallowed a nervous laugh. ‘’I told you to watch him and I’m leaving the farm for an hour, I come back, and Dave, Danny and Darrel are dead!’’ she said, looking at her chickens. Bucky had to refrain a laugh at the names of the deceased animals. ‘’I’m sorry miss, I don’t know what else to say’’ Brady explained, scratching the back of his head. She took a deep breath, realizing how crazy she looked. She touched Bucky’s hand, to show him that he could let go. She replaced her hair as she sighed. ‘’I’m sorry, I kinda overreacted. You guys can go, I’ll, uh, clean up. Sorry for the disturbance.’’ She said, with an embarrassed tone.

He felt bad for her, sure it was only 3 chickens, but still. So, that night, he decided to find the courage and go talk to her for more than four words. He rode his Jeep to her house; he nervously taped the wheel with his thumb as he shut the engine down. Seeing lights outside, Y/n got out of the house, standing on her porch, seeing it was a soldier, she wiped her hands on her pants before going down the short stairs. ‘’Major Egan, to what do I owe this visit?’’ she asked, trying to hide her joy. She found him attractive, he was a gentleman during the day and a manwhore during the night, or at least that was his reputation. ‘’Hello, please call me Bucky, and I’m here to pay you back’’ he smiled. She tilted her head. ‘’Pay me back? You owe me money?’’ she questioned. He shook his head, chuckling. ‘’No, it’s for the deceased chickens’’ he explained.

Y/n fought the urge to smirk. ‘’You want to pay me for the chickens I lost?’’ she asked. ‘’Yeah, I mean you said it yourself, it’s less eggs’’ he blurted out. Now she couldn’t fight it anymore, a smile creeped on her face as she looked at the flustered Bucky. ‘’Come inside’’ she invited. He nodded as they waled inside the small home. The smell of burnt candle filling his nose as he looked around the kitchen. ‘’Does Brady know you’re doing this?’’ she asked as they sat in the kitchen. ‘’No, it’s my idea’’ he looked on the ground, not daring to look at her in the eyes. ‘’That’s very sweet, Bucky, but I can’t accept this, you must have family that this money belongs too, what about Mrs. Egan. It’s very thoughtful but keep it’’ she politely said. He started to laugh at the mention of a Mrs. Egan. ‘’There’s no Mrs. Egan, never set that part right, and my family doesn’t need the money. Please, Y/n, take it’’ this time, their eyes were locked into each other.

‘’You know, I didn’t think you would be the one offering me money. I thought Cleven would do it’’ she said, taking a sip of her homemade alcohol. It’s been an hour since Bucky came into her home they’ve been talking ever since. ‘’He felt bad, but he has to keep it for the phones, his girlfriend wants to hear from him twice a week’’ he chucked. She smiled as she looked at him. ‘’It’s getting late, I should get back to the base’’ he said as he looked at his watch. She got an idea. ‘’Are you free for dinner tomorrow?’’ she blurted out. He looked at her, smiling. ‘’Uh, yes, why?’’ he asked. ‘’Because I enjoy your company. And I have some extra money to buy good meat.’’ She smiled. ‘’Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’’ He leaned to kiss the top of her hand. ‘’Good night, Y/n’’ he said. ‘’Good night, Bucky, see you tomorrow’’

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Wanda: (sipping wine straight from the bottle)

“I can bend reality… but I still can’t understand why Steve wears his pants that high. It’s not 1943, sweetheart.”

Bucky: (laughing)

“His pants are so high I’m pretty sure his belly button has PTSD.”

Wanda:

“You’re one to talk! You wear 47 layers like the Cold War never ended.”

Bucky:

“Okay, fair. But at least I don’t dress like GQ: Witch Edition every day.”

Wanda: (gasps, then smirks)

“Better than looking like a haunted lumberjack.”

Bucky:

“You wound me, Maximoff. Anyway, let’s talk about Tony.”

Wanda:

“Ooooh, yes. Man built 50 Iron Man suits but still couldn’t build a stable personality.”

Bucky:

“Or a functioning coffee machine that doesn’t try to kill you.”

Wanda:

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. has more emotional depth than him.”

Bucky:

“Facts.”

Wanda:

“What about Sam?”

Bucky:

“Bird Boy? He’s got more wing jokes than flight hours.”

Wanda:

“He calls himself ‘The Falcon’ like it’s intimidating. It’s a bird, Samuel. A bird.”

Bucky:

“Man shows up with Redwing like it’s a threat. It’s a flying iPad.”

[They pause to take another drink. Wanda grabs some Cheetos. Bucky holds up a fork like a mic.]

Bucky:

“Okay. Thor.”

Wanda:

“Oh please. He talks like Shakespeare and fights like WWE.”

Bucky:

“I once heard him say, ‘Verily, this Pop-Tart is mighty.’”

Wanda: (mocking voice)

“‘Another!’ — smashes mug — bro you’re on Earth, not Valhalla Starbucks.”

Wanda:

“Clint?”

Bucky:

“He’s basically Discount Legolas. I’ve seen squirrels with better aim.”

Wanda:

“He has a bow. That’s his whole thing. In 2025.”

Wanda:

“Steve?”

Bucky: (long pause)

“Still writes people’s names in notebooks like it’s 8th grade.”

Wanda:

“He once called TikTok ‘the enemy’s propaganda machine.’”

Bucky:

“He also once told me not to curse because ‘language.’ I threw a grenade at him.”

Wanda:

“Natasha?”

Bucky:

“Goddess. But terrifying.”

Wanda:

“Absolutely. She once smiled at me and I genuinely apologized for things I haven’t done yet.”

Wanda:

“Okay. Final boss. Bruce.”

Bucky:

“Smartest guy in the tower. Still hasn’t figured out how not to turn green when he’s mad.”

Wanda:

“He meditates now. Which is adorable. But we all know the second someone eats the last slice of pizza—HULK SMASH.”

[Suddenly, Vision floats in through the wall.]

Vision:

“Should I be concerned?”

Wanda: (grinning)

“No, darling. We’re just roasting our friends. And their fashion choices. And personalities.”

Bucky:

“You’re next, toaster.”