#the falcon and the winter soldier x reader

[yikesdrama]

for one perfect moment 🩵 (i) — Bucky Barnes

summary: bucky’s birthday is coming up soon and you just want to do something special for him, maybe even take a time travelling trip to see his maa….

word count: 6.6k

warnings: its just fluff, secret birthday planning & a lot of cuteness

a/n: please comment, like & reblog with your thoughts. i’m thinking of making it a three part series.

masterlist | next part

Steve Rogers looked across the table at you, arms crossed, brow furrowed in thought. The room felt warm and quiet despite the weight of the conversation, the faint hum of Stark Tech monitors filling the silence as your words lingered in the air.

Sam Wilson sat across from you, leaning back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in mild skepticism, but there was something softer in his expression—something almost amused.

“So, let me get this straight,” Sam began, tilting his head toward you. “Your brilliant idea for Bucky’s birthday is to—what—borrow Tony’s time machine, go back to the 1940s, and hang out with his family?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” You leaned forward, your elbows resting on the edge of the table. Your voice had a determined edge, but your eyes betrayed a flicker of nervous energy. “I mean… think about it, Sam. When was the last time Bucky had a real family celebration? A moment where he wasn’t running from Hydra or fighting for his life or—” you paused, chewing your bottom lip—“feeling like he’s some kind of burden on the people around him?”

Steve straightened in his chair, his sharp blue eyes shifting from Sam to you. There was a stillness to him, like he was processing your words as if they were mission intel. “You’re not wrong,” he said finally, his voice calm but measured. “But it’s not exactly simple. Time travel isn’t… well, it’s not just a weekend getaway.”

“I know that,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could build up steam. “I know it’s not simple, Steve, but it’s worth it. You know what this would mean to him. To see his mom & sisters, Steve. Don’t you think he deserves that?”

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as well, as a slow grin spread across his face. “Y’know,” he said, pointing a finger at you, “I thought this idea was crazy at first, but now I’m starting to think you’re just crazy enough to pull it off. The question is, how do you convince Stark to hand over the keys to his fancy time machine?”

“Oh, I’ve got a plan for that,” you said, brushing off Sam’s teasing tone with a wave of your hand. “Tony owes me. Big time.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” You smirked, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied expression. “Let’s just say it involves a highly classified Avengers mission, a stray cat, and one very expensive pair of Tony’s sunglasses.”

Sam barked out a laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. “Okay, now I definitely want to know.”

“It’s not important!” you said quickly, your cheeks flushing. “The point is, I can get Tony on board. But I need you two to back me up. He’s not going to go for this unless he knows it’s not just some ‘sentimental whim.’” You air-quoted the words dramatically, your voice dropping into a passable imitation of Stark’s dry tone.

Steve’s lips twitched into a faint smile, the kind that said he was almost convinced but still holding out for the catch. “Let’s say you get Tony to agree. How exactly are you planning to make this work? The timeline has rules. You can’t just drop in on the 1940s like it’s a costume party.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that. Look, I’ve been thinking this through. We’d be careful. In and out, no interference with the timeline. Just… a quiet visit with his family. Maybe a week, max. Enough time for him to have a real birthday celebration. I mean, wouldn’t you want that if you were in his shoes?”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze settling on a spot on the wall. For a moment, the room went quiet. Sam exchanged a glance with you, his humor softening into something more thoughtful. Steve’s voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm. “Yeah. I would.”

Your expression softened, and you reached out across the table, your hand brushing against Steve’s. “Then you understand why this is so important. He’s been through so much, Steve. We all know that. He deserves to feel important.”

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You’re laying it on thick. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re whipped for the guy.”

Your face went red, but you didn’t back down. “Of course I’m whipped for him Sam, I’m in love with him. That’s why I’m doing this.”

Steve and Sam both froze, their expressions caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

Steve blinked, his hand unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, his voice low, “I can’t argue with that.”

Sam recovered first, his grin wide and teasing. “You’re really pulling the romance card, huh?”

“Shut up, Wilson,” you shot back, but there was no real heat in your voice. “Are you in or not?”

Sam laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m in, I’m in. You had me at ‘time machine.’”

Steve sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll help you,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “But we do this by the book. No cutting corners, no unnecessary risks. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said quickly, your eyes bright with excitement. “Thank you, Steve. I mean it.”

“Alright, so what’s the next step? Do we just march into Stark Tower and ask Tony for a favour.” Sam clapped his hands together, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Because I’ve gotta say, I don’t think the guy’s gonna go for it without some serious persuasion.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’ve got a plan.”

Later that evening, the three of you stood in Tony’s lab, the soft glow of holographic displays casting blue light across the room. Tony Stark was pacing, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Let me make sure I’m hearing this correctly,” he said, stopping mid-stride to look at you. “You want me to loan you my multi-billion-dollar time travel machine so you can throw a birthday party in the 1940s?”

“Not just a party,” you corrected, your tone matter-of-fact. “A family reunion. For Bucky.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You know, when I built this thing, I had slightly higher ambitions in mind. Like, oh, I don’t know, saving the universe?”

“This is saving the universe,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “His universe.”

Steve cleared his throat, stepping forward. “It’s important, Tony. For Bucky. He hasn’t seen his family since the war. This would mean everything to him.”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You people really know how to tug at the ol’ heartstrings, don’t you?”

Sam smirked. “Comes with the territory.”

There was a long pause, and then Tony shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But if you break it, you buy it. And by ‘it,’ I mean the space-time continuum.”

You beamed, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room had brightened. “Thank you, Tony. You have no idea how much this means.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, waving you off. “Just don’t make me regret it. And keep Rogers out of trouble while you’re at it. Don’t want him to end up fighting someone in the alley.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He had a feeling this was going to be one birthday Bucky would never forget.

That evening, the living room of the Avengers Compound had never felt so cramped. Steve sat in his usual spot, his arms stretched over the back of the couch, trying to look casual while his stomach twisted with the weight of your not-so-secretive plan.

Next to him, you perched on the edge of the sofa cushion, your knee bouncing nervously as your eyes flicked between the TV and Sam. The movie playing on the screen was some action flick that none of you were actually watching—except maybe Bucky, who was obliviously sprawled out on the recliner, munching on popcorn.

Steve couldn’t help but glance at Bucky every few seconds, half expecting him to suddenly leap up and call their bluff. It was a ridiculous fear, considering how utterly relaxed Bucky seemed, but it didn’t stop Steve’s heart from racing every time Bucky so much as turned his head.

Sam, seated on the armrest of the couch, leaned over toward you and murmured under his breath, his tone just loud enough for Steve to catch. “So, what’s the next move, mastermind?”

Your lips twitched into a quick, nervous smile as you shot him a sideways glance. “We need to talk to Strange,” you whispered, your voice low but brimming with determination. “But we have to be careful. Bucky can’t know. Not even a hint.”

“Yeah, no pressure,” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes. He popped a handful of M&Ms into his mouth and slouched slightly, doing his best impression of someone who actually cared about the car chase on the screen.

“Can you two stop whispering?” Steve whispered yelled, though his voice lacked any real authority. He reached for the remote, fiddling with the volume button and turned it up. “If you’re going to conspire, at least don’t do it two feet away from him.”

You shot him a look, rolling your eyes. “What do you want us to do, Steve? Write notes and pass them like we’re in fifth grade?”

Sam smirked, leaning closer to you. “I mean, it might be safer. He’s got super-hearing. For all we know, he’s—”

“Sam,” Steve cut in, his tone warning, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Not helping.”

Bucky, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering behind him, let out a low chuckle at something on the screen. Steve froze, his eyes darting to you, and you looked like you were about to jump out of your skin. Your eyes flicked back to Sam, then to Steve, your expression screaming this is impossible.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said quietly, lifting his hands in surrender. “Let’s just get out of here before you two have a nervous breakdown. We can go talk to Strange.”

Steve nodded, grateful for the excuse to move things along. “Good idea,” he said, standing and stretching like he’d just remembered an urgent errand. “We’ll, uh, be back in a bit, Buck.”

“Where are you going?” Bucky asked casually, his eyes still glued to the screen.

You froze, your face an open book of panic, and Steve jumped in before you could flounder. “Oh, uh… just running an errand. These two are just tagging along for backup.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, finally turning his attention away from the movie to look at you. “Backup? For what?”

“Moral support?” you stated hesitantly.

Sam snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement before he covered it up with a cough.

Bucky gave you all a skeptical once-over but eventually shrugged, settling back into his chair. “Whatever. Just don’t die out there.”

“Got it,” you blurted, grabbing Sam’s arm and practically dragging him toward the door. Steve followed, his stomach knotting tighter with every step.

The three of you didn’t speak until you were outside and halfway to Steve’s SUV.

Sam finally broke the silence with a low whistle. “That was smooth. Real smooth.”

You shot him a glare, your cheeks still flushed. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Sam replied, grinning as he climbed into the back seat.

Steve rolled his eyes and opened the passenger door for you to get in & sit, his patience already wearing thin.

Once you were on the road, the tension in the car started to ease, though Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a very fine line. You sat beside him, fiddling with the hem of your sweater as you stared out the window. You looked nervous but determined, your lips pressed into a firm line.

Steve studied you for a moment, his mind drifting to all the times he’d seen that same look on your face. It was the look you got when you were planning something big—something you believed in with your whole heart. He couldn’t help but admire you for it, even if it made him nervous.

“So,” Sam said, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his seat, “what’s the game plan with Strange? You gonna sweet-talk him like you did with Stark?”

You snorted, finally tearing your gaze away from the window to look at Sam. “I don’t think Strange is the ‘sweet-talk’ type.”

“Good point,” Sam said with a grin. “So what’s the backup plan? Bribery? Begging? Threats?”

“None of the above,” you said firmly. “I’m just going to explain the plan and hope he understands.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? No clever strategy? No emotional appeals? You’re really putting all your eggs in the ‘logic and reason’ basket?”

Steve cut in before you could retort. “She’s right. Strange isn’t the kind of guy you can manipulate. He’ll respect honesty.”

You gave him a small, grateful smile. You were stubborn, sure, but you were also smart—smarter than you gave yourself credit for sometimes.

When you arrived outside the Sanctum Sanctorum, you were the first to get out of the car, despite the nervous energy radiating off you. Steve followed close behind, with Sam bringing up the rear, muttering something under his breath about “mystical nonsense.”

Stephan Strange greeted you at the door, his expression unreadable as always. He stood tall, his arms crossed over his chest, the red of his cloak catching the door light in a way that made him look almost regal.

“This better be important,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I don’t have time for casual visits.”

You stepped forward, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. “It is important. I promise.”

Strange raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and the two men behind you. “Alright. Come in.”

The inside of the Sanctum was just as strange and imposing as Steve remembered. You seemed unfazed, though he noticed you glancing around with a mix of curiosity and awe.

“So,” Strange said once you were seated in his study, “what’s this all about?”

You took a deep breath, your hands resting in your lap. “I want to use the time travel machine Tony built to take Bucky back to the 1940s for his birthday.”

Strange blinked, his expression carefully neutral. “That’s… specific.”

“It’s important,” you said quickly, leaning forward slightly. “I just want him to have a chance to see his family again. To know they’re okay. And I promise we won’t do anything to change the timeline. No interference, no big disruptions. Just… a visit.”

Strange studied you for a long moment, his fingers steepled under his chin. “You’re asking me to approve a plan that involves traveling to the past and interacting with people who are supposed to remain unaware of future events. Do you understand how delicate this is?”

“I do,” you said, your voice steady. “But I’ve thought it through. The only thing I plan to do is explain to his family what happened to him—why he disappeared. They deserve to know he’s okay, even if they never see him again. And when I bring him there, it’ll just be for a week. A chance for him to see his family once.”

Strange’s gaze flicked to Steve, then to Sam, as if gauging their reactions. “And you’re both on board with this?”

Sam shrugged. “Hey, it’s not my birthday, but if it makes Bucky happy, I’m all for it.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “It’s risky, but I trust her. She won’t let anything happen to the timeline.”

“You’re lucky I’ve seen weirder requests.” Strange said letting out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. As long as you stick to your word and don’t try to rewrite history, I won’t stop you.”

Your face lit up, and Steve felt a wave of relief wash over him. Strange wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, but he’d clearly seen something in your determination that convinced him.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how much this means.”

Strange waved you off, his tone dry as usual. “Just don’t make me regret it. And for the love of all things sacred, don’t try to save Barnes from falling of the train in the past. You’ll just make things worse.”

“I won’t,” you promised quickly. “This is about giving him something good now, not changing what’s already happened.”

“Good,” Strange said, standing and gesturing toward the door. “Now get out of my Sanctum before I change my mind.”

As you walked back to the car, your steps were lighter, almost bouncing. You turned to Steve and Sam, a wide grin on your face. “That went better than I expected.”

Sam smirked. “Yeah, thanks to your sales pitch.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t lose your smile. For the first time all day, you felt a genuine sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this plan was going to work.

Okay, see the thing was Steve had witnessed his fair share of devotion in his lifetime. He had seen love in wartime letters clutched tightly in trembling hands, in quiet glances exchanged across rooms, and even in the sacrifices people made for each other on the battlefield.

But nothing—not in the 1940s, not in the decades since—compared to the sheer, shameless fervor of your love for Bucky Barnes.

He leaned back against the counter of the kitchen, arms crossed, as he watched you chatter animatedly with Sam and Natasha, your eyes alight with that unmistakable spark. You had this way of talking about Bucky that made it impossible not to notice the utter adoration woven into your every word.

It wasn’t just love; it was full-blown, unapologetic obsession.

“And then,” you said, your hands moving wildly as you recounted some small, undoubtedly inconsequential moment, “he just sat there, all broody, like he was single-handedly carrying the weight of the world. And I said, ‘Bucky, you don’t have to pretend to be a tortured poet every time it rains!’” You grinned, clearly delighted with your own story. “He didn’t laugh, of course, but I swear I saw his lip twitch.”

Natasha smirked, sipping her coffee. “Sounds like a real charmer.”

“Oh, he is,” you said, beaming as though Nat’s comment had been an actual compliment. “You just have to get past the murdery vibe, you know? It’s all part of his charm.”

Sam snorted so loudly that Steve thought he might choke on his drink. “Murdery vibe? That’s the phrase you’re going with to describe your boyfriend?”

“It’s accurate!” you insisted, unbothered by the teasing. “You just don’t understand him the way I do. Beneath all that scowling and brooding, he’s—”

“A ray of sunshine?” Natasha interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!” you said brightly, completely oblivious to the sarcasm, again. “He’s my sunshine.”

Steve suppressed a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. He loved you—he really did—but hearing you wax poetic about his grumpy, perpetually unimpressed best friend was almost too much to bear. It wasn’t the first time, either. In fact, it was a near-daily occurrence.

What astounded Steve the most, though, was how far you were willing to go for Bucky.

Time Travel.

Literal time travel, just so Bucky could have one good birthday with the family he’d lost decades ago. Steve wasn’t sure if it was romantic or utterly insane—probably a mix of both. Either way, he couldn’t deny that it was impressive.

“So,” Natasha said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, “how’s the time travel plan coming along? Did Strange give you the green light?”

“Green as it gets,” you said, practically bouncing in your seat. “He said it wouldn’t mess up the timeline as long as we’re careful. I mean, no big hero moves, no trying to rewrite history, and definitely no saving Bucky in the past.” You paused, your face briefly clouding with thought. “Not that I wouldn’t want to, but you know… rules.”

Sam shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Man, you really would mess with the space-time continuum for him, wouldn’t you?”

You turned to him, your expression dead serious. “In a heartbeat.”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at that, the sound low and amused. “Y’know, I’ve seen people go to some crazy lengths for the people they love, but this…” He gestured vaguely, as if words couldn’t quite capture the enormity of your plan. “This might take the cake.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “Steve, if you could go back and give Peggy one more dance, wouldn’t you?”

The question hit him harder than he expected, his chest tightening as the image of Peggy Carter flickered in his mind. He didn’t answer right away, but you didn’t push him. You just gave him a knowing look, your eyes full of understanding.

“Alright, fine,” Nat cut in, breaking the heavy silence. “Let’s not get all sentimental. You still have one problem, genius. Tony Stark. What’s the plan for getting him on board?”

“We already got Tony on board,” you said smugly, folding your arms as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You? You convinced Tony Stark to let you borrow his precious time machine?”

“Of course,” you said with a shrug. “I just told him it was for Bucky’s birthday, and he rolled his eyes and said, ‘Fine, but if you break it, you’re paying for it.’ Honestly, I think he secretly likes the idea. He’d never admit it, but you know how he is.”

Natasha exchanged a glance with Sam, her expression halfway between impressed and incredulous. “I can’t believe Stark fell for that.”

“Oh, he didn’t ‘fall for it,’” you said, making air quotes with your fingers. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. He just pretends to be all grumpy and detached, but deep down, he’s a big softie.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Man, I think you’ve got a thing for grumpy guys.”

“Only one grumpy guy,” you said, your smile softening. “And he’s worth it.”

Steve looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wasn’t used to seeing someone care about Bucky like this—someone who saw him as more than just the Winter Soldier or the guy with a past too dark to talk about.

You saw Bucky. The real Bucky. And you loved him for it.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Tony strolled in, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. “What’s all this about me being a softie?” he asked, his tone dry as he leaned against the counter.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I said you’re a grumpy softie. Big difference.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, I’d revoke your time-travel privileges.”

“Softie,” you said, waving him off.

Tony smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned his attention to Steve. “So, Captain Sentimental, are you ready to supervise this little field trip? Because I am not cleaning up any timeline messes.”

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What choice do I have?”

Tony looked you over, his expression softening just slightly. “You’re really doing all this for Barnes?”

You nodded, your eyes shining. “He deserves it.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, his usual sarcasm melting away. “Well, good luck, sunshine. Try not to get too lost in the 1940s.”

As Tony left the room, the conversation drifted to logistics—timing, equipment, and all the little details that needed to be ironed out before the mission. But even as you talked, Steve couldn’t stop thinking about what Tony had said.

Sunshine.

Steve glanced at you, watching as you leaned over a map on the table, your brow furrowed in concentration. You might not have realized it, but Tony was right. You really were a ray of sunshine—Bucky’s sunshine, in the darkest corners of his life.

And for that, Steve couldn’t be more grateful.

A few hours later, Steve sat on a folding chair, leaning back slightly as he gazed at the clear night sky. The rooftop was quiet, save for the faint hum of the compound below and the soft rustling of the wind.

Beside him, Bucky nursed a beer, his metal fingers absently turning the bottle in his hand, the soft clink of metal on glass barely audible. Sam was sprawled out in another chair, his legs stretched long, an empty bottle balanced precariously on his knee.

The silence was companionable, broken only by the occasional sip or the muffled sound of Sam muttering about how the stars weren’t visible like this back in D.C. Steve let himself relax for a moment, the crisp air cool against his skin. But, as usual, his thoughts wandered to you and your relentless energy over the past few weeks.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head toward Bucky, “your girlfriend is disgustingly obsessed with you.”

Bucky choked on his beer, shaking his head as he swallowed the wrong way. “What?” he said, laughing as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Steve smirked, taking a sip from his bottle. “I’m just saying. It’s impressive, honestly. I’ve never seen anyone so… determined to adore someone.”

“Yeah, man. She’s got it bad. Like, embarrassing bad.” Sam laughed outright, his deep chuckle rolling into the night.

Bucky leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a small grin. “You think I don’t know that?” He shook his head, the grin softening into something fonder. “She’s been like that since day one. But hey, I can’t say much—I’m just as bad.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Sam said, raising his bottle in mock toast. “Two of you are a real power couple of mutual obsession.”

Bucky just chuckled, his eyes flicking up toward the sky as silence fell over the group again. Steve let it linger, his thoughts wandering to how Bucky’s face softened every time you entered a room, or how his mood lifted when you were around. It was a strange thing to see—the hardened Winter Soldier so easily disarmed by one person—but Steve couldn’t deny how much you had changed Bucky.

Maybe even saved him.

After a few minutes, Bucky spoke up, his voice quieter now. “She’s planning something, isn’t she?”

Sam, mid-sip, choked on his beer, his coughing fit loud enough to make Steve wince. “What?” Sam rasped, pounding a fist against his chest. “What are you talking about?”

Steve glanced at Bucky, keeping his face neutral despite the mild panic rising in his chest. “What makes you say that?”

Bucky turned to him, his expression amused. “Oh, come on, Steve. She’s been vibrating with energy for weeks. Every time she looks at me, she lights up brighter than the damn sun. She’s up to something.”

Steve fought to keep his expression steady, his mind racing for an answer. He couldn’t exactly tell Bucky the truth—that you were plotting a time-traveling birthday reunion with his long-dead family. Instead, he opted for the simplest approach: deflect. “Could be just a coincidence.”

Wow Steve well done, what a deflect. Idiot!

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, because her suddenly acting like a kid on Christmas has nothing to do with the fact that my birthday’s coming up.”

Steve’s lips twitched. He wanted to feel annoyed at how sharp Bucky could be, but mostly he was impressed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Buck. Maybe she’s just excited.”

Sam cleared his throat, raising his hands as if in surrender. “Listen, man, I love my life, so I’m not spilling anything. But if she’s planning something, it’s probably just a good old-fashioned birthday party. Cake, candles, maybe some embarrassing speeches. Nothing to worry about.”

Steve nodded, grateful for Sam’s quick thinking. “Exactly. Nothing big. She probably just wants to make it special.”

Bucky studied them both for a moment, his blue eyes sharp even in the dim light. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I know she’s up to something.”

Steve exhaled, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Bucky didn’t know. Not really. And as long as they kept playing it cool, he wouldn’t find out until the time was right.

That was when they heard it: your voice, ringing out from somewhere below, loud and unmistakable. “Baby! Come down, I need your help with something!”

Sam froze, his bottle halfway to his lips, before glancing at Bucky with a grin that was entirely too pleased. “Baby, huh?”

“Unbelievable,” Steve muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She had to call you that now?”

Bucky’s grin stretched wide, his expression a mix of amusement and pride. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called back, his voice louder than yours. “I’ll be down in a minute, babydoll!”

Steve closed his eyes, willing himself to have patience. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. A six-foot-three super soldier—grumpy, broody, intimidating Bucky Barnes—was casually calling you “babydoll” in front of them like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Sam, predictably, couldn’t contain his laughter. “Babydoll?” he repeated, his voice cracking with amusement. “Man, I’ve heard it all now.”

Bucky shrugged, unbothered by the teasing. “What can I say? She likes it.”

“And you like her calling you ‘baby,’” Steve added, his tone half-teasing, half-exasperated.

“Damn right I do,” Bucky said, standing up and stretching. “You two can sit up here and laugh all you want, but I’ve got a girl waiting for me. Try not to get too jealous.”

As he disappeared down the stairs, Sam turned to Steve, still grinning. “You know,” he said, shaking his head, “for a guy who used to be Hydra’s deadliest weapon, he’s real soft now.”

Steve chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’ve got someone who loves you like she does.”

Sam nodded, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Yeah. It’s good for him.”

Steve looked out at the stars, his mind drifting again. He couldn’t help but agree. For the first time in a long time, Bucky had someone who saw him—not as a soldier or a weapon, but as a man worth loving. And that, Steve thought, was the best gift anyone could ever give him.

Somewhere in 1946, Brooklyn.

The modest brownstone on Brooklyn’s east side stood in quiet defiance of the bustling world around it. Mrs. Winnifred Barnes—Winnie to her late husband and close friends—sat at the small kitchen table, her hands folded tightly together, a pot of tea growing cold on the counter. The house was too quiet now, emptier than it had ever been. Rebecca was at school, and though she tried to keep the chatter alive when she was home, it couldn’t fill the void left behind by James.

Her boy.

It had been several months since the letter arrived, stamped with the insignia of the United States Army. The words blurred in her mind even now, but the message was clear: Missing in Action. Presumed Dead.

Her James. Her troublemaker, her beautiful boy with his wide grin and steady blue eyes. Gone. And no one could even tell her how, or where, or if he’d suffered.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers curling tighter. Every time she thought she had no more tears left to cry, the ache returned, fresh and sharp as ever. But this time, something else lingered—a strange sense of unease, like the air had shifted. It was quiet, but not in the usual way.

Something was coming.

The knock at the door startled her. It was brisk, not hesitant like the neighbors checking in or the pastor bringing by a casserole. Winnie frowned, wiping her hands on her apron as she rose. Her steps were measured, careful, as though the visitor might vanish if she approached too quickly.

Opening the door, she was greeted by a sight that immediately threw her off balance. The young woman standing there looked as though she had stepped out of some dream—or perhaps a nightmare.

Your clothes were strange, fitted in ways Winnie couldn’t quite comprehend, and your hair was loose and flowing in a style that seemed almost scandalous. But it was your eyes that caught Winnie most—a peculiar mix of softness and urgency.

“Mrs. Barnes?” you asked, your voice steady but kind.

Winnie hesitated, her hand tightening on the doorknob. “Who’s asking?”

You smiled faintly, “I… I need to speak with you. It’s about James.”

Winnie’s heart clenched, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. “James?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“May I come in?” you asked, your tone gentle but insistent. “I promise it’ll make sense. I just need a moment of your time.”

Winnie hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping aside. Something in your voice—or perhaps the way you said James’ name—demanded trust, though it made no sense at all.

The kitchen felt smaller with you standing there, your presence filling the room in a way Winnie couldn’t quite explain. She gestured toward the table, and you sat down without hesitation, your hands folded neatly in your lap. Winnie remained standing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as though bracing herself.

“What do you know about my son?” Winnie asked, her voice firmer now, tinged with suspicion. “The Army already sent their letter. Unless you’re here with new information—”

“I am. There’s something you should know.” you interrupted, your eyes meeting Winnie’s with unwavering determination. “I know this is going to come as a shock but Mrs. Barnes, James isn’t dead.”

The words landed like a bombshell, shattering the fragile quiet of the room. Winnie felt her knees threaten to buckle, but she forced herself to stand tall. “What did you say?”

“He’s alive,” you said softly. “It’s a long story, and I know it’s going to sound… unbelievable. But I promise you, every word is true.”

Winnie sank into the chair opposite you, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain you could hear it. “You’d better start talking, young lady.”

You nodded, your hands tightening briefly on the edge of the table before you began. “When James fell from the train, he survived the fall. But… he didn’t come home because Hydra found him first.”

“Hydra?” Winnie repeated, frowning.

“They were… they are… a very bad group of people,” you explained, your voice tightening. “They were part of the war, working in secret. When they found James, they… they took him. He was badly injured—he lost his left arm—but they didn’t care about helping him. They used him.”

Winnie’s throat went dry, her chest tightening painfully. “Used him? For what?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of your words pressing visibly on your shoulders. “They replaced his arm with a metal one. And then… they brainwashed him. They erased who he was and turned him into someone else. They forced him to do terrible things—things he would never have done if he’d had a choice.”

Winnie stared at you, her hands trembling. “You’re telling me… my boy’s been alive all this time, and he’s been… tortured?”

“It’s worse than that,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “They put him in cryo-freeze, a kind of suspended animation. It keeps the body from aging. They would wake him up every now and then, make him do their missions, and then put him back on ice. He was never in control, Mrs. Barnes. Not once.”

The room seemed to tilt, and Winnie pressed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand. If all this is true, why hasn’t he come home? Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

“He couldn’t,” you said softly. “Not until recently. But now… now he’s free. He’s safe. And I wanted you to know that.”

Winnie shook her head, disbelief and hope warring in her chest. “How do you know all of this? Who are you?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’m from the future. From 2025.”

Winnie stared at you, waiting for you to laugh, to smile and admit it was all some elaborate joke. But your face remained serious, your eyes filled with an honesty Winnie couldn’t deny. “The future,” she repeated faintly.

“Yes,” you said. “I know how it sounds. But it’s true. I came back to tell you about James because… because you deserve to know.”

Winnie leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. None of it made sense, and yet something about your voice, your demeanor, made it impossible to dismiss you entirely. “If you’re from the future,” she said slowly, “then tell me something else. Tell me about… Steven Rogers.”

Your expression softened. “He’s alive too.”

Winnie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “No.”

“He is,” you said, your voice gentle. “He survived when he put the plane down in the water. They found him 70 years later, frozen in the ice, but alive. Just like James.”

Winnie felt tears welling up in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them. “They’re both alive,” she whispered. “My boys are alive.”

“Yes,” you said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “And they’re together. Living in Brooklyn. James is free, Mrs. Barnes. He’s been pardoned for everything Hydra made him do, and he’s a hero now. People love him.”

Winnie’s breath hitched, a sob breaking free from her chest. She clutched your hand tightly, the tears flowing freely now. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice trembling. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said firmly. “He’s safe. He’s happy.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Winnie allowed herself to believe it. Her boy was alive. And somehow, impossibly, everything was going to be okay.

Winnie’s hands, now resting limply on her lap, still trembled with the weight of what she’d been told. She didn’t know where to begin. What question could possibly make sense of the impossible? How could you, so composed and confident, sit there and tell her these outlandish, earth-shattering truths as though they were simple facts?

Her James.

Alive. Free. Safe.

But at what cost?

“Mrs. Barnes?” you asked softly, breaking the silence that had stretched too long. Your voice was patient, a warm balm against the storm raging in Winnie’s chest. “I know this is a lot to take in. If you need me to explain anything again, I’m happy to.”

Winnie blinked rapidly, forcing herself to focus. Her hands twisted together in her lap as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I—I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “You’re telling me my son’s been alive all this time… suffering, being used like some kind of—” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “How could anyone do that to him?”

Your face softened, your expression filled with sympathy. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Hydra is… they were ruthless. They didn’t see him as a person. They saw him as a weapon. But he’s not like that anymore. He’s found his way back to himself.”

Winnie’s gaze snapped to yours, her eyes narrowing slightly. “How do you know all of this? You’ve never told me who you are, or why you care so much about my James.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. For the first time, you looked unsure, as though the question had caught you off guard.

To Be Continued….

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Sam’s pleasant surprise when Bucky treats you gently...

The ride back home was long and quiet... too quiet. Turning to the side, Bucky noticed that you had fallen asleep along the length of the seats opposite to Sam.

While he and Sam had their asses handed to them, you and Joaquin and had been met with an enhanced human. This ended with you suffering a broken rib when deflecting an attack that was aimed at the young soldier.

When Bucky found out he was livid so Sam took point and administered a sedative to help you rest which took hold sooner than expected.

Lifting himself off the crate he was seated on, Bucky walked over to where he had tossed his jacket aside, picking it up and then approached your sleeping form. Carefully, he placed it over your shoulders to give some added comfort, despite it missing an arm sleeve.

“You really have a heart of gold under all that brood.” Sam smirked from where he watched the small exchange.

There was a small sigh from Bucky. “Before the court-mandated therapy, Y/n was the only one I warmed up to. I owe them a lot.”

~ More imagines here ~

[retrosabers]

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

FICMAS DAY 3: GIFT-GIVING

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received.

contains: grumpy buck fluff, some angst, idiots who are crushing hard, swearing

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is a long one i’m apologizing in advance

i am SO SORRY for crickets in the ficmas department the past week, i hit a big brick wall with this and i’ve been so all over the place with my own holiday planning and such that i ended up having to cut the masterlist in half because i knew i couldn’t get it all done. i’m very sorry to anyone who was looking forward to what got scrapped, but i couldn’t bring myself to rush through writing and put out something i don’t believe it my best work.

also, do people even want avengers fix it fics anymore?? i debated between the “everything is fine the team lives at the compound together” vibe and setting this post tfatws, but ultimately decided the former was easier to write. and i think it worked in my favor because this turned out really cute :)

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

who’s idea was this again? wanda? tony? steve? it didn’t matter anymore. all that mattered right now was that you didn’t pass out in the elevator. a feat that was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to your destination.

a secret santa is supposed to bring you joy, not near paralyzing anxiety.

at first, you were 100% on board with participating in a gift exchange. as much as you wanted to shower all of your teammates with presents galore, not everyone shared the same sentiment, and thus the idea of a secret santa was proposed.

excitement courses through your veins as you reach your hand into the cheap santa hat tony grabbed from god knows where in storage, with little pieces of paper containing the names of your fellow avengers. you decided to wait until you were back in the privacy of your room to open it up, afraid of any wandering eyes taking a peak. the last thing you wanted was the element of surprise to be stripped away. it was half the fun after all.

as sam pulls the last name, you quietly excuse yourself and all but rush upstairs, too eager to get in the holiday spirit and brainstorm. as soon as the door shuts behind you, you hurriedly reveal the contents of the paper.

if it’s natasha, i can get her a pair of ballet slippers. she’s been mentioning how she wants to start dancing again.

what about bruce? maybe a journal for all his ideas? he always seems to be losing sticky notes in the lab.

a million different ideas swirl around in your head, reminding you just how much joy this time of year brings. to you, there was nothing better than seeing the gleeful looks on people’s faces when they opened their gifts. the corners of your mouth turn up at the memory of your first christmas with the team. how shy and reluctant you were, afraid of going overboard. now, a few years later, you’re completely unabashed in showing just how much you care about them.

your bright smile morphs into a deep frown as you unfold the paper.

bucky barnes.

quite possibly the most difficult person you could’ve chosen.

to be clear, there’s nothing wrong with bucky. he may be a bit grumpy and standoffish, but it’s with good reason and you know it. that also doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to be impossible to try and shop for.

what do you get for the man who seemingly despises anything the modern world has to offer? the same man who you’re 99% sure hates your guts. come to think of it, how did you even pull him? he most definitely wasn’t downstairs 20 minutes ago when everyone scribbled down their names and tossed them in tony’s direction.

it was irrelevant now. you were stuck being his secret santa, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give james buchanan barnes the best christmas gift he’s ever gotten in his century-long lifetime.

the two weeks it took to come up with an idea sure felt like a century. if it wasn’t for the concerning amount of snooping you did, you’d probably be showing up empty handed. thankfully, at almost 1 in the morning on a random tuesday, a lightbulb went off in your brain. you scrambled bright and early the next day to go shopping, and by some lucky form of divine intervention, you acquired the perfect gift.

flash forward to now, and you’re carrying an insanely large box up to bucky’s room. in a blatant stray from what the rest of the team was doing, you decided to give him his present one on one, secluded from everyone else. partly because you were afraid of public embarrassment if he hated it, and partly because you knew bucky wasn’t very fond of being put on display.

you hope he’ll at least be grateful for that.

when the elevator finally chimes, signaling you’ve arrived at the dormitory floor, the box nearly slips from your grasp. not just from how heavy it was, but from the nervous sweat coating your palms.

the hallway is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, save for the faint sound of christmas music playing over the speakers. with careful, calculated steps, you make your way down the length of the corridor, dragging your feet the closer you get to bucky’s room. there’s a small part of you that hopes he’s downstairs in the gym, the kitchen, the backyard, anywhere but here. dropping and dashing wasn’t what you had in mind, but the anxious thumping of your heart was becoming unbearable. you know it will only amplify tenfold if you’re forced to stare into those steel blue eyes of his. the thought alone sends a chill down your spine.

you freeze in place when you hear the sound of a door knob clicking open.

please be wanda’s room, please be wanda’s room.

in front of you, the very last door on the left creaks open, revealing the tall and brooding super soldier whose company you were aiming to avoid.

it’s easy to forget how handsome bucky barnes is when he normally does nothing but grimace in your direction.

you still weren’t used to his new haircut, but it was clear he felt significantly more confident with it. is that a hint of aftershave, or cologne? whatever it was, the scent fit him perfectly; cedarwood with a hint of spice. the green henley he wears fits snugly against his broad frame, emphasizing all the muscles you’ve been caught staring at on more than one occasion. for once, he’s not wearing a scowl, though that changes when he catches sight of you.

surely you must look strange, standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hall with a box covered in santa-printed wrapping paper and a big bow that you can barely hold. right now the floor opening up and swallowing you whole was at the top of your wish list. and st. nick better make it quick.

bucky’s expression shifts from one of disdain to curiosity as he quirks a brow wordlessly. your own knit together in frustration, knowing you now had no choice but to do this exchange face to face.

“need any help?” he questions monotonously. as much as you want to be prideful and reject it, your arms feel like they’re going to fall off any second. he seems to catch your drift despite a verbal response, because in the blink of an eye he’s striding towards you, sweeping the gift from your arms and into his own with ease. you try not to gape at the way his biceps strain against fabric.

you stutter out a “thanks,” as you straighten out your sweater. bucky grunts in return and eyes the package in his hands cautiously. you’re half expecting him to shake it like a child when you catch the tiniest twitch of his upper lip.

it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s ever shown in your presence. something that gives you the courage to actually form a sentence instead of continuing to gawk at him.

here goes nothing.

“this is for you, actually,” you manage to shakily breathe out. bucky halts his observations, a glimmer of surprise briefly dancing across his face.

a beat of silence passes between you. “don’t remember asking for anything," he finally says. it’s still laced with his typical dry sarcasm, but there’s a legitimate amusement in his tone that can’t be missed.

you narrow your eyes at him playfully, feeling a little bit more at ease now that he didn’t completely rebuff you.

“i’m your secret santa, smartass,” you jab with your hands on your hips.

for the first time ever, bucky smirks at you.

“don’t recall asking for that either.”

you throw your hands up in defense, offering him a surprisingly nonchalant shrug. “don’t blame me, i’m pretty sure steve was the one who put your name in.”

“punk,” the man grumbles. he shakes his head, attention turning back to the present in hand once more.

despite his apparent annoyance, you can’t seem to stop yourself from continuing on.

“i know you’re supposed to do this kind of thing with everyone around,” you start off shaky, afraid of upsetting him any more than you may already have. his gaze immediately falls to you upon hearing your voice.

“i also know you’re not a big fan of being the center of attention,” you continue, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans. “figured you’d like this better if it was in private.”

bucky’s features soften. his jaw unclenched, his eyes not so narrow and judgmental. he looks relieved, flattered; a myriad of things you can’t name or place.

“i appreciate that,” he admits, suddenly shy and impish. for a second, he completely forgets about the gift you brought. the simple fact that you were kind enough to consider his feelings, despite how cold he could be to you, makes his heart skip a beat.

you simply nod your head in reply, teetering back and forth on your feet awkwardly trying to decipher your next move.

“you don’t have to open that right now you know.”

he sets the box down on the floor next to his door. “kinda defeats the purpose don’t you think?”

you shrug. “whatever you’re comfortable with. doesn’t matter what you’re “supposed to do.””

why did you care so much about his comfort level? he hardly showed any concern for yours. the notion consumes his thoughts, prohibiting him from offering anything except a nod of acknowledgement.

that awkward silence comes once again, signaling maybe you’ve overstayed your welcome, or that the moment of peace is over. you check your watch in hopes that father time was ending this exchange for you.

just your luck, he’s right on schedule.

“i uh, better get downstairs,” you announce, pointing your thumb in the direction of the elevator. “don’t wanna miss thor forcing everyone to do christmas karaoke.”

a noise akin to laughter snorts out of bucky’s nose, evoking a delightful warmth in your chest. it was different than all the other times you’ve been flustered in the presence of the super soldier. this was less about intimidation and more about…camaraderie. now wondering if maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought.

it’s exactly what you need to reignite your holiday cheer and shed any remaining worries.

before you can second guess, you turn on your heels, closing the gap between your bodies. wrapping a hand around his arm, his metal arm, and offering a gentle caress, the sincerity in your words is clear as day.

“merry christmas buck.”

your touch burns straight through vibranium all the way to his chest. across his entire body, igniting every cell ablaze. a fire consuming him in ways unimaginable.

and yet. he enjoyed the burn.

as you pull away, much to his dismay, the tips of his fingers brush against the inside of your wrist. goosebumps errupt on your skin, from the cool metal, or that fact that bucky was so pretty this close, only time would tell.

“you too,” he murmurs with a faint grin. the soft crinkles by his eyes are likely going to be the subject of your daydreams for the next week.

you flash him a smile over your shoulder before turning down the hall and averting his gaze, not wanting him to see just how much you were blushing.

while unbeknownst to you, bucky was now a very bright shade of red.

he waits until he can hear the elevator doors close before slipping back into his room and very carefully unwrapping the box. there’s a nervousness in his stomach that’s unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. as the bare brown packaging becomes exposed, he begins ripping back the numerous layers of packing tape. you really took your time on this, he thinks to himself.

that funny feeling only amplifies when he sees the contents of the box.

a record player, a very expensive looking one at that, sits inside with another three wrapped items that he concludes are vinyls, judging from their flatness. on top of it all, there was a small note shrouded in luxe stationary. bucky’s heart stutters when he sees his name scribbled delicately in your handwriting.

his fingers falter briefly before he digs into the envelope.

i know this isn’t like the ones from the 40s, but it’s the closest thing i could find. also got a few of your favorite records, and one i think you’ll like too. don’t forget i have quite a collection of my own in case you ever want to try something new.

merry christmas ♡

bucky unceremoniously plops down on the edge of his bed. the normally stiff feeling mattress now mirrored a sea of clouds and feathers. he’d gladly sink into the abyss of softness, if it meant pumping the brakes on his thundering heartbeat.

from the moment he met you, bucky knew he was in trouble.

you had an aura about you that was magnetic, always drawing people in and bathing them in your light. your unconditional kindness and consideration, hell, even your mere presence in a room seemed to liven it up entirely. it was a hypnotizing, almost dangerous thing for the man, and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to push people away. for their sake, and his. bucky was certain that once he started keeping his distance, that you’d eventually give up in trying to crack his tough outer shell, or that the silly feelings he had would disappear.

but right now, as he’s staring at your handwriting and rubbing his thumb repeatedly over that little heart, he knows it was all in vain.

later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the familiar croon of it’s been a long, long time wafting from his present. he tries to focus on the beauty of the song, or the lights he can see from his window twinkling out on the lawn, but it’s nearly impossible. you’re the subject of all his thoughts. have been since the moment he saw you standing out in the hall. from the scent of your perfume to the little intricacies of your penmanship. the thing that’s plaguing him the most, however, is your hand on his arm.

bucky’s real arm had been gone for over half a century, having stopped experiencing phantom limb syndrome ages ago. yet somehow he felt it there, clear as day. the same tactile sensations on his flesh, right arm, in the metal prosthetic of his left. an electric shock that he’s never recognized before, and that he wouldn’t be opposed to feeling again.

tomorrow, he plans to thank steve for mischievously adding his name into the lottery.

and to ask you about your record collection.

thanks for reading! <3

tag list: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[barnesnatts]

New look at Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes in Marvel's THUNDERBOLTS.😍🫶🏻

[embbarnes]

Filthy Fingers.

summary: You check on Bucky after the mission in Madripoor.

warnings: Angst | TFATWS!Bucky | PTSD episode | Sexual trauma | Mentions of SA & SH | Slight SH | Vague descriptions of medical procedures | Swearing

a/n: Back on my bullshit with angsty fics. I wish the series had done something more than brushing this scene off as nothing. I have similar trauma with his experiences, so I sort of put my heart into this. I hope you enjoy, he needs a hug. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.4k

It horrified you, even if you knew about it prior.

After the mission, you searched for Bucky upon returning to the safehouse that Zemo had insisted on using. Bucky had already retreated to the bedroom you both shared, locking himself inside. You knew something was wrong, you knew him better than anyone honestly. He had barely muttered a few words about feeling exhausted before withdrawing from the group. The locked door and his sudden disappearance had you concerned about his well-being, especially considering the shitty mission you had done.

Zemo pushed Bucky to act as the Winter Soldier again, the man took great pride in being his handler and controlling him like a puppet, just as HYDRA had done. He relished in ordering him to attack and heel like a dog, and his cruel comments about using his body, about selling him in exchange for information, made you furious. Sam didn’t quite get the depth of the situation, though he had a good idea, he just didn’t know the extent. He didn’t want to ask.

Bucky’s behavior back at the house seemed unusual, even for someone typically reserved like himself, and you couldn't decide what to do, debating whether to check on him or give him the space he seemed to desperately need.

You also had to fight the urge to break Zemo's jaw.

As deep night fell over the city, a hush descended upon the streets. Sam and Zemo, too, decided to call it a night, bidding their farewells before retiring to their respective rooms. You found yourself alone in the kitchen, the sudden quietness of the house sounded so loud in your ears. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you made the decision to head towards the bedroom. Your footsteps echoed softly in the hallway as you approached the door.

Your knuckles gently rapped against the wooden surface as you announced your presence. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a moment before you slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. You stepped into the dimly lit room, your eyes immediately fell on Bucky. You weren’t surprised that he wasn't asleep; sleep often eluded him, and considering the memories that undoubtedly came back to him after the mission, you didn’t blame him.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, his back pressed against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His gaze was fixed intently on the wooden floorboards, tracing the intricate patterns etched into their surface. The silence in the room was heavy and Bucky remained motionless, not even lifting his eyes to acknowledge your entrance.

You closed the door with a gentle click and cautiously made your way towards him, your footsteps barely audible on the floor. As you approached, you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. "Hey..." You began, your voice barely above a whisper, carefully considering each word as you prepared to navigate this situation.

You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders as you shifted your position, crossing your legs where you had been kneeling. Your eyes never left Bucky's face, searching for any sign of acknowledgment. He remained motionless, his lack of response hanging heavy in the air between you. But his stillness was preferable to a negative reaction. At least he wasn't pushing you away or lashing out in his distress.

"I know this is stupid, and it's probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but..." You paused, weighing your words carefully before continuing, "Do you want to talk about what's going on? About what happened?" The question left your lips in a gentle, non-pressuring tone, leaving the decision entirely up to him. You sat there patiently, ready to listen if he chose to open up, or to simply provide a comforting presence if he preferred silence.

Bucky remained silent initially, his gaze fixed intently on the floor. He drew in a shaky, uneven breath, his eyes noticeably bloodshot and surrounded by dark, heavy circles. It was obvious that he had been struggling with sleep, but you knew that even a small amount of rest would be beneficial compared to none at all, especially dealing with the Flag Smashers and all the bullshit you were both thrown into again.

"Why don't you try to lie down and get some rest? I'll stay right here with you," you suggested gently, your voice filled with concern as you waited patiently for any sort of reaction from him. After a moment of hesitation, you added, "I know you might not feel like sleeping right now, but we have so much shit we have to do tomorrow.” You mumbled, “A few hours, at least.”

Hoping to appeal to his practical nature, you attempted to persuade him to sleep by emphasizing the logical reasons for doing so. However, your efforts seemed to fall on deaf ears as Bucky remained unresponsive. You sighed, your arm stretched up to reach for the blanket that lay haphazardly across the bed, intending to cover him and provide some comfort if he wasn’t going to sleep. Just as your fingers brushed against the soft fabric, Bucky's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"I felt it," he murmured, his words so faint that you had to strain to hear them, the pain and vulnerability in his tone made your heart stutter.

You turned to look at him, your hand still grasping the edge of the blanket, and you settled back down fully on the seat. Your eyes met his, searching for understanding as you softly inquired, "Felt what?"

"Hands," he muttered, his gaze flickered momentarily before meeting yours again. "I felt... hands. On me. They weren't his," Bucky spoke slowly but with a certainty that sent a chill down your spine. He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Not Zemo's hands, but I would have preferred if he didn't touch me at all during the damn interrogation." His words trailed off, hanging heavy in the air between you.

You watched as his brow furrowed deeply, his eyes growing distant as he seemed to retreat into the labyrinth of his thoughts. A maze he still couldn’t get through, he’d always be lost, stumbling upon memories randomly and losing others he had a grip on. The silence stretched on, filled with unspoken memories and the weight of past trauma.

You nodded, remaining silent for a moment as you processed the situation. The anger bubbled within you, fueled by Bucky's own emotions. Zemo's arrogant behavior had struck a nerve, his deliberate attempts to provoke Bucky were infuriating. The man was more than just an asshole in your eyes and words; he was a calculated manipulator, intent on unraveling all the progress Bucky had made.

His creepy obsession had drawn tension between the group. Zemo had persistently tried to breach Bucky's defenses, attempting to draw out the Winter Soldier persona that lay dormant within him. His tactics were cruel and precise, aimed at undoing years of healing and dragging Bucky back into the darkness of his past.

What made it so much worse was Zemo's obvious familiarity with the red book - that cursed tome that held so many of Bucky's painful secrets. You were certain Zemo had pored over every page, absorbing all the horrific details it contained. The book was a comprehensive record of Bucky's torment: control words that could strip away his free will in an instant, precise actions that would render him a puppet, and graphic descriptions of the punishments HYDRA inflicted whenever Bucky showed the slightest hint of disobedience or failure. The thought of Zemo possessing this knowledge, wielding it like a weapon against Bucky, made your blood boil.

"Bucky..." you began, your voice soft and laden with emotion. You paused, searching for the right words to convey the depth of your empathy. "I'm so... sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you. It's just…not fair…that you have to endure all of this. You never asked to be pushed into this shit again." There was clear frustration in your voice with a mix of anger at the circumstances and deep concern for Bucky's well-being.

Your mind drifted to the apartment you shared with Bucky, while he wasn't always at his best there either, it was a vast improvement compared to situations like this. The space was familiar. He was surrounded by sights and sounds he knew, Bucky found a measure of peace inside the walls, mostly because you were there with him. He still struggled with his demons, but within the safety of your home, he could face them without the added pressure of external threats or responsibilities that weren't rightfully his to bear.

But it seemed that no matter what, the outside world was determined to drag him back into conflict.

In your apartment, there were no manipulative villains, no reminders of his painful past, no hidden ulterior motives to hurt him, just the warmth of your presence and the promise of a better future than past. He had you, and you were always there with him, helping him navigate through the storm that always threatened to pull him down again.

"M'used to it," he mumbled weakly, his voice devoid of emotion, carrying the weight of resignation and defeat. The words fell from his lips like heavy stones of the burdens he had borne. "I've had worse than simply being traded away for sexual favors."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't just be used to it," you countered, "You didn't deserve anything they put you through. I don't care what justifications they gave or what they forced you to do. You, Bucky Barnes, are a good person. You, at your core, are pure and untainted. You are the one in control now. Not the soldier they created, not HYDRA with their manipulation, not anyone else. It's all you."

Your eyes locked onto his, your gaze gentle yet unyielding, radiating unwavering belief in him as you tried so desperately to let him see how much faith you had in him. "You've already won over their programming, Bucky. You've reclaimed yourself."

"Then why won't his memories go away?" Bucky croaked out, his voice cracking under the weight of suppressed emotion. "I want nothing more than to...to forget. It's...it's so hard, doll," his voice wavered, the floodgates of emotion threatening to burst open despite him trying his damnedest to keep it all in. "Why can't I forget the bad, and why can't I remember the good?"

Bucky sounded completely worn down, his voice cracking with heavy emotion as he spoke. He couldn't bring himself to raise his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and self-loathing washing over him. The weight of his perceived inadequacy pressed down on him, making him feel incredibly pathetic and foolish.

Your support through numerous similar episodes didn’t shake off the intense feelings of guilt and self-deprecation that consumed him during these moments. It was as if he viewed himself as nothing more than a heavy burden, a complex problem that you were obligated to solve time and time again. Even a glued vase is still cracked and much weaker than an untouched one.

No amount of reassurance or comfort seemed capable of mending his fractured psyche. He’s still broken, no matter what you do to help.

In his mind, he was irreparable, his former self having been long gone. Hell, he's not even whole. The prosthetic arm, the threatening object that he despised with every fiber of his being. Vivid, haunting memories flooded his consciousness as he recalled the moment HYDRA had finally attached the mechanical limb.

The sensation was overwhelmingly unpleasant - the arm felt unnaturally cold against his skin, its heavy weight throwing off his balance and coordination. In his disoriented state, he could feel the lifeless metal appendage hanging limply at his side, dragging him down both physically and mentally. The phantom sensations of drills and saws assaulted his senses, causing him to relive the trauma of the procedure.

Wide awake.

He was desperate to rid himself of the foreign object, so he clawed frantically at the point where metal met flesh, feeling the cold, unyielding surface beneath his fingertips. The memory of being forcibly restrained to prevent him from damaging the prosthetic flashed through his mind, the clinical indifference of his captors etched permanently behind his eyelids. It was clear to him that their sole concern lay with preserving the integrity of the mechanical marvel they had created, with no regard for the man to whom it was attached.

He was nothing more than a vessel for their prized creation - the arm was their priority, not the broken soldier who bore it.

Then their hands came.

Never-ending hands on his body, everywhere.

They always came when he couldn't fight back.

Teasing, pinching, groping, twisting, penetrating.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Make it -

Bucky's loud thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you reached out and gently grasped his flesh hand, your voice filled with concern as you spoke, "Bucky, hey, hey, stop... It's alright, you're safe now, it’s just you and me." The urgency in your tone was notable, yet you managed to keep it soft and reassuring.

His brow furrowed deeply, a mix of confusion and realization crossing his features as he slowly turned his gaze from you to his hand, which you now held firmly in your own, having pulled it away from his body. A searing hot sensation radiated from his scar, and with a sinking feeling, he realized what he had been doing.

He had been scratching at the old wound, hard. Clawing, digging, as if trying to remove something from his skin. His arm, the metal - titanium, vibranium - did it matter?

"It's okay, you're fine," you whispered gently, your voice acting like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. Your hands worked carefully but firmly to keep his own from returning to where he had been clawing. Your thumb gently rubbed circles on his inner wrist in an attempt to keep his mind grounded. You were always scared during these moments, worried for his well-being as the rooted fear threatened to overwhelm you.

But you pushed it down, maintaining a calm and composed demeanor for his sake. Your voice remained steady as you continued to comfort him, "It's okay... you're doing so good, Buck Buck..." The silly name slipped out naturally, reminding him of where he was and who he was with. You always called him Buck Buck instead of just saying Buck once, you knew that endearment made him think of Steve. And he didn’t like doing that with Steve being gone.

"Breathe," you gently instructed him, guiding him to take slow, deep breaths as the memories and vicious flashbacks gradually began to subside. "You're doing great, just like that. Keep focusing on your breaths." You continued to offer words of encouragement and carefully guide him through the breathing exercises, your voice soft yet steady. His eyes, now rimmed with red, glistened with moisture, the strain of the moment evident in his features.

Delicate streams of tears traced paths down his cheeks, tiny rivers carrying his pain and guiding it out of him. The sight tugged at your heart, but you remained a pillar of support and strength for him to lean on.

"Make it stop," he rasped out to you, his voice thick with desperation and fear. "Make it stop," Bucky repeated, his body instinctively moving towards you as if seeking shelter from an invisible storm. "They're on me," he added, his words barely above a whisper, laced with a haunting mixture of panic and pleading.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him the second his body touched yours, enveloping him in a protective embrace. You would always wait for him to make the first move closer, respecting his space and not wanting to inadvertently exacerbate his episodes. Your touch was gentle yet firm, grounding him in the present moment.

"No one is touching you but me, baby," you assured him, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "And I'm not doing any of those awful things. I would never. You're safe here with me, Bucky. We're getting through this, you’re doing so good. Just focus on me and taking those breaths okay?"

Bucky remained pressed against you, his body tense and trembling as he desperately attempted to hide himself inside your smaller body. His hand darted up to his shoulder, fingers curled as if to claw at something unseen. Then his hand quickly moved to his neck, desperately grasping and pulling at an invisible entity.

The frantic movements sent a chill down your spine as you watched him struggle against phantoms of his past, it never ceased to horrify you to see him react to the glimpses he was shown again from HYDRA. You tried not to let your imagination run wild, but the implications were clear and it only made you feel even worse seeing him play it out.

You felt helpless.

All you could really do during these episodes was be there for him.

Holding him close, enveloping him in a gentle embrace that provided a sense of security and reassurance, something so simple yet so luxurious in his life. Your touch was carefully calibrated, always mindful of his boundaries and sensitivities, ensuring that every contact communicated safety and understanding. You learned what he liked, disliked, what made things better and worse. You would soothe him with those very tender caresses, running your fingers through his hair or tracing calming patterns on his back, grounding him in the present moment.

Bucky really liked when you rubbed his back.

You would speak words of encouragement, your phrases were carefully chosen so they’d break through all the rampant thoughts flooding his mind. You reminded him of his resilience and progress. You whispered affirmations of his worth, validate his feelings, and reassure him of your presence and support throughout the episode.

“It’s not real, Bucky. No one is here, no one is touching you. It’s just me. You are safe.”

The efforts you put into comforting him so tenderly often felt mediocre or not enough, you always felt like nothing was ever working or meant a thing. But for Bucky, they were his lifeline, you helped him more than you could possibly fathom. Having endured these episodes alone for so long, the contrast of facing them with your loving support made them significantly easier, more manageable.

You held him for a while, gently cradling his body against your own. Most of the time, he just needed this physical connection to be brought back to reality, to feel grounded and secure again. Your arms enveloped him in a protective embrace, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Sometimes you’d wrap him in a blanket, but you didn’t think Bucky was going to let you move to grab one.

Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hands up and down his back just how he liked. Your fingertips tracing intricate, soothing patterns across the fabric of his shirt, random shapes and swirls, sometimes a letter or number that he’d weakly repeat into your chest. The repetitive motion seemed to have a calming effect on both of you, a silent reassurance that everything would be alright.

As you continued to hold him, your gaze wandered towards the window. Through the thin, gauzy curtains that hung there, you could make out the blurry silhouette of the city in the distance. The lights twinkled like earthbound stars, their glow softened and diffused by the cloudy barrier between you and the outside world. It created an almost dreamlike atmosphere in the room, emphasizing the intimate bubble you two had created. It reminded you of home.

Still whirling from the events that led to this moment, your mind gradually began to quiet. Bucky appeared to be much more relaxed, no longer breathing heavy and shaking as terribly during his attack.

"You okay?" You inquired softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The darkness of the room cast a deep, night blue hue, partially dulling the angry red blotches that you knew still marred Bucky's face from your sight. Bucky’s sweet, rosy nose glistened from his recent emotional turmoil.

He turned his face fully into your chest, burrowing against you as he sniffled. Amusement colored your voice as you gently teased, "Are you wiping your snot on me?" Your tone remained cautiously gentle, not wanting to upset the fragile calm that had settled over him.

Bucky's response came muffled against your chest, a small chuckle that vibrated through you. His voice was barely audible and tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "Maybe..." he admitted as he pulled back and finally looked you in the eye.

You rolled your eyes, casting a concerned glance back at him as you gently used your thumbs to caress his cheeks. The tender gesture was comforting for him. "Are you okay?" You repeated. You wanted—no, needed—to hear the truth directly from him, to gauge his emotional state beyond the façade he often presented.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, finding solace in the warmth of your hands against his skin. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, almost involuntarily, as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. The contrast between your warm, caring touch and his own clammy cheeks made him shiver. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with you, to absorb the comfort you offered.

"Yeah... I'm..." Bucky started, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, reconsidering his words. "I'm fine." Another pause. "I mean, no, I'm not but... you know. I'm good." The contradiction in his statement was painfully apparent. He cleared his throat, as if trying to dislodge the emotions threatening to spill out verbally, and slowly opened his eyes again.

They met yours, a swirl of conflicting emotions evident in their depths. It was a typical answer from him, a reflexive response born from decades of forced conditioning and denial of feeling. You had expected it, of course, knowing his tendency to downplay his struggles, but that didn't make it any less concerning.

"Well, it's late. Maybe we should try to get some sleep?" Your lips softly kissed his forehead, tenderly giving him some affection. As you pulled back, you looked into his eyes and reassured him, "If you say you're alright, then I believe you. I trust your judgment, and I want you to know that I'm always here for you, whenever you feel ready to talk about it. There's no pressure, no rush. And in the meantime, I'm more than happy to simply be here, to be your comfort, your support... your pillow, if that's what you need."

"You're too good to me, doll... you really shouldn't have to deal with all this," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. He rubbed his nose a little with the back of his hand, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. "You've got more than enough on your plate already. Your own struggles, your own dreams to chase. You don't need my baggage weighing you down too."

"Hey, now. I won't hear any of that," you insisted, your brows furrowing slightly in concern. Your voice was firm but warm, you understood why he felt the way he did, but you didn’t like it. "I love you, sweetheart. That means I love every part of you - the good, the bad, and everything in between. Taking care of you, making sure you're okay... it's not some burden I'm shouldering. It's not something I'm just 'dealing with' because I have to."

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. "I'm here, by your side, because that's exactly where I want to be. Because you deserve love, support, and care. And because giving you those things brings me joy. It's as simple as that."

You squeezed his hand softly, your eyes meeting his with a look of pure, unconditional love. "So please, don't ever think you're too much or that you're burdening me. You're not. You're the person I choose, every single day. And I want to be here for you, through thick and thin."

"I love you too, doll... I don't know what I'd do without you," Bucky replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still avoiding your gaze, but you didn't mind. Vulnerability was difficult for him and you appreciated his honesty even in his discomfort.

"Let's get comfortable, we need to rest for whatever shit is going on tomorrow," you said softly, your voice filled with care and concern, yet a small bite for this ridiculousness of the mission. You were still annoyed you and Bucky had been dragged into this mess.

You began to shuffle the comforter and blankets on the floor, creating a cozy nest beside the bed. Bucky's brow furrowed as he watched you meticulously prep the area, his eyes following your every move with curiosity and confusion.

"You're not planning on sleeping on the floor with me, are you?" he questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief as he observed you fluffing the pillows to ensure maximum comfort. The idea seemed to both perplex and touch him deeply. You had before, of course, at home. But he always insisted you go back to bed after his nightmares died down and he could fall asleep on his own. He didn't like the idea of you sleeping on the hardwood floors with him at night, especially when you could have the bed all to yourself.

"Of course I am," you replied without hesitation, your voice firm but gentle. "You think I'm gonna just let you sleep by yourself after this? Nope, that's not happening. I'm gonna be right by your side, supporting you through this. That's a promise, Bucky, and I intend to keep it." Your words were filled with determination and unwavering loyalty, leaving no room for doubt about your commitment to him.

He let out a deep, resigned sigh, fully aware that you wouldn't budge from your decision, despite the presence of a perfectly comfortable bed in the room. You'd pick sleeping on the floor with him over the warmth and softness of the bed any day. Bucky inched closer and settled into the makeshift sleeping area you had prepared.

Once situated, he gently pulled you towards him, enveloping you in a tender embrace. No words were exchanged, but he carefully repositioned himself, shuffling down slightly to rest his head against your chest, seeking comfort in your presence.

He wanted to be held tonight, and that was perfectly fine with you.

Thank you for reading. -em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest

[ironwinters]

"Oops?"

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

tags: smutty blurb, no plot, bucky spooking himself, comfort, fluff and giggles

inspired by that scene in breaking dawn where edward breaks the bed when they fuck. strength kink go brrrrr.

Moonlight and a soft summer breeze makes its way through the open bedroom window, illuminating the room and the skin of your intertwined bodies tangled in the bedsheets.

All that could be heard is the sound of soft moans and skin slapping together. Your back arches to press yourself impossibly closer to the man on top of you, a breathless moan escaping your lips as his thrusts become deeper and more powerful with each thrust, his hand moving from its place on your hip to brace himself with the headboard.

"please," you plead, not even sure of what you're begging him for. you're so close to the edge, and you know you just need one little nudge to get you there.

"god, doll, so good for me," he mutters out, lips brushing against your throat with each word he speaks, warm breath fanning over you.

at the praise, a soft whine escapes your throat, legs tightening around his hips as the knot in your stomach uncoils. the feeling of you releasing around him is Bucky's undoing as well, his hips stuttering to a stop against yours as close as he can be. A deep groan leaves his lips, the grip of his flesh hand tightening slightly on your hip and his other hand grips the headboard.

Crack.

The loud noise of wood snapping quickly pulls you out of your post orgasm haze, eyes trailing up to Bucky's hold on your now broken headboard. You blink owlishly, feeling like your brain is about to short circuit. You knew, of course Bucky was incredibly strong, he's a super soldier. But it was easy to forget, because of how in control of himself he always was around you.

You made him lose that control a little bit. And damn if it wasn't more attractive than it should've been.

Bucky looks bashful, blush rising to his cheeks and ears as he slowly releases the crumbling headboard from his hold.

"Oops?" he mutters.

You grab his face, pulling him into a searing kiss in hopes for a second round.

Bless super soldier stamina.

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level.

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, oral sex (both ways!!), edging?, masturbation (F), praise kink, cursing, light stalking, breaking in, harassing texts/calls, and lots of angst.

Word Count: 4.3

A/Ns: Hi babes! This was going to be a short story but she came out kinda long, so I'm going to make it a 2 parter. Don't judge me 🙈 I looove masked men. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. This is also my first time getting more explicit with smut so don't judge me too harshly! xoxo

Snuggled up to Bucky under a comfy blanket with a bowl of extra buttery and salty popcorn, lights turned all the way down, you finally convinced him to watch the movie Scream. While you’ve seen it many times before and are aware of all the jump scares, you still cling onto him a little extra tight in preparation while he is completely unphased. About halfway through the movie, you hear Bucky snort.

“What?” You ask, looking up at him slightly. His face is illuminated by the glow of the tv.

“Something you want to tell me, Doll?” One side of his mouth is tugged up in amusement.

“Bucky, what the fuck are you talking about?” Confused, you sit up to look at him.

He just shakes his head, grinning, “I’m talking about how every time a masked man comes on that screen,” he points to the tv, “you press those pretty little thighs of yours together.”

Your cheeks instantly flush, “You noticed that?”

“I pay attention to everything when it comes to my girl.” Bucky leans back more, resting his arm on top of the couch still grinning, “Tell me about it.” His eyes narrow slightly, something a bit darker lurking, intrigued by this knowledge.

“I don’t know… it’s just like,” you brush your hair behind your ears suddenly feeling embarrassed, “kind of like a kink? A fantasy maybe? There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it I guess?”

By the time you’re done explaining, your hands unknowingly gripped and crossed your chest. Blinking rapidly, you let go and focus back on Bucky who is just watching you intensely.

He nods and purses his lips lightly, “Maybe if I keep watching this movie, I’ll want a masked man for myself,” He teases.

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” You grab a fistful of popcorn and throw it at him, sending you both into a laughing frenzy.

"You're cleaning that up, not me." Bucky laughs.

Him and his messes.

He scoops you in close to his body to finish the movie, and later that night he showed you that no masked man from a movie could ever compare to him.

Three weeks later.

While trying to grab your phone and keys out of your bag, you accidentally drop the stack of mail you had just picked up from the landlord’s office on the doormat.

“Shit!” You mutter to yourself. Bending down to pick it up, something catches your eye. Your apartment door is cracked open.

You stand up, discarding the mail and push open the door, “Hello?” You call out, “Bucky?” There’s no response.

Taking a few steps in, nothing looks out of place or any evidence that someone seems to have broken in. You start going through each room, keeping your phone firmly in your hand just in case. But there’s nothing. Walking out of the bedroom you decide you’re going to call Bucky to see how far away he is since he was on his way over, when you find him standing in the kitchen.

“OH! Fuck me-” You jump at the sight of him and grab your chest.

“Hey, Doll!” Bucky says, like the perfect golden retriever boyfriend that he is.

“Did you just get here?” You ask, your heart still pounding.

“Yeah, why?” he asks curiously, absentmindedly grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl off the kitchen counter and taking a bite.

“Um, yeah me too. It’s just-”

“Just… what?” He takes another bite.

“It’s just that... my door was open when I got here?”

“What?” Bucky’s face instantly changes, his eyes wide and anxious, “Go wait in the hallway until I look around.”

“I already did that-”

“Please?” He pleads as he throws out his barely eaten apple, already coaxing you towards the door.

Crossing your arms, you go and wait in the hallway while he looks around. After a few minutes he brings you back in.

“Everything looks to be fine, but I’m going to stay the night just in case.” You breathe a sigh of relief at Bucky’s words.

“Maybe maintenance came in and forgot to lock back up. I was having all those issues with my heater a few months ago,” You try justifying.

“Yeah maybe,” he says, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

About a week later is when the phone calls started.

Initially it was just 1 or 2 a day from a restricted number that you never picked up, assuming it was some kind of solicitation about your car’s extended warranty. But no voicemail was ever left.

As a few weeks went by though, it started to feel like borderline harassment. The number of phone calls jumped to an average of twenty times a day.

Sitting at your work desk your phone continued to violently vibrate, the words Unknown Caller lit up on the screen. You ran your hands through your hair, letting them linger on your scalp, starting to feel stressed every time your phone rang.

"Hey babes!" Hailee, your coworker/bff storms unannounced into your office, "You ready to grab some lu- oh my god. Are they calling you right now?" Obviously aware of the situation, she scurries around your desk in her too high heels and answers your phone. Clearing her throat, "Hi, thank you for calling Tammy's Whorehouse where we suck and fuck. How can I help you?" She taps an inpatient finger on her hip, waiting for a response and then the line goes dead.

Your hands fall down into your lap with an exacerbated breath, "No one ever answers."

"Have you tried tracking the number?" She puts the phone down and sits on top of your desk.

"I've tried calling my cell service, they can't do anything about it. If it keeps up, I just might change my number." You shake your head, "This is going to sound so dumb, but it has me so distracted. Apparently, I've been forgetting to charge my phone at night too? I swear I put it on the charger but then it dies in the night and that's why I've been late to work a few times."

Hailee tilts her head to the side, giving a sympathetic frown. "Sorry, girl. Hey!" She tries perking up, "Why don't we go get lunch and iced coffees? My treat?!" Her bright smile and shimmying shoulders get you to crack a smile. Jumping off your desk she claps her hands, "Yay!"

Suddenly there's a knock at your office door. Both of you stop the mini-iced coffee celebration and snap your attention to the nervous, uniformed teenager standing in the doorway.

"Delivery." he says shyly, looking between the two of you.

Hailee raises an eyebrow and smirks, looking you up and down, "Well, it wasn't delivered to my office."

You roll your eyes as you get up, smoothing your skirt down. Walking up to the boy, he quickly hands you a rather large bouquet of flowers. The intoxicating floral aroma hits you almost immediately, you cannot help but be astounded by the arrangement. Each individual flower is rather large, some darker than others; Ombres of red and burgundy into black.

"They're beautiful," You admire, inhaling deeply. "I don't think I've ever seen these before. Do you know what kind of flowers they are?" You ask the teen curiously.

"Black dahlia's," he recalled, and your stomach felt like it dropped with the mention of the name. "I don't think we've ever gotten a request for those at my family's shop before. That's the only reason I remember," he shrugged.

"Does Bucky have a brother? Because like, are you kidding me right now?" You glanced at Hailee who was making an over-the-top pouty face.

Asking the teen if he had CashApp to tip him, you quickly ushered him off. Searching through the flowers to see if there was a card or any indication that they were in fact from Bucky, but there wasn't.

That night, Bucky came over for dinner. He brought take out from a local Greek place that he really liked, but you were distracted. Just pushing the food around on your plate.

"You okay, doll?" His forehead puckered slightly in question.

"Yeah, um," You shake your head to try and focus, "Hey, thanks for the flowers today. That was super sweet and unexpected," considering you've been kinda stressed.

"Flowers? What flowers?" Bucky's posture stiffens.

"I got flowers delivered to me at work today, I just assumed it... was from you? Maybe it was a mistake then." There were suddenly mixed emotions being stirred around in a frenzy. If Bucky wasn't the one who sent the flowers, then who did? You tried saying they were dropped in your office by accident, but it just didn't feel right. It felt intentional.

"Well, honey, I don't know who it was, but it wasn't me." Bucky stands up from the kitchen table, grabbing his dinner plate. "Are you done?" He asks gesturing to your plate. You nod and he takes it as well, "But it's something I should do, and I'll be more conscious of it. I'm sorry,"

"No, Buck I wasn't-"

His lips press to the top of your head, "No, you're right. If anyone should be doing it, it should be me. Let me take the garbage out for you and we'll have the night to ourselves, yeah? Anything you want."

"Anything?" You repeat, in singsong with a grin.

He shakes his head, scraping the scraps from the plates into the garbage returning the grin, "I like where this is going," Tying off the bag, he holds up two fingers, "give me two minutes," he opens the door to the apartment and starts jogging down the hallway, "two minutes!!" you hear him call out.

The door to the apartment doesn't even fully shut before you hear the familiar buzz coming from your bag. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you angrily push away from the table and stomp over to the counter, dumping out your purse just to see Unknown Caller lit up on your phone.

You hit the green button so hard it doesn't register, so you do it again until it answers, "Hello?! What the FUCK do you want?!" No answer. But this time, you can hear someone breathing heavily. "You need some help. Seriously, leave me the fuck alone!" Hanging up, you slam the phone down onto the counter.

"Doll?" Bucky asks from the doorway, he sighs, "Was it that number bothering you again?"

"Yes!" You answer, flustered. "The next step is to just- change my number! I don't know what else to do."

Bucky steps in, closing in the door behind him with the back of his boot. His lips are pressed in tight line, "C'mere, darlin'," he holds his arms wide open, eyes soft. Dragging your feet, you meet him halfway and lay your head on his chest, "It's gonna be okay," he coos in your ear. "It's just some asshole with nothing better to do. They'll get bored soon enough. Worst case, we'll change your number. We can even go down to the store tomorrow and get you a new phone?" Bucky offers, trying to be optimistic as he caresses your arms up and down.

"I was just really hoping it wouldn't get to that point." You admit, pulling away from his chest just enough to look up at him.

"We'll do what we have to." Bucky smiles, cupping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before pressing his lips to yours.

Letting your lips linger a moment as your eyes close, you inhale deeply, taking in the cypress scented soap still lingering on his skin from a shower he took earlier. It's your favorite. Hence why you keep buying it every time he runs out. Bucky's lips separate yours, and when just the tips of your tongues connect, a barely audible whimper escapes your mouth.

Like a gun starting a marathon, it was all Bucky needed to hear. Reaching down and gripping behind your thighs, he hoists you up. With a delighted squeak, you wrap your legs around his torso, laughing but keeping your lips on his as your hands run through his short hair. Using one hand flat against your lower back to keep you pressed into his chest, Bucky's other hand firmly grasped your ass. His fingers purposefully grazing the inseam of your jeans between your legs as he walked towards the bedroom.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, keeping you both upright. You break the mashing of tongues to re-adjust your position and straddle him. Leaning in, you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, letting your teeth graze just a tiny bit before letting go. Bucky exhales a drawn out, low groan before licking his lips. The look in his eyes is absolutely carnal as he tugs your shirt over your head and throws it across the room. Not even bothering with your bra, he just pulls the black lace cups down beneath your breasts, propping them up in exposure as he dips down to flick his tongue across your nipple.

Initially it makes you shudder, but as he continues to suck, nibble, lick, repeat, you find reprieve in grinding your hips down into the ever-growing bulge in his pants. Bucky lets out a stifled groan before switching his mouth to your other nipple. You smirk to yourself; you just love to tease this man. Although, if we're being honest, this isn't so easy on you right now either.

Roughly gripping both sides of his face, you bring his lips back to yours. You’re starting to feel needy for more of his touch. Becoming desperate to relieve this fuel lit fire. Bucky’s hands were firmly placed on each of your ass cheeks, assisting your already rolling hips forward and back. He snakes one hand between your bodies, slipping it down the front of your pants, his finger sliding once between your slit. You both moan loudly in unison into the kiss.

"Fuuuck..." Bucky breathed, tilting his head back just slightly that your lips pull apart. "You're already so fucking wet for me," his lascivious eyes lock onto yours, his breathing already becoming rather ragged.

Hearing his debauched voice, knowing just that single glide of his finger has him aching so badly, has ignited a new spark in you. "It's all yours, baby," you purred. Biting the bottom corner of your lip, you slowly get off his lap. Hooking each of your pointer fingers into the front pockets of Bucky's jeans, you encourage him to stand up as you drop to your knees before him.

As he's fumbling with the button and zipper, you stare up at him with tantalizing eyes, your hands firmly grazing along his muscular thighs. Once he's able to get it open, you help start to shimmy down his jeans and boxer briefs passed his hips until they pool on the floor. Bucky's thick, long cock springs up at almost eye level in enthusiasm, instantly making your mouth water. Sticking your tongue out as far as you possibly can, you lock eyes with Bucky and press the tip to your tongue, dragging it to a flick.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, his body quivered at the first contact. You smile as you taste the initial saltiness on your tongue, licking your lips before hollowing out your cheeks and taking him into your mouth. Bucky exhales deeply, his head starting to tilt back but he stops, making sure he maintains eye contact with you. You draw back, pressing your tongue upward firmly, go forward, and go back again. After a moment, a rhythm gets going, you now move your tongue side to side as you bob front to back, sucking harder.

"That's it," Bucky coaxes, "That's my good fucking girl," a small whimper escapes your throat at his words of praise. You clamp your legs together a little tighter as it's getting harder to ignore the incessant throbbing and growing wet spot between your legs.

The next thing you know, his hands are in your hair, gathering it up into a makeshift ponytail. Grasping his shaft with your hand steadily, you use that to guide your mouth, twisting and gliding easily. You know it's his weakness. Bucky's hips start to buck up into your mouth as he pulls your head down further onto his throbbing cock. Through now teary eyes you’re determined to watch as his face starts to contort with pleasure, his moans music to your ears just as your gagging is to him.

"You look...Ahh...so...fucking...pretty," Each word comes out with a drive of his hips into your mouth. In the dim lighting of the room, completely blissed out on pleasure, he looks like a fucking god. And he's mine. The thought alone is enough to make you explode. "Ugh!" Bucky growls, "I can't take it anymore! C'mere!" With a small 'pop', he pulls out and grabs underneath your arms and tosses you onto the bed.

Giggling, you wipe the excess saliva off your swollen, red lips as you push back further onto the bed. Bucky pulls your jeans and panties down and off in one swift motion before kneeling onto the bed. His eyes are glazed over, solely focused on between your legs. He crawls upward, and it's purely feline as he dips down, his mouth creating a seal and sucking once.

The combination of a loud moan and gasp get ripped straight from your lungs as you practically convulsed off the bed from being so aroused. Bucky quickly and securely locks your thighs in place to keep them open and from you going anywhere. He grinned, watching every single movement.

"Eyes on me, princess," he ordered. Pressing down on your lips, you nodded in anticipation. Leaning in, Bucky skimmed his lips on your very inner thigh, placing a feather light kiss that made your entire abdomen tense.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

"Fuck," Bucky sits back up on his knees, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans that was still around his ankles. "Hello?" You stare up at him in complete disbelief, "What, now?" He looks down at you on the bed, giving a sympathetic look and mouths 'sorry'. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he drags a hand down his face. "Yeah... yeah. No- I understand... Okay. Yep. I'll be there. Bye." He hangs up the phone.

"Don't say it," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest and closing your legs.

Bucky takes a deep breath, "I have to go back, a mission came up."

"Annnd, you said it," you look up at the ceiling, refusing to keep that eye contact that you were so adamant on not even a minute ago.

"It sounded pretty important, Doll." Bucky is off the bed, pulling up his pants and re-adjusting himself in them.

"It always is," you mutter under your breath. Sighing, you just accepted the fact that your night is completely ruined. "So, what you're telling me is, that I'm getting cock blocked by The Avengers?"

Bucky sits on the bed, placing a delicate hand on your cheek, "I'm really sorry. I'll make this up to you tenfold, promise." He kisses you softly, "I have to go. I'll contact you as soon as I can. I love you," He offers a small smile.

You sigh, knowing you can never let him leave on bad terms, "I love you too, Buck." Sitting up you give him a hug and a few extra kisses that probably made him late.

Still sitting in bed after Bucky had gone, you felt irrationally irritated by how he left. Tapping on your thighs, a headache was already brewing from the pent-up sexual tension that you were unable to get out. That's when you suddenly remembered a little something on your phone that might just help you out in this situation. There was this one particular time you and Bucky decided to record yourselves having sex, and you've never went back and watched it. If there was ever a time to go back and do so...

Excitedly, you go over to the dresser. You pull open your underwear drawer and dig through all the way to the back, where you stash your favorite vibrator. You click the silicone button a few times to make sure it's charged, and all the intensity settings worked before laughing menacingly to yourself and closing the drawer. Tossing the toy onto the bed, you walk out to the kitchen.

Your phone was where you had left it earlier, still slammed face down on the counter. Sashaying over, you notice that there's an applecore sitting next to it. This is odd, because you didn't have one and Bucky is normally very meticulous when it comes to cleaning and picking up after himself. Going to throw it out, you realize there is no garbage bag in the trash can and suddenly it makes sense. Bucky was in a rush to leave; he probably didn't have the time to replace the bag. So, you do it yourself, and throw out the eaten fruit.

Getting back to your room with your phone, you notice that your underwear drawer is open. Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you look from the bed, to the dresser, back to the bed. I could have sworn I closed that. Then again, maybe it's just the headache coming on. You close the dresser drawer, and all too eagerly jump under the covers.

The ambiance for a little 'self-love' right now is almost too perfect. Your bedroom is dimly lit with only a mood lamp and the fog covered streetlamps from down below your apartment. The light patter of rain hit against your bedroom window and fire escape underneath it, while some light thunder rolled some distance away.

Scrolling through your phone, it wasn't hard to find exactly what you were looking for. Pressing 'play', you're watching a side view of you taking Bucky from the back. Your mouth drops open slightly, seeing it from a third person view. Bucky has his Vibranium hand on the side of your face, pushing you down further into the mattress and he is just relentless. And the sounds, God the sounds. You grab the vibrator, turning it on and quickly placing it onto your already sensitive and swollen clit and start rubbing it and soft circles.

"Look at how good you take it,"

"Oh, God!"

"Are you gonna come for me?"

"Mhm,"

"I can't hear you, princess,"

"Can I come Bucky? Please, please let me..."

"Of course, my good girl can come. Here... lean down more...open those legs wider...touch yourself...yeah...fuck, yeah...just like that baby,"

The bed is practically shattering underneath you as Bucky, who isn't even there, coaxes you into having an orgasm with yourself. You rub the vibrator more intensely, knowing you’re about to come hard from the pent-up tension this evening. The lights surge briefly in the apartment from the passing storm, just as your head presses down further against the pillows and the ripples of pleasure aggressively take over your body.

The lights go out momentarily, and that's when you see the silhouette of a tall, dark hooded figure standing on your fire escape looking into your window.

The lights come back on a second later and you’re panting. Both from the release and from what you saw. The cognizance hits you that you just came in front of a total stranger. Oh, and maybe that I might have a stalker.

The cops came, looked around, made you feel like an idiot, took a report, and left. Not feeling comfortable staying in the apartment for the night, you called Hailee, who offered up her spare bedroom.

Sitting across from you with her legs crossed on the couch, her hair in a bonnet, a glass of wine, and blue raspberry vape, she leaned in, listening intently to the details leading up to this moment.

“Soo… you know I’m gonna ask,” she starts.

You sigh, “I don’t know when I’m going to tell Bucky. I always feel so guilty when he’s away and something happens.”

Hailee’s face scrunches as she waves her hand in dismissal, “No, no not that,” You raise an eyebrow at her in confusion. “Can I see it?” She lowers her voice, but it’s oozing with hope.

“Bitch,” both your eyebrows raise in aghast, realizing what she’s actually asking.

“What?! Come onnnn,” She whines, pressing her hands together in plead and pouts her lip.

“Oh my god, Hailee! No! Just… no.”

Rolling her eyes she composes herself again, “Okay, so like, you ever just… look at a man, and you just know?” Her hands wave around as she’s trying to explain, “Like, that man can fuck? I feel like that’s Bucky. And so…” Hailee looks so determined right now, “s-shame on you!” She points directly at you, this is comical, “for not sharing the video evidence! Because now I’m convinced you have a boring, vanilla sex life!”

Leaning back against the kitchen counter sipping your glass of water, you hear yourself coming down from the highs of ecstasy through your phone. Hailee’s wide eyes are glued, mouth dropped open, speechless, for once. The sound finally cuts off.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a brother because-”

You quickly snatch the phone out of her hand, “Okay, you got what you wanted. Can we be serious now?!”

“Yeah,” Hailee shakes her head, “yeah, of course…” she takes a deep breath, “I’m just saying, you seriously have some career options if your current job doesn’t work out though.”

“Hailee!!”

“Okay! I’m sorry!” Her hands go up in a surrender, “but you put in a police report, and I mean, of course you can stay here. What else are you going to do?”

*Ding*

“Hang on, I just got a text.”

“Who the fuck would be texting you this late?” Hailee asks, getting off the couch to read the text with you over your shoulder.

Together you read the message:

Part 2

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @wintrsoldrluvr

[lives-in-midgard]

Bucky: You can’t make everyone like you. You’re not Y/N.

Sam: Not everyone likes Y/N.

Bucky: Who doesn’t?

Sam: Well...

Bucky: Names, now. Give me their names.

[honda-odyssey-the-queer-allegory]

Me anytime Bucky is mentioned

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This?: Chapter 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

[incorrectquotesmcu]

Kate: What did you get Yelena for her birthday?

Y/N: I got her a dog.

Kate: Really? Me too!

Sam: I also got her a dog!

Bucky: Looks like we had the same idea.

Y/N: Scott, please tell me you didn’t get Yelena a dog as well.

Scott: I got her a dog!

[cuts to Yelena surrounded by dogs]

Yelena: THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Bucky being present when you wake up…

You woke up with a sharp intake of air. All of which caused great deal of pain to your chest. A small cry escaped your lips and you felt a soft hand touch your cheek gently. 

You opened your eyes, fearing the worst but your frantic heartbeat calmed at the sight of Bucky. Your ease seemed to have rubbed off on him as you could visibly see his shoulders unwind from their tense stature. 

His eyes, however, never dimmed in concern. “You’re awake.”

You were. And very quickly the events of the night came crashing back. From the idea to the restaurant to the attack, you stared up at Bucky with a sad expression.

“Your date?” You whispered, certain that the night hadn’t panned out as intended. You weren’t sure what reply Bucky would give but the scowl on his face surprised you a little.

“After everything that happened, you want to know about the goddamn date?” He wondered, his brows furrowed.

It was clear that he was angry. You just weren’t sure if he was angry at you or for you.

“Of course. I-you were supposed to be having an enjoyable night.” You reminded him. He didn’t reply. Bucky only stared back with confusion. You brought a heavy arm to rub your temples as if a headache had come on and let out a small sigh. “It’s okay. It was a minor setback, we can try again next we-”

“Minor?” Bucky repeated. The low timbre of his voice almost raised your armhairs. “You nearly died in my arms tonight. My arms, Y/n.”

He cast his head down. Eyes darkening at the memory of a few hours ago replayed. “I should have killed them all.”

Your eyes widened. Fear crept into your muscles. Had one bad situation sent him into his Winter Soldier ways?

As if he could sense your question, he locked eyes with you but they were a touch kinder. “They probably won’t be walking again but they’re alive.”

You visibly relaxed. And the way you looked at Bucky almost made his knees give out. 

“Why did you follow me into the park?” You asked.

Crossing the floor, Bucky reached the side of bed and took your hand. His thumb stroked the soft skin in a calming motion.

“When I stepped inside the restaurant and looked at all the faces, I realised something.” He said. “I don’t want to be on a date if you’re not on the opposite seat.”

Imagine series > Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Masterlist here

[chrisisvbun]

old rogers. young!bucky barnes x older!fem reader.

synopsis: bucky had a crush on you since he was fourteen years old, and now, at twenty-four years old, finally gets a chance to make a move.

cw: riding, unprotected piv mommy kink, a little bit of nudity, masturbation, silly teen crush, Freud mentioned but really bad explanation, flirting, sub!top reader, dom!bottom bucky, age gap, secret relationship, crempie, Bucky cums a lot.

a ten nsfw chapter series masterlist.

Bucky and Steve had been friends since high school, and the connection they had was evident. Bucky adored Steve, he was truly his best friend, he wouldn't change him for anything, he wouldn't ever want to push him away.

But going to the beach with Steve's family was always so freaking hard. His mom and dad were the sweetest, his little brother was so fun too. The problem was you.

You were already in college when Steve introduced Bucky to the family. He was fourteen while you were already twenty, and of course you realized how enamored he was with you. He loved your laugh and your eyes, he could've stared at your face for hours, but he couldn't, you were his best friend's older sister and you even had a boyfriend at the time, and clearly, he wasn't old enough. And also, you hadn't even interacted with him a lot, since you were always studying or in college.

But that year, it was the first beach vacation you shared with your family and Bucky. He was already twenty-four, and you were thirty, two adults, right? But still, you were off range, you were his best friend's older sister.

But still, he couldn't help but stare. You were tanning with a towel and an umbrella, you had undone the knot of your bikini and you were laying on your tummy to tan your back smoothy.

He was almost drooling with his milkshake in hand, he felt like a hormonal teen. He thought this was over, that it was just a stupid crush with the first mature, hot girl he saw when he was fourteen, since he went to a only boys school. But it seemed that it wasn't, because he felt like the first time he laid eyes on you.

"Jamie." You called, lifting your sunglasses, and smiling gently at him.

"Y-yeah?" He swallowed hard.

"Can I have a sip?" You rolled over your back, your bikini top still untied. The top was covering almost all of your breasts. Almost. The curve of your tits was completely on sight.

"Sure..." I said with an enamored sigh, drooling at the sight of your tanned skin.

He approached, sitting next to you and handing you the milkshake. You grabbed the straw in your lips without using your hands, sipping from it as you looked at him in his eyes. Once you swallowed the white beverage, you smiled at him. "Thanks."

He nodded quickly, casually standing back up and running to the bathroom. Once inside, he covered his mouth with his free hand while the other was in charge of stroking his cock tightly. He focused on imagining it was your mouth, or your cunt, whatever you would let him use.

(...)

The second day was even worse, you had another bikini now, a red wine one. The color suited you beautifully, your skin glowing in the sun while you read a book.

He took a breath, preparing himself to approach now.

He, nervously, approached and sat next to you. "H-hey." He swallowed hard.

You turned to him and smiled instantly, he felt his heart flutter, and his cock throb. You removed your glasses and closed your book, the attention was making him even more nervous.

"Hi, Jamie." You smiled, you were the only one who called him that, you did it since you met him and he had fantazised for nights with you moaning that stupid nickname.

"What were you reading?" He tried to make conversation.

"My good friend, Sigmund Freud." You chuckled, showing him the book. "Some psychology thing I remembered I read in college. But let's not talk about me, how are you doing now? Gonna enlist?" You asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm... I'm enlisting." He said, smiling stupidly.

"Isn't it kinda scary? I mean, I freak out with just the idea of going."

"Well, it is scary, but it's scarier to think of my loved ones being in danger, you know."

You smiled lovingly, your eyes shining. If he were a dog, he would have started wagging his tail with just that sight.

"You are really brave, Jamie, I like that." You smiled.

He felt his heart skip a bit, his stomach flipping with exciment, he was about to fucking vomit a bouquet of flowers and give it—

That was it. Flowers. He needed to get you flowers, that was it.

He blushed and rubbed the nape of his neck. "Ah, it's nothing, it's just how I feel, I guess."

"I always knew you were kind-hearted."

He felt like you were flirting. Were you flirting with him? He had flirted with women before, but he had totally forgotten how to answer to any compliment. His brain was blank.

"You were always sweet with me, I wouldn't treat you any different." He smiled back, resting on his forearm.

You bit your lip as you smiled, clearly flustered at his comment.

Yes, Barnes, fucking yes. Smart mother fucker. (More like sister fucker.)

"Well, you were worthy of my kindness I guess, you always treated Steve really good, I knew I could trust you that." You shifted a bit to face him better.

"Trust me what?" He furrowed his brows slightly.

"I knew you would take good care of someone you appreciated." You smirked a bit. "So I knew I could trust you my baby bro." You giggled a bit.

He blushed heavily, but tried to act non chalantly.

This is the moment, Bucky, think, think, you gotta give a more explicit sign, come on. Use that stupid head of yours. He thought.

He pretended to think once he had the most risky comment in the tip of his mouth. "You think... I could take good care of you?" He finally looked at you in the eye, his icy blue eyes piercing yours.

You blushed more, your lips parting because of the surprise.

Before you could answer, your younger brother shoot both of you with a water gun.

"Greg! You little shit, I'm gonna kill you!" You said as you grabbed your soaked book.

Greg just laughed and ran away.

"Mom! Greg ruined my book!" You complained, cursing under your breath.

Then, you put a hand on Bucky's right shoulder. Your hand was warm, but the water made it cool down a bit. Still, your touch, even if it was a few seconds, was soft and delicate. His breath hitched as he looked up at you.

"I'll be right back." You said, before going with your parents.

When you came back, Bucky wasn't there. You were confused, but assumed he got bored waiting since you took really long.

Bucky was for his third orgasm already and his cock wouldn't stop getting hard at the memory of the whole interaction.

(...)

The third day, you weren't at the beach at all. Bucky looked around like a lost puppy, trying to get a glance of you, but nothing.

"Hey, your sister didn't come." He said casually to Steve.

"Ah, yeah, she told me to let you know she would stay in her bedroom. I think it's because you were having a chat before Greg got annoying, right?" Steve answered.

Was that it? Could that be the sign he was waiting for?

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." He said, casually, trying to ignore the throb of his cock.

Bucky didn't even bother to put a shirt on, he almost jumped all the way to your hotel room. He knocked on the door eagerly, and a few seconds later, you opened the door.

You were in a pair of grey shorts, a wide t-shirt, clearly no bra on, your hair wet and dump, you had just jumped out of the shower, and that just made him more excited.

"I was wondering when you were gonna show up." You smiled, letting him come in.

"Steve told me you wanted to keep chatting with me." He smiled as he sat on your bed. He smiled back, he had more confidence, he could sense that you wanted him back, and he was just getting more and more excited.

"Stupid Greg made me not want to go out today, I loved that book." You huffed before you sat next to him. "But I felt we had a chat pending." You sat sideways, holding your body in your right hand as you looked at him

"Do we?" He smiled a bit, but internally, he was shivering.

"You know I'm a bit too old, right?" You started. He nodded quickly. "And you know I'm your best friend's sister." He nodded again. "Alright."

You sat straight and pushed him to make him lay on his back. Bucky's pupils went wide when you began to crawl on top of him. "So, when Steve asks, we were reading about Freud, right?"

He nodded eagerly, his lips parted as he sighed, your hands ran up his bare torso.

"You got huge this time, you lift a lot?" You asked, squeezing his muscles with a smile.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Yeah, a-about a hundred and fourty pounds."

"Hundred and fourty pounds?" You said impressed. "You could lift any girl you want." You teased with a smile. You leaned down, your lips pressed against his sun-kissed collarbone.

"Y-yeah..."

"Could you lift me?" You asked in whispers as your kisses began to climb their way to his throat.

"I..." He sighed of pleasure. "I would love to."

You giggled, the sound making Bucky shiver. His shaking hands moved to grab your clothed waist.

"Steve can't know about this, okay?" You said, your eyes in his, your hands cupping his cheeks.

He nodded obediently and quickly, he sank his fingertips a bit harder into your waist, while his eyes darted between your soft plump lips and your eyes.

"Gonna be good f'r me?" You ran your fingers through his hair.

"Yes, yes, I'll— I'll do anything for you." He muttered. You smiled, and he noticed how much he loved the way your eyes crinkled. He leaned a bit, and he forced himself to not moan when his lips brushed against yours.

Your hand held the back of his neck and you pressed a soft kiss on his lips. That was it? Right? Just— just a kiss? He thought.

(...)

"Oh, fuck!" You moaned out loud while your hips snapped into his.

His eyes were wide as he had his face buried in the crook of your neck. Moaning, drooling, babbling, he was totally overwhelmed, trying so hard not to come too quick like he already did. Three times.

He felt lime a virgin teen, when he was an adult man and definetly not a virgin.

You were riding him so skillingly, you knew some much, he felt just dumb, he gave in the second you had pushed him in that bed. His hands were gripping your back while his legs shook of overstimulation. You were whining and moaning in his ear as you scratched down his back, using him like the perfect sex toy he was.

"Gimme another one." You mumbled in his ear, making him sob a moan again. "C'mon, I'm so close, make me cum, baby."

He pulled away a second, his hands running through your sides as he got drunk in the sight of you. Your soft tanned tummy, your pretty arms, your pink cunt sucking his cock, and your beautiful, bouncing tits.

He sank his face there, sucking them, biting them, while his hands gripped your middle back.

"You like my tits? Wanna get nursed like a baby?" You teased a bit, between moans.

He looked up at you, glassy blue eyes into yours, he squeezed your body, his cock throb and all for the thought of you taking good care of him. For the thought of being your baby.

You saw his eyes full of hunger and desire and kissed him gently, pulling his hair delicately, you started to ride him slower.

"C'mon..." You said softly. "Take what you want."

He didn't have to think twice, he grabbed your left nipple in his mouth, and sucked like he could get milk from it. Your hand ran through his hair, stroking him, petting him.

"That's a good boy, making mommy feel good."

Something snapped at him, like a rubber band. He moaned, and whined like a hurt dog as he sucked and sucked. He planted his feet on the mattress, and he began to thrust upwards, his tip directly hitting your cervix.

He heard you gasped and moan out loud, your nails sank on his shoulders as you tried to find support.

"Mommy, mommy..." He moaned feraly in your ear. "So good, so good, tell me I'm good, mommy..." He begged in sobs.

Your nails were almost piercing his skin. "S-so good, baby, so f-f-freaking great for mommy."

He moaned with just your words, keeping his pace. "Gonna fill you up so good, lemme fill you up, lemme make you a mommy."

His primal needs made his eyes go blurry, he was so desperate to cum, he needed to fill you nice and good, knock you up, having your round and fat with him.

"Baby, you know you can't..." You said breathless.

"Please, please, please, please..." He begged, his sobs filled the room with the slapping sound of his balls against your skin. "I can't pull out, I can't— I can't, please, let me fill you..." He almost cried in your shoulder.

How could you say no to him? How could you deny him anything if he spoke in that tone?

"C'mon, baby, fill momma up." You mumbled in his ear and he moaned at the permission.

"Thank you, oh, mommy, thank you..." He cried as his thrusts began to get sloppier and sloppier.

You pulled his hair and clenched around his shaft. You moaned loudly, and your back arched in his embrace when your climax almost made you tear up.

With that, the gave a final thrust and came inside, his cum filling and spilling all over your bed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't stop, I just can't—" he sobbed, holding your body against him as he kept coming. He never came this much, but the orgasm he just had... you might have ruined him for the rest of women.

"Shh, it's okay, baby, don't worry about it. You did great." You kissed his face gently, making him purr at the soft aftermath.

(...)

"So, what did you guys do?" Steve asked, when all of his family, including you, were having dinner.

"Ah, she showed me a book he had, one Freud wrote." Bucky said casually.

"Wasn't that the one who fucked his mom?" Steve's dad said.

Bucky nearly chocked with his food.

"Dad! Don't be stupid! He didn't fuck his mom, he had his arguments about the unconscious desire of having sexual relationships with the opposite gender parent, like the myth of Oedipus." You explained. "It's a normal sexual wish that kids have when they are really young, and that feeling disappears once they grow, it's almost biological."

"Well, some dudes still have some of that, am I right?" Your dad chuckled.

"Dad, quit it—"

"You know what I mean, Barnes." He elbowed Bucky, whose face was red as a tomato.

"Y-Yeah, sure."

[barnesnatts]

New look at Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes in Marvel's THUNDERBOLTS.😍

[l0standn0tf0und]

James Buchanan Barnes ☆ fic recs p.3

part 1.

part 2.

part 40s.

♡ = smut, 18+ only

bucky with a partner who isn’t quite…right

bucky and touch headcanons

all these things that I've done

bloodstains and daydreams

how's retirement, bucky?

scars to your beautiful

complaining by bucky

silver and garnet

good morning

in my dreams

almost kisses

gentle kisses

filthy fingers

cold metal

the life

♡closer

♡rinse cycle

♡enlivened mornings

♡bucky's second first time

♡helping bucky stay grounded by riding him

All credits and support to the authors: @hesthermay @fandoms-writings @collaredsoldat @angelltheninth @buckybarnesandmarvel @mrs-bucky-barnes106 @mercurial-chuckles @tom-holland-parker @buckys-metal-arm @eufezco @buckys-wintersoldier @aquaticmercy @embbarnes @brunchable @gaysindistress

masterlist

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Cuddling The Nightmares Away » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend/TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You help Bucky through a nightmare for the first time by cuddling him.

Warnings: Fluff, language, nightmares, crying, kissing, pet names

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

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

Bucky’s eyebrows were furrowed and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead as he slept. He was mumbling something incoherent too. You could feel him tossing and turning next to you. You leaned over, turning on the bedside lamp and turned to face Bucky. You couldn’t help but notice how heavy he was breathing and it concerned you.

“Bucky?” Bucky hears your voice faintly. “Bucky?” He hears again. “Bucky?” He heard more clearly that time.

Bucky’s eyes shot open and he gasped. He scrambled to sit up. He was breathing heavily and looked around the bedroom to gather himself. Bucky jumped slightly when he felt your hand on his right shoulder.

“Are- Are you ok?” Bucky asks.

“Of course I’m ok.” You answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked.

Instead of answering you, he broke down in tears. You were quickly to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. Bucky leaned into your touch. He leaned his forehead against your chest. His tears soaked your -his- t-shirt.

“It’s ok.” You cooed, rubbing his back. “The bad dream is over.” You say softly.

“I’m so sorry, doll.” Bucky apologizes, his voice cracking.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, baby.” You almost whispered.

“Yes I do.” He says.

Bucky sat up and turned himself towards you.

“The dream I had wasn’t ordinary bad dream. It was a nightmare.” He tells you. “I used to be an assassin for HYDRA called the Winter Soldier. The nightmares are about the everything I did for them.” He explains. “I have them almost every night.” He says.

“Oh, baby…” You caressed his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked.

“We have an amazing thing going on and I didn’t want to scare you away.” He says, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You’ll never scare me away, Bucky. I’m with you until the end of the line.” You say softly.

Bucky smiles when you said that. Then it slowly faded away when a horrible thought popped into his mind.

“What if I hurt you?” Bucky asks, his voice cracking.

“That’ll never happen, baby.” You tell him.

“What if it does? I’ll never forgive myself and you’ll be scared of me.” He says, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Even if you did hurt me, I would know it’s an accident and I’ll forgive you for it. I won’t ever be scared of you.” You tell him softly.

You grabbed Bucky’s right hand and put it on your chest where your heart is.

“Do you feel that?” You asked. “Deep down in my heart, I’ll forgive you for anything and I’ll still love you.” You say.

A smile grew on Bucky’s face. You leaned in, kissing him sweetly and softly. His beard was wet from crying.

“I love you so much, baby boy.” You whispered, putting your forehead against his and looking deep in his blue eyes.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky whispers back.

You kissed him one more time and wiped his tears away.

“I know what will make you feel better.” You say.

“What might that be, doll?” He asks.

“Cuddling the nightmares away.” You tell him.

“I would very much like that.” He says.

You two readjusted yourselves. You laid down on your back and Bucky laid his head on your chest and wrapped his arms around you protectively. One of your hands was rubbing his back while your free hand was playing with his soft brown hair. As you were reaching for the lamp to turn it off, Bucky looked up at you.

“Doll?” Bucky says.

“Yes, baby?” You asked, looking down at him.

“Can we turn the TV on?” He asks. “It helps me fall asleep.” He says.

“Of course we can.” You smiled.

You reached for the remote and turned the TV on. You put the TV on a low volume.

“What do you want to watch?” You asked.

“Anything is fine.” He answers.

You put on cartoons and put the remote back on the nightstand. Bucky didn’t mind that you put on cartoons. He finds them entertaining. You reached up and turned the lamp off and got comfortable again.

“Try to get some rest, baby boy.” You whispered, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll try.” He says.

The sound of your heartbeat soothed Bucky and made him fall asleep. You fell asleep shortly after him.

The following morning, you managed to slide out of Bucky’s arms and went to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. After about an hour, Bucky stirred in his sleep and woke up to the sun shining through the curtains and the sound of the TV. He turned over to wrap his arms around you, only to find out that you weren’t in bed. Bucky stretched and rubbed his eyes before getting out of bed. He shut the TV off before walking out of yours and his bedroom. It didn’t take him long to realize you were making breakfast. The smell filled his nose instantly.

“Good morning, baby boy.” You smiled, handing him a cup of coffee as he sat down at the table. “How’d you sleep?” You asked.

“Better when you cuddled me.” Bucky answers with a smile before taking a sip of coffee.

“That’s good.” You pecked his lips softly. “I made breakfast.” You tell him.

“What did you make?” He asks curiously.

“Your favorite.” You answered with a smile, giving him a kiss on his forehead.

You went back to the kitchen to get breakfast and took it to the table. You put a plate in front of Bucky and sat down at the table next to him.

“Doll?” Bucky speaks up after a few minutes.

“Yes, babe?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Thank you for last night.” He smiles.

“You’re welcome, Bucky.” You smiled back. “You know you don’t have to thank me for that. I’ll cuddle away the nightmares anytime.” You say.

“I’m sure I’ll have less nightmares when you’re holding me.” He says with a smile.

“I love holding you and I love you.” You say, leaning over in your chair to kiss his lips sweetly and softly.

“I love you too, babydoll.” He almost whispered, kissing you back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll