tripletstephaniescp

[tripletstephaniescp]

I am looking forward to seeing where this is going.

Three Pointer 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: When you go down to see your brother at the basketball courts, you find yourself drawn into a game you don't quite understand.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: I meant this to be one part but it should only be 2 or 3 at most. My mind is a bit addled. Without having to go into the pain, I lost someone dear to me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Photo Sources: #1 #2

The bounce of rubber on pavement greets your approach. You come to the chain link fence and peer through, searching among the courts for one person in particular. Your brother is there with his usual crowd; three-on-three. 

Your anxiety twists in your gut. There’s always so many people down here. So many strangers. 

You enter through the gate, the hinges whining high, and you pass by the benches of those waiting for their go or watching. As you keep your head low, a whoosh blows past your nose. You step back and look up as the ball bounces off fence behind the benches. 

You glance over as a man catches it. You blanches show your palms. ‘Sorry’, you mouth, your voice trapped up inside your chest. 

He echoes you out loud. “You okay?” 

You stare at him. His dark aviators reflect the sunlight and his sleeves are rolled up over his sweaty shoulders. You finally find the sense to nod. You should pay attention.  

You slowly sidle past him. He backs up and watches you before slowly turning around. He tosses the ball to another man. He catches it and flips it into the net with no effort at all.  

You trip as you notice the other man’s arm. At first you think it’s tattoos but they shine like that. It’s metal. You can see a hint of the scarring where it meets his flesh, just beneath the black cotton of his tank top. 

You turn and put your head down again. It isn’t nice to stare. You know you don’t like when people do. 

Your brother, Carter, is in the next court. As you glance up, he’s squinting at you. You frown. What did you do now? 

You stop at the corner as Trevor calls his name. Carter sneers and turns to grab the ball out of the air. He aims and shoots. It bounces off the backboard and Hakeem catches it with a chirp, “Looking sharp.” 

“Whatever,” Carter puffs. “I need water.” 

He flicks his fingers in frustration and stomps toward you. He wipes his forehead with his arm. He ignores you as he grabs his worn-out gatorade bottle. 

“Chu doin’ here?” He growls before he squirts a stream into his mouth. 

“You said come get you around seven.” 

He swallows loudly, his eyes darting behind you. “Did I?” 

“I thought--” 

“Why were you bugging those guys?” He asks. 

You peek back. The man in the sunglasses makes a three-pointer. You shake your head as you face your brother. 

“I wasn’t--” 

“You needa go home. You don’t even like basketball,” he accuses. “No one needs you in the way. ‘Specially not them.” 

“You never ask me to play,” you shrug. 

“And who wants to play with you?” He rolls his eyes. 

You pout and nod. You wouldn’t be very good, would you? 

“Well, it’s seven. I just came to say so like you wanted.” 

“Sure. If Tonya shows, just send her here.” He spits. 

“Right.” 

You don’t like how he treats you like his time-keeper and his messenger. You don’t like Tonya either. Or many of his friends for that matter. They’re like him. You only live together because you got no choice. You can’t afford your own place. 

You spin and head back for the gate. Before you can reach it, the same man as before approaches you. He uses his shirt to wipe his face. Your eyes stray for just a moment, cheeks tinging at the sight of his muscled stomach. 

“Hey,” he tugs the hem down. “You wanna sub in? I needa sit.” 

“Huh?” You stop short and look at him. “Me?” 

“Sure. If you don’t mind? My buddy hates to wait on me,” he points over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Well I... I don’t play much. Just come down to watch my brother,” you explain. 

“Oh, well, my buddy isn’t very good either,” he chuckles. “Just for two minutes.” 

You look at him. His beard is damp with sweat and a trickle runs down his temple. You look at the other man dribbling, watching you. 

“Okay.” You don’t like to argue. Carter always wants to and you’re over it. 

“Steve, by the way,” he introduces himself as he grabs his water bottle and sits. 

You give your name before you crane to see across the court. You turn and near the other man, waving shyly. “Uh, hi.” 

“He’s sending in a ringer,” the other man bounces the ball then catches it. “What’s your name, doll?” 

You repeat it again. 

“Bucky,” he replies. You blink as something in your mind tweaks. That’s familiar. “You start.” 

He bounces the ball and you barely get your hands around it. He bends his knees and gets into a guard position. You stare at him. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

You dribble, clumsily, and try to angle around him. He moves easily with you. You try to divert but only get your foot under the ball. It veers off and hurtles into next court. 

Bucky chases it as you scrunch up your hand and press it to your chin. He scoops up the ball and Carter turns. He says something but you can’t make it up. Bucky barely acknowledges and turns, giving a somewhat flummoxed face. 

“I’m sorry,” you eke out. 

Your eyes linger beyond him. Carter watches you with a scowl. He gestures, somewhere between disbelief and agitation. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky says. “Gotta start somewhere. How about we go over the basics before you wipe the floor with me?” 

“I’m not very good,” you mumble. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He looks you up and down. “Stand here.” 

He taps the ground with the toe of his sneaker. You shuffle around to stand at the peak of the curved line. He takes the ball and stands parallel to you.  

“Watch my hands,” he directs. 

You do. You try not to gape at his metal knuckles as the plates contract with his movements. 

“Hold like this, then flick your wrist.” He makes the shot easy and the ball pings back to him. “Look at that square above the hoop. That’ll help.” 

He hands over the ball. You hesitate but take it, fingers brushing his. You take a breath and focus on the box on the backboard. 

This is going to be so bad. You were never good in gym class but you liked trying for fun. With all these people around, watching, it’s not so fun. 

You try. That’s all you can do. It hits the backboard, then the hoop, then once more goes to the side. Bucky hurries to catch it. He bounces it as he turns to you again. 

“Close.” 

“I’m taking up your time,” you stand on your toes and teeter. 

“Nah, I don’t mind.” He holds out the ball. Once more, you accept it and resign yourself to failure. He steps back. “Take your time.” 

You do, take your time. You stare, contemplating space and time and all the odds against you. You should’ve just gone home like Carter said. 

You flick your wrist. You look down at the pavement before the ball can deflect. You hear it hit and the net swooshes. 

“Yeah,” Bucky claps. “Good one.” 

You flinch and lift your chin, “it went in?” 

“Sure did,” he grabs the ball. “You’re a natural.” 

“Good job,” Steve praises as he approaches. 

“Oh, um, he showed me how.” You sway. “Thanks uh... for letting me try, but... I’ll leave ya be.” 

“What? You’re just getting started. Come on, I’ll show you a layup,” Steve insists. 

“Well, I don’t know...” you say. 

You hear a snort. You peek over your shoulder. Carter is watching. Bucky twists around to see too. Your brother shies away and smiles at the man. He only gets a shake of the head in return. 

“That one your brother?” Steve nudges you gently. 

“Er, yeah, Carter,” you answer. 

“Why doesn’t he let you play with him?” Bucky asks. 

You chew your lip. “Like I said, I’m not very good.” 

“Not having practice doesn’t mean not good,” Steve says. “Besides, it’s not the NBA. It’s fun.” He takes the ball. “Now let’s work on your layup.” 

🏀

You dribble and stop. You can sense Steve and Bucky coming in from both sides. You hurl the ball up with only the intent to deter them. It spins high into the sky and arcs back down. To your surprise, is drops right through the net. 

“Ha,” Steve stops it between his hands, “got us again.” 

“You don’t have to let me win,” you say. 

“Let you? Nah, we wouldn’t do that.” Bucky says. 

“Even if we are, means we get to buy you celebratory drink, right?” 

“What?” You laugh, “no, you don’t have to--” 

“Hey, sis,” Carter interrupts. “Headed home. You coming?” 

You slowly turn. Really? 

“We can get her home,” Bucky rebuffs. “We’re just wrapping up.” 

“Oh, sure, Barnes,” your brother laughs nervously. “Just didn’t want her walking home alone.” 

Your cheek pinches. Since when was he so concerned? Something else needles in your brain... 

“We can get her home,” Steve intones. 

You glance at him, then Bucky. It dawns on you. You turn to your brother. 

“I’ll be home soon,” you say. 

His face falls, “oh, sure. Just... be safe, sis.” 

“Okay,” you utter. 

He lingers, waiting, and when no one stops him, he goes. You watch him until he’s gone then turn to Bucky. He looks back at you calmly. 

“I know who you are,” you say. “Both of you.” 

“Figured it was obvious,” Bucky laughs. 

“Maybe, but... unexpected.” 

“We’ve been coming to this court since it opened in 1936.” Steve says. 

“Uh, of course,” you cringe. “I only meant... I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Steve chides. “We’ve been away, we know all the best places around, so why don’t we take you for the best drink in the borrough?” 

“That’s... nice. I don’t drink though. Never tried it, to be honest.” 

“How about ice cream, then? Alcohol doesn’t do too much for us. Not with our biology.” Bucky suggests. 

“I... alright.” 

“I know, not much fun hanging out with old men,” Steve snickers. 

“No, I don’t mean...” 

“Kidding,” Steve says. “It’s just around the corner. I’m sure you know the place.” 

Steve keeps the ball and grabs his water bottle from the bench. Bucky takes his bottle too and they walk on either side of you across the courts. As you come out to the street, the evening begins to set in. 

You head north then just around the corner. You’ve been to the ice cream bar before. It’s a bit too expensive for you so you usually get one scoop in a cup, no toppings. 

Steve holds the door. You enter ahead of both of them. You stop and browse the menu. You should try something new. 

“Know what you want?” Bucky asks. “This guy always gets vanilla.” 

“Can’t go wrong with a classic.” Steve says. 

“Nah, just gets boring,” Bucky snorts. “I’m thinking caramel brittle. Sounds interesting.” 

You nod and think. It goes silent as the shop employee awkwardly pretends to stack cups behind the counter. You shift and clear your throat. 

“Strawberries and cream?” You say as you reach into your pocket. 

“Our treat,” Steve insists. “Sprinkles? Waffle cone?” 

“Just a cup is good,” you assure him. 

“Got it. Buck, find a seat.” Steve hands over his water bottle. 

“Come on, doll.” Bucky gestures you away. 

You go back out to the patio area and find a table. Bucky sits across from you and put the bottles on the table. You hook one foot behind the other and lean your elbows on the wood. 

“You live around here?” Bucky asks. You nod and rein in your wandering eyes. “Used to,” he says as he combs back his dark hair. The patch of grey in his beard catches the receding sunlight. “It’s rougher than it was.” 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. You just double check the locks and get home before dark. 

“Things are different for pretty girls. Can never be too careful.” 

Your brows pop up. He means you? 

“Oh, thanks, but... I’m fine, you know?” 

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” he grins. 

The door chimes as someone comes out. Steve sits beside you and doles out the ice creams. He got yours in a waffle bowl. That’s the most expensive. 

“Good game,” Steve says. 

“Yeah, fun,” you agree as you poke the ice cream with a spoon. “Thanks for letting me play.” 

“We should do it again. You know, this guy, he’s a bit dull. It’s nice having a buffer.” 

“Me?” Steve exclaims. “Whatever.” 

They both laugh as you can only offer a smile. You like them. Even if you feel like an outsider, it’s not because of them. You just always feel that way. 

🏀

Bucky and Steve walk you home. Another pang of guilt pulls at your chest but you’re happy they came with you. It’s dark. Things are both quiet and too noisy. You swear you can hear other footsteps. 

You stop just at the edge of the overgrown lawn. Carter was supposed to mow it but you’ll probably end up doing it again. You don’t need another notice from the landlord. 

At least it’s dark. They can’t see how cruddy the house really is. You sway. 

“Um, good night, then.” 

“We’ll walk you to the door. It’s only right.” Steve says. 

“We’re old-fashioned like that.” Bucky adds. 

“Oh, alright.” 

You wait a moment then head up the walk. They follow. The front stairs groan under your weight, then theirs. You get to the top and turn around. 

“Thanks again.” You say. “I had a good night.” 

“We did too,” Bucky assures. 

“Sure di--” 

The door behind you opens. Yellow light pores out and casts Carter’s shadow over you. You cringe. 

“About time, sis. You left dishes in the sink—oh, you’re here.” He nearly chokes as he notices the men on the porch with you. 

“You’re not very nice, are you?” Bucky hisses. 

“What? No. I was reminding her. It’s her turn.” He pushes the screen door out and you move out of the way. “You guys wanna come in. I got beer.” 

“You could do the dishes,” Steve growls. 

“Huh? She said--” 

“Please,” you pipe up. “Really, it’s not a big deal. You two should head home. It’s late. Carter, I’ll do the dishes.” 

“They your dishes or his?” Bucky challenges. 

You blanch and shake your head. 

“Um, well, just dishes,” you answer. 

“No way to treat family.” Bucky mutters. 

“No, it’s not,” Steve agrees. 

“I’ll do em,” Carter’s voice squeaks. “It’s no big deal. Come on, sis. You’re right, it’s late--” 

“No. No. She’s not going inside.” Bucky says. 

“What? Really, it’s... fine.” You argue. 

“She’s coming with us. Shouldn’t be living in a place like this,” Steve exhales. 

“It’s--” 

“Not with him.” Bucky snarls. 

“But--” You begin. 

“Doll, you just settle down. This is what we do. We save people.” Bucky drawls. 

“And we know what it looks like when someone needs saving,” Steve puts in. “You come with us.” 

“And you,” Bucky jabs a finger at your brother. “Better not see you again.” 

“Me? She’s my sister--” 

“Nah,” Bucky grabs your arm. “She’s not yours anymore.” 

[tripletstephaniescp]

Embracing the crazy is truly brave.

don't blame me (love made me crazy)

Pairing: softdark!stalker!bucky x reader

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: You’ve been stuck in this cabin for a year, and over the course of that time you’ve tried so hard to remember that you didn’t come here willingly. But, Bucky is really good at making you forget that part, until, eventually, you come to believe that this is where you’re meant to be. No matter how you got here.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! Minors DNI, references to kidnapping, full on stockholm syndrome, smut, wet dreams, fingering, oral (f receiving), soft love-making mixed with some roughness, squirting, crying is healthy, a little hurt-comfort, alpine makes an appearance

a/n: this is part 2 to temptation!! However, you don’t necessarily need to read part 1 to understand this, it will just give some backstory.  not beta-read so all mistakes are my own.

masterlist | tip jar | ao3

Soft, plush lips are brushing over yours, hands caressing your sides and squeezing every so often, your hips rocking. You’re not quite sure where you are or who is touching you, you can only make out the hazy form above you; bright blue eyes darkened by desire stare down at you. The person pulls back at the same time you feel a pressure between your legs. Upon looking down, you see a toned stomach clenching every time their hips meet the back of your thighs. You’re spread open, gasping and whining as more pressure builds. Slowly trailing your gaze upwards, your eyes roam over an equally chiseled chest, your eyes catching the reflection of light on metal. And that’s when you know who it is that’s currently inside you, but you don’t seem to believe it until you look up further and come face to face with – 

Bucky. It’s Bucky, his smile so soft and loving, his breath fanning over your face as he whispers praises into the air. You can’t make out what he’s saying, everything is still too fuzzy, all you know is that you’re about to cum. You can feel it, you can practically taste it, and you’re sure Bucky can tell because he shudders when you involuntarily clench around him.

“Angel,” He whispers, cutting through the fog in your head. You whine, wiggling your hips slightly to get him to go faster. He doesn’t.

“Angel,” He says again, louder this time. You can feel yourself rocking, and more whines and whimpers spill from your lips.

Your body is shaken a little harder, and all at once, the haze is gone.

The haze is gone, now replaced by the soft light of the sun streaming in through the curtains. Upon opening your eyes, you blink slowly, staring up at a smiling Bucky with bleary eyes.

“B-Bucky?” You mumble, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost seven-thirty. I was going to wake you up so we could shower together, but you looked so peaceful that I decided to let you sleep in a little longer.” His smile gives away that he probably knew what you were dreaming about, and the thought makes your face grow hot. There’s a stickiness between your legs, one that you’re desperately trying to ignore as you sit upright.

“Oh, I - I’m sorry,” You say remorsefully, you know how much Bucky likes keeping you on a routine. You’re supposed to wake up at seven every morning, shower with Bucky, and then sit on his lap as he feeds you whatever he made for breakfast that day. So, for him to disrupt your schedule, even by thirty minutes, feels weird. You decide not to question it for the time being.

“No, baby, it’s okay,” Bucky says as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know we did a lot of gardening yesterday so being in that heat probably made you extra tired. But, now that you’re up, why don’t you go ahead and get showered while I make us some food, yeah?”

Even though it’s phrased as a question, you know it’s not. You don’t really get a say in anything, but… but that’s your life now, isn’t it? Not being able to decide for yourself, having no freedom from outside of the confines of this cabin that you’ve been trapped in for… god, who knows how long.

Without wasting much time, you slide out of bed, stopping to give Bucky a smile and a kiss before you go into the bathroom. When you enter, you make sure to leave the door halfway open, another thing Bucky likes. He doesn’t like the idea of a barrier between you two, always needing easy access in case you somehow injure yourself, or he just needs some extra love and doesn’t want to waste time by fiddling with the doorknob. 

Your movements are almost robotic as you take off your clothes, once again ignoring the ache between your thighs as you toss your clothes in the hamper. You try not to look at yourself in the mirror, you actually hate doing it. Because the person who looks back at you is supposed to be you. The person in your reflection is supposed to have life in her eyes, her face shouldn’t have a permanent frown etched onto it whenever she doesn’t have to plaster on a fake smile for Bucky.

Except… is it fake? It’s been so long since you’ve seen your friends and family, your loyal customers at the coffee shop you used to hate working at but now would give anything to go back to, you’d happily take the yelling from angry customers over their drinks being wrong than being held in the middle of the woods by a man who desperately needs intense therapy. He told you he used to go before you ‘moved’ in, as he likes to say, but now with you around he doesn’t feel the need to go. He has all of his happiness right in his home every day.

And it’s getting significantly harder to convince yourself that this isn’t what you want, you don’t want to be confined to this cabin and the garden surrounding it. It’s so fucking hard to forget that this isn’t the fairytale romance you had envisioned as a kid, but it’s also hard to remember your life before Bucky. Because he’s just so damn sweet and loving that it’s fucking with your mind, it makes you want to scream.

Bucky goes out and buys you flowers every Sunday, making sure to write a heartfelt message on the card attached to the bouquet by a ribbon. He built a huge library before you got here and let you pick the trinkets and books that would fill the shelves. He even bought gardening supplies after a few months when he realized you were getting too cooped up and gave you access to the space in the backyard.

You like to think that if you met under better circumstances then your relationship would be vastly different. It would be happy for both of you, not just one-sided. However… would it really be so bad to just give in? By now you know you’re never escaping, and you’re tired of being so despondent all the time, you’re tired of dreading another day with your captor.

You’re just tired. Of everything.

It takes effort to pull your gaze away from the mirror, but you eventually reach into the shower to turn the water on. When it’s warm enough, you step inside, letting the hot water cascade over your body and soothe the ache in your soul. And while standing under the stream your mind wanders back to your dream.  You’ve been having these dreams more and more over the last few weeks. They don’t happen every night, and it’s not always the same scenario, but the overall theme of the dreams is just the same.

You’d bet you’ve been in this cabin for almost a year, judging by the change in weather reminiscent of when you were taken. And in that time, Bucky has made no sexual advancement towards you. His affection usually consists of kisses, cuddles, and gentle massages when he wants you to really relax. There might be a bit of groping when you’re in the shower together, but he’s done nothing more than that, and that confuses you even more. You figured at first that maybe he was just going to let you acclimate to this new environment before making his move, but he’s done no such thing. He’s been very clear in his pure intentions, has never made you feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do.

But why? Isn’t your sole reason for being here to please him?

Once again, it confuses you, and when you move your head slightly some of the water splashes onto your face, knocking you out of your thoughts. Deciding you’ve dwelled enough, you grab your loofah and start washing your body, trying to ignore the ache in between your thighs as you give your legs a cursory wash. And as you continue through your shower, you can hear Bucky’s footsteps on the carpet in your bedroom.

You know that he’s a trained assassin, can sneak up on someone without them hearing anything, but Bucky’s told you he doesn’t want to scare you. He did once when you first got here. He didn’t have any intentions of spooking you, he just wanted to come up behind you and wrap his arms around you while you cooked. But you ended up nearly shrieking and almost spilling the sauce you were making, and Bucky felt so guilty that he didn’t touch you for two days until you convinced him that you weren’t scared of him, you were just surprised because you didn’t hear him coming. So now Bucky always makes sure to walk a little heavier to alert you of his presence.

“Angel?” His voice echoes through the bathroom as he enters, the door opening wider and allowing you to see Bucky’s hazy form from behind the glass shower door. “Are you okay?” Fuck, you’ve probably been in here too long if he’s already done with breakfast.

“Yes,” You say as you turn off the water. Upon stepping out of the shower, Bucky is there to wrap a towel around your shoulders to start drying you off. “Sorry, the hot water just felt nice.”

Bucky chuckles as he rubs the towel over your body, smiling at you the way he always does – that he can never really believe that you’re real.

“It’s okay, angel,” He says as he puts the towel in the hamper and turns to grab one of his shirts that he loves seeing you wear. “But I’m sure my excellent cooking will be enough reason to get out.” At that, he laughs again, and you do too, because his cooking isn’t all that great. He’s gotten much better over the last year, but it could still be better.

“It always is.”

“You’re lying and I know it.” Bucky laughs again and squints his eyes at you, giving you a teasing glare after he pulls the shirt over your head. And it makes you feel at least a little better knowing that he’s self-aware enough to know that.

“Okay, so maybe it isn’t the best food I’ve ever eaten,” You concede, holding onto Bucky’s shoulders to steady yourself as he dresses you in underwear and shorts. “But I’ll still eat anything you make because you made it.” And it kind of hurts to admit, but your sentiment isn’t a total lie. Bucky may be disturbed, but he truly puts all of his love into everything he does, and you can’t deny that he puts so much effort into making you comfortable.

Bucky’s still squatting when you say that, and he lets his hands rest on your hips while he looks up at you with nothing less than absolute adoration.

“And because you love me?” He asks, hopefully. He loves it when you say it, you’re pretty sure it’s his favorite three words he’s ever heard.

Combing your fingers through his hair, you scratch at his scalp a little and force your voice not to waver as you say, “And because I love you.”

The rest of the day goes by as it usually does; Bucky feeds you breakfast with you perched on his lap, giving you kisses in between bites and sighing wistfully every so often. Afterward, you make your way to the library and sit on the bench seat by the window, reading one of the many classics that fill the room for a couple of hours while Bucky goes out to run errands.

Although, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re not really reading. Your eyes are skimming over the words but you’re not processing any of them. No, your mind is still focused on this morning and how real the dream felt, how a part of you that you try to ignore wants it to be real. You try to chalk it up to the fact that you haven’t been intimate with anyone in so long, but the fact that it’s Bucky you’re dreaming about makes you think that it might just be him that you want.

No. Stop it. He kidnapped you. You don’t want him.

As you’re about to give up on reading, you hear the door creak open wider. Looking up, you see Bucky standing in the doorway, shuffling nervously and fiddling with his fingers.

“Is everything okay, Bucky?” You close the book and set it aside, your eyebrows furrowing with worry as you walk towards him.

“I…” He trails off, briefly biting his lip before smiling wide, like a kid on Halloween that filled up his candy bag. “Just come with me.”

Bucky reaches out his hand, and you place yours in his. You’re confused, but go with him anyway. He leads you down the hallway to the spare room – you’re not sure why he included it when he built the cabin, but you’ve never asked why. When you get there, Bucky is practically vibrating with nervous excitement. He smiles at you one more time before opening the door and revealing the interior. And it’s full of cat trees and toys, and you’re momentarily confused as to why he has these before you spot a ball of white fur curled up on a mini hammock.

Immediately, you recognize it as a cat, clearly a baby considering how small it is. Bucky tugs you further into the room towards where the kitten is sleeping, stopping right in front of the hammock and moving behind you so he can wrap his arms around your waist.

“I found her a couple of days ago,” Bucky starts, and you can feel him smiling into your neck. “She was all the way out in the back of the property, shivering and dirty. She’s just so small and I knew I had to take her in before anything happened to her. I brought all the toys and cat trees in just now when you were in the library so you wouldn’t see it. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

And oh what a surprise it is. The kitten must hear Bucky talking because her eyes slowly blink open before landing on you, meowing softly and shifting in the hammock so she can lean her paws on the side and lift up in what you’re assuming is an attempt to get pets. You’re helpless but to pick her up and cuddle her close to your chest, your heart warming with affection when she nuzzles into you.

“What’s her name?” Your voice is soft because you don’t want to disturb her, and she meows again, almost like she’s thanking you for the consideration.

“I haven’t named her yet. I wanted you to.”

It takes no time at all for you to answer.

“Alpine.”

“Alpine?” Bucky sounds curious, and he kisses your temple as he moves to gently scratch behind her ears. “Why that name?”

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly. “She just looks like an Alpine.”

Bucky laughs from behind you, kissing your temple once more and nodding.

“Alpine it is.”

A few days later, you’re in Alpine’s dedicated room playing with her. She’s allowed to free roam throughout the house, but she prefers being in here – or, really, anywhere you are. She’s taken a liking to you, and you to her. She’s almost like a friend to you, someone you can turn to when you get too sad because you know she won’t judge you, she’ll give you kisses and cuddles and make you feel better within minutes. You’re currently lying on your stomach, giving Alpine head scratches and laughing softly when she nibbles at your fingers affectionately. 

“What should I do, hm?” Your question is rhetorical, you know she can’t understand you, let alone respond. Still, you like talking to her as though she can. “These… dreams are getting worse. Well, not worse per se, just – more intense. And I don’t know what to do about them. He’s never pressured me into anything, even though I’m fairly certain he does want… that.”

Sighing, you roll over onto your back, letting Alpine crawl onto your stomach and make her way up to your chest so her nose is nearly pressed against yours. And when she meows, you can’t help but smile.

“I don’t know if I want to tell him about them though. I mean, am I even ready? I’ve been here for so long and I know I’m not leaving, and he says he loves me, so I’m pretty sure he won’t make me do anything I don’t want even if I do tell him.” Pausing, you sigh, holding Alpine close to your chest while you sit up.

“What do you think, Alp? Should I tell him?” She immediately meows and lifts up to give your chin a little lick, and you smile at her. “Okay, okay.”

It takes a moment to gather yourself, letting the truth sink in.

“I’ll tell him.”

Despite not having access to any calendars, you’re pretty sure today is your anniversary. Bucky, once again, let you sleep in a little bit longer, staying in bed with you and holding you close while you traded kisses. He cooked up a huge breakfast and placed a big bouquet of roses on your nightstand, even going so far as to massage your feet and calves while you ate. Part of you doesn’t want to ask, because then it would be real. Not only have you been here for a full year, but you’ve been missing for longer than that, and that truth still hurts.

Still, you take everything he does for you gracefully, thanking him for being so thoughtful and trying not believe yourself when you tell him that you’ve never been treated so lovingly. Well, it’s kind of true, despite the fact that you didn’t come here willingly. He really does treat you with care, and his consideration of your feelings – other than the negative ones towards him – is something you haven’t experienced before.

It’s around mid-day when Bucky gives you your first gift. Well, it’s technically a joint gift for you and Alpine – an oversized hoodie with a pouch in front big enough for the kitty to snuggle in so you can carry her around the house with you without actually using your hands. It’s actually extremely thoughtful, and you can’t help but laugh when you notice that the hood has little cat ears on them.

“Thank you, Bucky,” You say after he helps you put it on, smiling wide when he picks up Alpine and helps put her inside the pocket.

“Of course, angel,” He says, also smiling. Then, he grabs his phone, pointing it at you. “Now, let me get a picture of my girls.”

You adjust your position on the couch, sitting up further and making sure Alpine’s head is poking out. Last minute, you flip up your hood, making sure the ears are visible and chuckling when you hear the rapid click of the camera as Bucky takes multiple photos. After he’s done, he pockets his phone again, coming to sit next to you on the couch and wrap one arm around you while he pets Alpine’s head with his other hand.

Everything is quiet for a little bit, both of you loving on your cat. When she starts trying to get out, presumably ready to play, Bucky helps her out of the pocket, then helps you out of the hoodie.

“Bucky?” You’re not sure why, but now feels like the right time to ask. Even though your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“Yes, baby?”

“Um…” Sighing, you look down at your hands as you fiddle with your fingers. “I was wondering, um…”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky shifts so he’s facing you, using one hand to lift your chin so you can look at him.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?” Your question comes out so fast that you’re unsure if Bucky actually understood you, but you don’t want to repeat yourself so you just hold your breath as you await his answer.

“What do you mean” He genuinely sounds confused, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, I just assumed that I was here to… please you. I know you love me, so I guess I’m just confused as to why you haven’t tried to do anything.” You try to breathe evenly, even though your heart is beating so fast in anxiety that you feel like you might pass out. You don’t want to upset him, so you’re hoping he doesn’t take offense to your comment.

Bucky doesn’t answer for a couple of minutes, he just sighs and dips his head low, like he’s thinking over his words carefully. But when he does speak, it surprises you.

“Because you’re not ready. You’re right when you say that I love you, which means I’m going to respect your boundaries. I don’t want to force you to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

Tears want to spring to your eyes, because at that moment you know you’re rightfully fucked. He’s just too perfect that you can’t wrap your head around this conversation. You’d never thought of it like that, that he’d want to make sure you’re comfortable with him before taking that next step. And now you know that you want to, you want to give yourself to him in that way. And, now it’s your turn to lift his head to look at you, then lace your fingers with his.

“And… what if I am ready?”

Immediately, Bucky’s eyes widen, and you think you can see a little bit of hope in his eyes. Despite your earlier nerves, you can feel in your soul that you are ready to take the leap, and you can’t help but give him a soft smile.

“Are you sure?” He asks, squeezing your hand in a loving gesture. “I don’t want you to do something just because you think I’m expecting it.”

“I know you’re not expecting anything,” You say, briefly biting your lip. “And I want to, I promise.”

Bucky sighs, then leans forward to press his lips to yours. It’s not an intense kiss, it’s a reassuring one, a kiss that lets you know he wants this too. You pull apart when your stomach starts rumbling, and you’re reminded that you haven’t eaten since this morning.

“Come on, baby, let’s make lunch.”

You’re slightly on edge for the rest of the day, awaiting the moment. Bucky hasn’t made a move yet, so you’re assuming it’s going to happen before you go to bed, and even though you’re nervous, you can’t deny that most of those nerves are from excitement.

And when the clock strikes seven, Bucky leads you out of Alpine’s room and to yours, smiling at you the entire time. Typically, Bucky likes you to be in bed by eight-thirty, but you’re assuming you’re going to be up a little later tonight which is why he wants to start early. As soon as he closes the bedroom door, you can feel your heart beat increasing, and Bucky comes up in front of you to cup your face in his hands.

“Are you positive you want this?” His eyes scan your face, looking for a hint of doubt. He finds none, because you aren’t doubting this. You’re sure you’re not going to regret this.

“I promise, Bucky.” The assuring comment comes out breathy, and your eyes travel down to his lips before looking back up into his. “I’m ready.”

Bucky hums, nodding a little before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. It slowly becomes more intense, your lips gliding against each other as your tongues start invading each others mouths. You don’t even notice when his hands land on your hips until they sneak up your shirt, causing you to squeak.

“Angel,” Bucky breathes out, removing his mouth from yours to glide down to your neck where he presses more insistent kisses, even nibbling on the skin until you’re sure you’ll have bruises. He slides his hands up to your waist, going up, up, and up until you’re prompted to lift your arms over your head so he can take off your shirt.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” He growls as his eyes scan your torso, causing you to whimper and hold onto his shoulders while you press your body closer to his.

“Bucky, please.” You don’t really know what you’re asking for, but Bucky seems to know exactly what you need.

In response to your begging, he lifts you into his arms, carrying you bridal-style to the bed until he lays you down in the middle of it. When he pulls back, he props himself up on his left forearm so he can place his flesh hand on your sternum. Dragging his hand down to your shorts, he toys with the ties, then looks up at you with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Yes,” You say when you realize he’s waiting for permission. “Please take them off, Bucky.”

He groans again, dipping his head low for a minute before undoing the ties and shifting up onto his knees so he can use both of his hands to drag your shorts down your legs. Now you’re left in just your bra and underwear, and you’re tempted to cover your body. He’s seen you naked hundreds of times, but this feels different, and you’re sure it’s because of the more intimate setting.

“Don’t,” He says adamantly, not being mean but letting you know there’s no room for discussion. “Don’t hide your body from me, angel. You’re perfect.”

Tears want to spring to your eyes, and you forget all about why you were so nervous in the first place, you don’t even know why you’ve resisted his love all this time.

“Thank you, baby,” You whimper, bringing up your hand to wipe at your eyes to get rid of the tears. “I… I love you.” And, this time, you know you mean it. You mean it with everything you have.

“I love you too. So fucking much.” Bucky smiles at you, his eyes also watery. He dips down again to kiss you, shuddering when you tug at his shirt. He moves slowly, kissing you for a few long moments until he huffs out a laugh at your insistent tugging at his shirt. “Okay, okay.”

Lifting up onto his knees, he grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, smiling wider when he catches you practically drooling over his exposed chest. But then he freezes up, briefly glancing at his left shoulder. And, you realize now that this new intimate setting is probably getting to him too, and you know you need to get rid of those awful thoughts he has about himself.

“Buck,” You say softly, sitting up and placing your hands on his chest. Your right hand travels to his shoulder where his flesh meets metal, and you trace the scars delicately with the tips of your fingers. “Please don’t be ashamed of them. You may not like it, but the scars don’t matter to me. They’re a part of you, and I love all of you.” You can see the tears in Bucky’s eyes as you speak, his bottom lip wobbling a little as he tries not to cry.

“Are you -” Bucky stops himself, sniffles and clears his throat, then continues. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve seen it before but…”

“But nothing.” Your voice isn’t harsh, but you let him know you don’t want him to argue. “I said I love you, all of you. Don’t you believe me?”

“Of course I do!” Bucky says hurriedly, placing both of his hands over yours and squeezing them close to his chest. “I-I know you do. I love you too.” He sighs, bringing up one of your hands to kiss your knuckles. Then, he gently pushes you back onto the bed, not breaking eye contact as he shuffles off the bed so he can take off his sweats and boxers.

When they’re finally off, Bucky crawls back onto the bed, stopping at your hips so he can toy with the band of your panties. You nod at him when he looks to you for consent, and he keeps looking at you as he drags them down your legs, only breaking your gaze so he can focus on maneuvering your feet out of them. It seems like he wants to get going, but then his eyes travel to your bra-covered chest and he switches gears. Knowing what he wants, you arch your back so he can undo the hook and then you lay back down so he can throw it off to the side.

And now, you’re both naked, Bucky hovering over you and looking at you through teary eyes. He places his flesh hand on your stomach, trailing his fingers up to your breast so he can tweak one of your nipples.

“Bucky, please.”

“Don’t worry, angel,” Bucky says softly, dipping down to kiss your lips before kissing down your neck and collarbone, then stopping at your other breast so he can nibble on it. “I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” He whispers into your skin.

“I know.” His eyes flick up to yours at the confirmation, and he smirks a little to himself as he bites down on your nipple, causing you to whimper. 

Despite your wiggling, he takes his time kissing over your chest, going down your stomach until he has to slide down the bed so he can come face-to-face with your pussy. You spread your legs of your own volition, and Bucky groans in appreciation, nuzzling his nose into your lower lips and breathing deeply.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” He nearly growls, shifting so he’s laying between your legs and placing his flesh hand on your thigh to keep you spread and using his metal hand to pull your other leg over his shoulder. “Is all this for me?” He asks, referring to the slick dripping out of your pussy.

“Yes, all for you.” You reach your hand down and card your fingers through his hair, prompting him to look up at you. “Only for you.”

Bucky swallows down his emotions, nodding at you one last time before diving in. He takes one more deep breath, nudging his nose along your folds, then using his flesh hand to spread them apart. You gasp when he drags his tongue from your quivering hole to your throbbing clit, and you’re hit with the overwhelming knowledge that you won’t last long. You haven’t been intimate with anyone – let alone had time for yourself – in so long, and Bucky seems to realize this when he pulls back just enough to mumble, “Cum whenever you need, baby. Give it to me.” 

He continues, dipping his tongue into your soaking hole, thrusting it in and out a few times before going up to nibble and suck on your clit. You don’t even realize that you’re now a blubbering mess, whining and moaning and squirming in Bucky’s hold as you feel your release build. And, you’d be embarrassed with how fast you’re about to cum considering how not-long you’ve been at this if not for Bucky’s groans of appreciation. You’re unconsciously tugging at his hair too, pulling him closer, but then your hand tightens when he suddenly prods his forefinger at your hole.

Immediately, you tense up a little, because, despite how wet you are, you’re still really tight. And Bucky’s fingers are big, so it takes a bit of shushing and sweet kisses to your thighs for you to relax enough for him to fit his finger in, but only just until the second knuckle. He pauses, letting you adjust to the intrusion, which you’re grateful for. He wiggles it a little, sucking and kissing your clit until you relax enough for him to push his finger in all the way, then pull it out so he can push it in again.

He keeps at the tortuously slow pace, carefully opening you up until he can fit a second finger in your pussy. Your breaths are coming out faster, you’re almost panting at this point as he speeds up until he’s truly fingering you, really giving you what you need. And right when you feel like you’re about to explode with pleasure, Bucky wraps his lips around your clit, bites down softly, and then sucks as shoves in a third finger and stabs at that special spot deep within you.

“Bucky! Oh, fuck, yes!” Bucky will gloat later about how loud he made you scream just from his fingers and mouth, how you squirted all over his forearm and chin. He’d also admit that he nearly blew his own load at your taste, but he wanted to save his release for you.

It takes a few long moments to come down from your high, and when you do, you see Bucky up on his knees looking down at you while fisting his cock.

“Are you sure you want this? We can stop if it’s too much.” You know Bucky doesn’t want to stop, but you also know he gladly would if you asked him to, which is how you know you want to continue.

“No stopping allowed,” You breathe out, smiling at him a little when he chuckles. “Now, please get inside me or I’ll cry.”

“There’s no need to cry right now, baby,” He says, leaning over you to prop himself up on his right forearm and grab the base of his cock with his metal hand and guide it to your entrance. “But you will be crying by the end of the night.”

You surge up to kiss him, biting his bottom lip and grasping his shoulders to brace yourself. Bucky groans, and you lay back down so you can stare into each other’s eyes as he pushes in slowly. Again, he seems to understand that even though you’ve just cum harder than you can ever remember, you’re still a little tight – especially since he’s easily the biggest man you’ve ever been with.

It takes a couple of minutes until he’s buried fully inside you. You’re whimpering while he’s biting his lip, letting out little groans. Placing his metal hand on your thigh, he spreads you open further, though not too far as to hurt you. Carefully, he pulls back, letting you get used to the movements when he pushes back in.

And it goes like this for a bit, Bucky fucking you slowly until you start wiggling your hips and clutch his shoulders.

“Pl-Please, Bucky. I – Faster.” You know you sound pathetic, but you can’t find it in you to care, mostly because your mind has floated off into space as you soak in the immense pleasure.

Bucky listens to you, taking his time in picking up the pace until you’re sure you’re about to break. He keeps mumbling praises the whole time, telling you how you’re so fucking beautiful and thank you for trusting me and god, I love you so much.

Lifting up your left leg, he places it over his shoulder, and every so often he’ll force his hips flush with the backs of your thighs and grind his hips, the tip of his cock nudging at your sweet spot and causing you to moan loudly. And, he was right, because the longer it goes on the more tears you can feel pooling in your eyes until they start streaming down your face.

“Bu – Bucky,” You can’t help but whine, your breaths coming out uneven as you try to control your emotions.

“It’s okay, angel,” He says, just this side of condescending. His tone sends shivers down your spine, and you have to force your eyes from closing because you want to see Bucky’s face for this. “I know it’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes, fuck, you’re – Ah! You’re so big!” You can see through your hazy vision that he’s smirking, though you can tell he’s close to crying too. He’s always been emotionally open, always telling you how he’s feeling and encouraging you to share yours as well. Which is why you’re comfortable with being so vulnerable in front of him.

“Are you close?” He asks, his breathing speeding up as his hips do too. “Fuck, angel. Tell me you’re close.”

“I am!” You’re practically screaming at this point with every powerful thrust he gives you. To an outsider, it may look a little like he’s breaking you apart with his cock, but you know the truth. He’s putting you back together, making you whole in a way you’ve never been before. “Cum with me, please!”

Bucky groans and shudders, gritting his teeth when you dig your nails into his shoulders. Nodding, he adjusts his position so every thrust has his cock stabbing deep within you every time. And you place your hand on the side of his face, making sure he’s looking directly at you when you clench down purposefully, and he shouts at the same time you do, letting go at the same time.

You don’t know what happens after that, all you remember is having the most intense orgasm of your life and then suddenly you’re waking up cuddled into Bucky’s chest, the sky outside now dark as the moon sneaks up into the sky. Wiggling a little, you realize Bucky cleaned you up, but you can still feel the remnants of his cum inside you, and you relish in it.

“Bucky?” You mumble, rubbing at your eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just past ten,” He says softly, kissing the top of your head then lifting your chin so he can look into your eyes. “You don’t regret this, do you?” You can tell he’s nervous, that he really wants your answer to be no.

“I don’t.” You lean up to give him a lingering kiss, sighing into each other’s mouths before pulling away just enough to stare into his eyes as you say, “I’ll never regret being with you.”

And, finally, you mean it, because you realize now that this is the love you’ve always wished for. Bucky takes care of you in a way you both know no one else can, and you can only hope he knows that you can take care of him too. You’ll love him deeply, and you’ll give him the life he deserves.

temptation taglist: @mayreblogsstuff / @raging-panda / @wintrsoldrluvr / @myfavbuckyfics / @watchoutforyelener / @lauratang / @esotericgalaxy / @mayusenpai666 / @buckets-and-trees / @fandoms-writings

[tripletstephaniescp]

Thos is deliciously dark.

Safe With Me 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: the Cap makes you his special mission.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You pump your arms, soles clapping down on the dimple pavement, breath chuffing from your chest. Your lungs burn, your head pounds, and your legs ache so much they’re shaking. Your toe catches in a crack and you stumble. 

You flail out to keep from crashing. He’s getting closer. He’s steadier, stealthier, and at this point, he’s just toying with you. 

Your feet pound down as you fight through the strain in your limbs. Your adrenaline is starting to dwindle, slaking off of you like sweat. You veer into an alley and hurtle forward. You can cut through, maybe lose him. 

Scraps of garbage scatter as you race by the stinking dumpster. The soft rumble of a car rolls by the far end of the alleyway. Your breath comes faster and shallower, you can’t go much further. 

You stop suddenly. It’s silent. Only your heart and breath fill the night air. You turn around. He’s... gone. Or wants you to think so. 

You look behind you then side to side. You could climb the fire escape. Not physically. You’re exhausted. As you stand there, you feel your energy fading. 

Schink! Pow! Chirk! 

The dark shape bounces off the brick wall, then the metal escape and once more off the wall before pinging back home. The shadow steps into the cone of the streetlight at the end of the alley. Tall, broad shoulders, unbending posture. 

The Captain walks forward. He’s calm. That’s even more startling than rage. You backpedal, feet tangling, and you collide with the bottom rung of the escape. You twirl away, staggering as you try to sprint away. You stumble and thrash your arms to keep from toppling. 

His footsteps keep coming. Closer, closer, closer. 

Thunk! 

You feel that one. Right across your shoulders. The edge of the shield leaves a burning line across your back.  

You’re hurled forward by the force and land on your chest, nose scraping the ground. You wheeze, the air knocked from you, and rock back and forth as you try to get a breath in. You claw at the pavement, pebbles poking into your palm. 

You heave in a breath at last. You whimper as you let it out. He steps over you, a foot on either side of your hips. He presses the shield against the back of your neck. 

“Some pressure and you’ll never run again. Not even walk.” He growls. 

Your breath crackles. You close your eyes as they sting. 

“I don’t... why?” You let your head rest on the ground. “Why... me?” 

He doesn’t answer. He lifts the shield and his soles drag on the ground. He flips you over to your back and you writhe. 

“You’re... supposed to... save...” you gulp out, vision bleary as the night furls like smoke around you. 

He chuckles and squats over you. He frames your face, petting your cheekbones with his thumbs. He hums and cooes as he gazes down at you. He’s draped in shadow. 

“I am saving you,” he lets your head rest. 

He stands up and steps over you. He watches you as he touches his ear. He clears his throat. 

“Cap to base. I need med.” He gives a set of coordinates as your breath whistles. 

He nods as he listens to the response in his earpiece. He sighs and walks around your body. He clicks his tongue. 

“I told you to stop several times.” He tuts. 

“Why...” 

He huffs again and waves you off. He puts his hands on his hips and stretches his neck with a groan. His toe taps. 

“They always take their damn time,” he snarls. “Sit tight, down there.” 

You have no choice. Your body is on fire. You curl a finger. You could move if you had any strength left. If you didn’t know he wouldn’t put you right back down. 

He stares at you and scoffs. “Good girl.” 

[tripletstephaniescp]

Bucky is heartbreaking.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR (2016) | dir. Joe Russo, Anthony Russo

[tripletstephaniescp]

Yummy

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES THUNDERBOLTS*

[tripletstephaniescp]

Wow. That was excellent. That made me feel all the feels.

⁀➷ Property of the Asset // Winter Soldier x F!Reader

Summary: They trained you to be his match. But you became his obsession. And he became your only truth.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dark, reader is an assassin, angst, slight dub-con, murder, torture, violence, memory-wiping, primal/feral sex, rough sex, breeding kink, pain kink, slight somnophilia, knife play, possessive, marking, hair pulling, exhibitionism, restraints, trauma bonding.

Words: 5.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The handlers never gave you a name. Not a real one, anyway. HYDRA called you Spectre-03. A designation. An echo. Like a ghost, able to disappear. You stopped missing your old name the moment they took it.

You were made for this, just as he was—the Winter Soldier.

The compound is buried beneath concrete, steel and ice. Somewhere in Siberia, or maybe not. You stopped keeping track of places after the third brainwash.

There’s no day or night here, just endless fluorescence. Surveillance eyes in the corners. Footsteps behind soundproofed walls. Metal doors that lock and seal without a sound.

Your cell is across from his. You both have beds, but rarely use them. You both wear uniforms, black and tactical, sterile, with endless pockets—no personal effects. No comfort. Just silence.

But you know he watches you. Sometimes, through the narrow glass of his door, you feel his gaze like a phantom weight across your throat. You don’t look back. Not often. But you always feel him.

They make you spar every three days. Or every time you’re punished. Sometimes both. The white room has no mirrors, only cameras.

You’re matched in every way: speed, strength, training. He’s taller, but you’re faster on your feet. His strikes are heavier, but yours are sharper.

Your fights are violent, exquisite. The kind of precision that makes the scientists mutter behind the glass. They tell you to win. But they never expect you to.

You’re not supposed to be as good as him. Not against the Assett. But you are, you always have been.

It wasn’t just the fighting. The fucking. The primal need to use each other for pleasure, satisfaction and another way to best the other.

The first time he’d issued you your lip was split from his fist. He’d knocked you down, bloodied your mouth, then dropped to his knees between your legs. He kissed the wound before fucking you through the pain.

You came like your body had no choice. He didn’t speak. Not until you were gasping beneath him, hands scrabbling for purchase against the cold white mat.

Then he whispered it. “Little Ghost.” A nickname, only for his lips.

Now, it’s become routine. They pair you deliberately now. They’ve seen the efficiency. When the Soldier fucks you, heperforms better the next day. Sharper, more focused and faster. The same applies to you.

So they schedule it. Allow it. Observe it. They leave the doors unlocked.

You never initiate. Never have to. He comes when he needs it.

Like tonight. You’re half asleep, body aching from a sparring match that left your ribs bruised. You’re on your stomach, face buried in the thin pillow. The cot beneath you is cold, the air colder. You feel the moment he enters. No footsteps, no sound.

Only heat. Then a hand in your hair. A sharp yank. Your head snaps back and your body tenses, but not in fear.

You gasp as your throat is bared to the air. Then a bite at your shoulder, deep and punishing. “Mine.”

He doesn’t wait. He never does. You feel his cock, hard andhot, as he pushed your sleepwear aside and drives into you with no warning. The pillow muffles your scream. Your body, already raw and used to him, accepts the intrusion with a broken whimper. There’s no care, just claiming. No prep. No softness.

He fucks you hard, brutal, the slap of his hips against your ass loud in the silence. One hand grips your hair, the other your hip, flesh and metal, binding you open.

He snarls above you, every thrust pounding into the bruises already on your thighs. Your knees burn against the mattress. You don’t move away. You never move away.

It’s always like this. Pain first, then the heat, the need, the mid-numbing want that eats you from the inside out.

You drool into the pillow as he presses harder, deeper. 

“Little ghost,” he hisses. “Fucking take it.”

Your body obeys. It always does, accustomed to his harsh touch. You flinch when he bites again, this time on the neck, shoulder, and spine. He leaves teeth indents where no one can see them. Places only he can touch.

Your orgasm hits you without warning, hard and electric. It rips through your spine like lightning, your vision flashes white, and your entire body tenses as the pulses of pleasure consume you.

He doesn’t stop. Not even when you tremble, begging into the sheets. He pulls out, flips you over, yanks your legs apart, and drives back in.

You scream. Loud and broken, echoing off the metal walls. Your eyes roll back as your body lights up again. Tears slip down your temples.

You want more. You always want more. He groans as he fucks into your absued body, eyes locked on yours now, wild, glassy and burning. The soldier isn’t allowed to feel. It's not allowed to want.

But he does with you. He slams in one last time and stays there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving. You feel him spill. Heat floods you—his metal arm trembles.

And for a second, just a second, he closes his eyes: peace–or something like it.

Then he pulls out. Slowly. You twitch from the sensitivity, your thighs shaking, your skin burning with bruises.

He kneels beside you, pressing your knees apart. Inspects the mess between your legs. Runs his fingers through the slick, spreading it and checking for blood.

He finds a cut, a scrape from training. He leans down and kisses it. Your breath catches sharply.

He tugs your sleep shirt down over your body and covers your legs with the blanket. Brushing sweat and matted hair from your face. You don't speak. Neither does he.

But when he reaches for your hand and clasps it in his, you don't pull away. And when he whispers, “little ghost,” against your temple before leaving silently into the hallway, you wonder how much of him is left. You wonder how much of you is still yours.

—--------------

The lights never turn off in the compound. White fluorescent lights are behind your eyelids even when you sleep. The walls are covered in sterilisation chemicals. The guards are ghosts, the scientists quieter still. You hear them sometimes, whispering as you’re led down the corridor barefoot and bruised.

“Put the Spectre in again. She responds faster to the Soldier.”

“It’s not attachment. It's conditioning. Proximity reward loop.”

“They rut like animals, but the kill rate goes up. That’s what matters.”

You’re not led to the training ring this time. This door is made of metal, thick, and sealed from the outside. Inside, the room is whitewashed and windowless, with no mirrors or mats.

Just a cot. Two cuffs, mounted on the wall. And him.

The Winter Soldier stands at the far side of the room, shirt discarded, chest rising slowly with each breath. His left hand flexes, the metal one. His face is blank, expressionless.

But his eyes find you the second you step inside. And they burn—the door seals behind you with a hiss.

They’ve done this before, licking you together like animals in heat. Sometimes after long missions. Sometimes after punishment. They think it’s effective. They’re not wrong.

The moment the air goes still, you know he’ll take you. You know you’ll let him. It's not just instinct anymore. Not just blood and body. It's him.

You cross the room without speaking. His eyes track every step. When you reach him, you don’t touch. You just tilt your head slightly, offering your throat. A gesture of submission. One you never give to anyone else.

A snarl curls his lip. He slams you into the wall hard enough to rattle your bones. Your breath punches from your chest, but you don’t resist. You never resist him.

His mouth crashes against yours, bruising and brutal. No grace, no softness. He licks into you like he's trying to consume you from the inside out, teeth scraping your lips until you taste copper.

You man, arching again him. Your bodies collide, uniforms still on, gear buckles grinding together. His metal hand grips your throat, not choking, just holding. Claiming.

Your hips grind against his. He growls. “You need it.”

You nod, panting.

“Say it.”

Your voice is broken, “I need you.”

He spins you, slamming you against the wall. One hand tears at your pants, the other rips the fabric of your top. It doesn’t matter. They always give you new ones.

He doesn't prep you. He fucks you hard, bare and against the cold steel, each thrust punishing a sound from yoru mouth that echoes in the sterile room. His hips slap you with punishing force.

You’re sore. Already stretched from last time. But your body welcomes him. It always does. The pain is part of it—the ache. Your hand braced against the wall as he drives into you, growling filth into your ear in Russian and English and something in between.

“Fucking made for this–made for me. You’re mine—my little ghost. Mine to break. Mine to fix.”

He comes first, hot and deep, buried to the hilt, but he doesn’t stop. His cock stays hard. Still inside you as he pulls you back, grabs you to the cot, and shoves you down. Your knees hit the edge. He flips you onto your back.

You see it in his eyes. This time, he wants to watch.

He strips you fast, tearing open the rest of your uniform until you’re bare beneath him. He kneels, wide and hulking, between your thighs. Sweat gleams on his chest. His cock glistens with a mix of you both.

Then he spits on it. Strokes himself once. And slides back in. his rhythm is punishing.

Each thrust knocks you higher on the cot, your back scraping against the thin sheet, knees pushed to your chest. You sob into the stale air, nails clawing at his arms, flesh and metal, hot and cold. He's everywhere.

He’s inside you. And he's not stopping. He's already come one. You felt it. The heat spilling inside, the tremble in his breath, the shudder of his hips. But it only made him worse.

Now he's chasing yours but not giving it. He pulls out just as your body behind to foil just before it crests. You cry out, broken and desperate.

He grins. A real one. Cruel and controlled.

You slap at his chest, panting. “Please– Fuck– don’t stop–”

He grunts, “Not yet.” he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. The sweat on his skin drips onto your mouth. His eyes are locked on your face, watching every twitch, every whimper.

His thumb drags through yoru slick, presses down on your clit in cruel, slow circles. You choke on a moan, thighs trembling.

He watches that too. “Hydra’s watching,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek.

You flinch. Of course they are. Cameras blink silently in the corners. Mics pick up every sound, every filthy word, every cry, every slap of skin on skin. Your body’s not your own in this place.

But when he's inside you, it feels like his. That somehow, it means something. He pulls back, just enough to line himself up again, then slams into you so hard your breath vanishes. You cry out, your voice cracking.

“Please, fille me up, just fucking fill me again–”

His hand slams beside your head. His voice drops. Low, primal and dangerous.

“You want it?”

You nod frantically, “Yes–yes–please–”

“You want me to fill you up like they told me to? Stuff you full and make you–” he snarls against your throat, “fuckign taking it all?”

Your whole body convulses under him. “Yes,” you gasp. “Want it– need it– need your cock– nee dyour cum–”

He groans like it hurts, like your words punch something human in his chest. And then he gives it to you. His thrusts are erratic now. Deep. Merciless. The metal fingers of his left hand slide down to grip your throat, squeeing just enough to make you dizzy. Your legs lock around his hips. You milk him.

He watches your eyes go wide as you start to orgasm.

“Now,” he demands roughly. “Now, little ghost, cum for me– fuck–”

You break. Your orgasm tears through you like fire, molten and endless. Your nails draw blood down his back. You scream, clenching around him, and he loses it.

He follows you over the edge with a goram, loud, real, human. His cock jerks inside you, pumping more heat into yoru cunt, so much it leaks down your thighs. His body collapses against yours.

And still, the cameras blink. Still, HYDRA watches.

You don't know how long he stays inside you. Minutes, hours, maybe just seconds that feel stretched. His breath is still ragged. Yours doesn't return to normal at all. Your skin buzzes with the violence of it, your thighs sticky, your body bruised and open.

He finally pulls out. You whimper at the loss. At the emptiness. But then he kneels again, knees spreading your legs wider, palms pressing your thighs open. His head dips low. He doesn't ask permission. 

But his tongue presses into yoru slit slowly. Not for pleasure. To taste, clean and claim. He groans low in his chest as he laps up the mess of both your bodies, tongue dragging through your folds until you twitch and tremble and gasp.

You push a shaky hand into his hair. “Mine,” you say barely above a whisper.

He freezes. His eyes rise to meet yours. You expect rage or for him to try to take control, or another round of rough, punishing use.

But he just stares. Like he heard something different in our voice. Like the word mine rewrote something inside him. He exhales, low and tight. His jaw clenches. And then he rests his head between your thighs, cheek pressed to your inner leg. Like he's listening to your heartbeat, it calms him just for that moment.

You stroke his hair again in a gentle, tender touch. Then he speaks, barely audible. “Don't let them take you from me.”

You don't reply because you know they’ll try.

OBSERVATION DECK 04 – HYDRA COMPOUND

The glass is one-way. The air is cold and clinical. Dr. Koenig finishes scribbling in his file and sets the tablet down.

“Well?” another agent mutters. “You saw what I saw.”

Koenig nods once. “The efficiency remains. Physical performance unchanged.”

“And the other issue?”

Koenig’s jaw tightens. “They’re bonding.”

A pause. “That wasn’t part of the program.”

“No,” Koenug says flatly. “It wasn’t.” He taps the comms button. “Schedule a rest. Just the Asset for now. Strip the sentimentality before it spreads.”

A moment’s pause. “And if it has spread?”

Koenig lifts his eyes, watches the way the Soldier nuzzles into her thigh like it’s the only safe place in the world. “Then we pursue the Spectre too.”

—------------

You aren’t supposed to flinch. Not when the knife grazes your cheek, not when the dislocation in your shoulder hasn’t reset, not when a mission fails and the punishment follows. You’re not supposed to feel.

But lately, you do.

It’s barely there, at first. A split-second pause before you stab your target. The way your breath hitches when you see his blood. The ache that lingers too long after he leaves your body.

You think it's an infection, contamination. Corruption of the programming. You feel it more when you sleep in the dead quiet of the corridor outside your cells, where only breath and memory live.

And him. The way he watches you when he thinks no one sees. The way your skin burns hours after his fingers have left it.

—-----------------

Missions grow bloodier. Not because you’re sloppy, never that. But because you hesitated. Just the once. Your last target was a civilian contact, and for one heartbeat, his face flickered into someone else’s.

It was gone in a blink. But HYDRA noticed. You know they did.

The pain chip lodged behind your ribs screamed white through your spine the moment the exfil team arrived. You bit through your tongue rather than scream.

The Winter Soldier broke a handler’s jaw in response. They dragged him away. You didn’t see him for three days. And when they brought him back, he wasn’t looking at you.

They put you back into training cycles. Side by side. Then, across from one another. Then against.

The sparring room is frigid. Your bare feet sting against the floor. Your body still aches from punishment, but you stand straight.

He stands opposite you, half-shadow, half-statue. The metal arm gleams dully under the overhead lights. He doesn't blink.

“Begin.” 

You lunge first. He meets you head-on. You clash like war drums. A blur of limbs, blades and violence. His fists land hard, but so do yours.

But something’s wrong. He’s not finishing it. Not like before. Every strike he lands is slightly off, controlled. Calculated not to break, only bruise. His hands pull. His eyes flicker to your shoulder, still tender and sore.

He's holding back. So are you. Your knives locked between you, gritted teeth inches apart. His breath is hot on your face.

“I saw you bleed,” he growls.

You twist the blade. “You always do”

“I smelled it.”

Your pulse flutters. “And?”

He slams you to the mat, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. But his hands cage your head, protect it. His eyes burn. “I thought you were gone.”

An hour later, you’re fucking in the weapons locker.

Quick and brutal. Half-dressed. His cock slams into you with savage need, your bodies hidden between racks of combat gear. He bites down on your neck so hard your legs give out, and he carries your weight liek its nothing, fucking you into his metal hand.

You cum on his cock in near silence, his lips swallowing your gass.

He doesn’t say a word. But he stays this time, rubbing your thighs and tucking your T-shirt back into place and caressing the nape of your neck.

It makes your throat tighten. It makes your chest ache. And it makes HYDRA furious.

—-----------------

OBSERVATION DECK 02 - INTERNAL RECORDING REVIEW

“They hesitated. Again.”

“We’ve scrubbed them twice this month. What's the degradation rate?”

“Unclear. This isn’t chemical.”

“Then what is it?”

“Instinct. Pair bonding. Reinforcement loops gone feral.”

“We need them reset.”

“We can’t. Not until the next phase concludes.”

“And if they start choosing each other over the mission?”

“Then we terminate both.”

—-------------

You’re in the cell when he comes. Not like before, no heat or stalking. He slips through the door and kneels by your cot like he’s seeking something.

His blue eyes search your face, then your body. His metal hand rises and pauses over your temple. “A man. Earlier tonight, he called me a name. It’s a name I’ve seen before, in my file. For me.” You hold your breath. “Bucky.”

The word tastes strange in his mouth, unnatural, like poison he’s been trained not to take. But it rings inside you. Familiar in a way.

Your hand rises and touches his jaw, and you nod. He flicnhes.

You whisper it. “Bucky.”

He looks at you like you've handed him fire, and for a moment, for one still breath between the walls, you see a glimpse of him. Not the Soldier, not the asset, but just a man.

—-------------

It's raining when the mission begins. Hard, slicing rain, cold enough to bite under the collar of your uniform, wet enough to make blood smear across pavement like paint.

You and the Asset land silently and unseen on the ground, dropped from the stealth helicopter five blocks from the extraction site. Target: a weapons dealer tied to former SHIELD assets. Secondary targets: irrelevant. The orders were simple. In. Kill. Out.

No deviations. But you knew the moment your boots hit the ground that tonight wouldn’t go clean.

Because he's been watching you. Too much. Even in the dark, especially in the dark.

The target’s compound is a crumbling fortress of concrete and chain-link fences. Guards patrol in loose formations. Cameras and alarms. You both move through it like smoke.

There’s a knife in your hand before you even see your first mark. You slit a throat in one smooth pull, and he does the same behind you. Two bodies fall. Two shadows remain.

No hesitation or time for thought. But tonight, there’s something off.

You feel it between your ribs, that burning that remains there.

His eyes keep drifting back to you. You don't speak, can't talk, but your bodies hum at the same frequency. It's always been like this, but now there's heat seeping beneath it.

You feel it in the way his arm brushes yours when he passes you a detonator. The way his breath lingers by your ear when he whispers the sweep pattern—the way your heart pounds when you smell blood on him.

The mission was doomed the moment he looked at you and didn't look away.

You're almost at the objective when it happens. He’s behind you, covering your back, when you feel his hand grab your hip. Not urgent, not mission-based.

Hungry.

You spin, knife in hand, but his is already at your throat, flat, not cutting, just a warning.

And then his mouth is on yours. Hard, brutal, nothing romantic about it. Your blade clatters to the ground. You shove him back into the wall of the hallway, breathing hard.

“This is–” you pant, “--not the time–”

His metal hand fists in your collar, pulls you closer. His mouth presses to your ear urgently. “You're soaked.”

You freeze. He drags his glove fingers over your covered core, pressing them into the wet heat between your thighs, through the suit, through everything. “You’re soaked, little ghost.”

And you snap. You shove him back, hard, hand flying to your side to draw your backup blade. He grins, fucking frins and pulls his own.

The two of you collide in a dance of violence and lust, blades clashing in the darkened hall. You slash at each other like it's foreplay. Your knife slides across his arm, and he doesn't even flinch. His blade catches your hip and tears fabric, grazing skin.

Then he's on you. Pinning you to the wall, blade pressed between your ribs, metal arm wrenching your thighs open. You kiss like you want ot kill each other. You want him inside you. You need it.

He doesn't even pull the suit off. He just unzips enough to free himself, shoves your gear down to your knees, and drives into you in one brutal thrust.

You cry out, high and broken, biting your fist to stay silent as his cock stretches you wide. The hallway is empty, but not secure. You both know this. You both don't care.

His hips slam into you again and again, grinding you into the concrete wall. The knife is still in your hand, and you press it to his chest.

He snarls. “Do it.”

You press harder, but not enough to pierce. He growls and fucks you deeper, harder, hands clawing at yourgear,  your ass, your breasts, everywhere.

His mouth finds your ear. “You want my cum again?” he rapss. “Want me to fill you out here where they can see?”

You nod, panting, moaning through gritted teeth. “Fuck me full,” you grunt. “Breed me like you need to.”

And he does. He pins your writs, fucks you like the mission never mattered, like the only target thats ever existed is the wet heat of your body, the way it clenches andbegs and rembles around him.

You cum first and unexpectedly, squeeing him tight, whimpering his name.

He follows with a low groan, hips stuttering as he fills you deep, cock pulsing, teeth digging into your throat. And when it's done, when the blood and com drip down your thighs, you both hear the click of a surveillance drone overhead.

Too late.

The target still dies. You slit his throat five minutes later, face impassive, body still aching from the way the Soldier just claimed yo uagainst the wall.

You extract without speaking. But the silence in the jet isn't like before. Because, you know, they watched like they always do. And this time, they won't let it go.

—------------------

HYDRA NORTH COMMAND – DECONTAINMENT WING

The chamber smells of ozone and bleach—cold water jets down your body from overhead pipes. You’re naked, shivering and numb.

Hands cuffed behind your back. Across the room, he kneels. Unmoving. Unseeing.

The metal chair clamps around his limbs. The rest technician raises the neural needle.

“We warned you,” she says flatly, to no one in particular.

“You both degraded.”

She looks at him first. “No more distractions.” The needle plunges into the base of his skull. He screams, and you do too. Even though you swore you never would.

You lose him. Not to death, that would be easier. You lose him to silence. They caused the static. After the needle sinks into the base of his kill, you're dragged away in restraints and left naked in a cryo cell for thirty-six hours: no light or sound.

Just the echo of his scream. It plays on a loop in your head, like you're stuck in your own personal hell.

They don't reset you. Not yet, but they watch your every move. You feel the eyes, always watching and waiting to see what you do without him.

You don't cry, not where they can see. But when the door opened and they dragged you out again, hair wet, lip split and wrist raw, you looked for him. Your eyes search everywhere. And when you find him in the training ring two days later, standing in full tactical black, knife in hand, silent and cold, your breath stutters.

“Assett,” one of the techs' commands. “Eliminate the Spectre. Sim round only.”

He doesn't move. He doesn't blink. But he looks at you. Not at your face, or your throat that he liked ot mark. He looked at your hands, where your fingers tremble.

The blade in his hand doesn’t waver. Not at first, but you see it, the tension in his arm. The stiffness in his stance. His breathing is too controlled, too shallow. Not like him.

Not like the man who fucked youa gainst a concrete wall, who cleaned you with his tongue and whispered mine.

This version is off, wiped. But something in his eyes hasn't been entirely erased. He takes a step toward you. Then another.

You raise your fists automatically, out of instinct, not aggression. You don't hurt him. Not unless he makes you, but your heart is screaming behind your ribs.

“Bucky,” you whisper, too soft for the techs to hear. 

His entire body jolts like you shot him. He blinks. The knife lowers, but only slightly, and it's enough.

The tech behind the glass slams the intercom. “Asset– engage! Do not hesitate!”

You take a step forward, slowly. Hands still raised, palms out.

“It’s me,” you say, louder now. “You know me. You always have.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes flick to your lips, but he still doesn't move. So you decide to move towards him instead.

You whisper again, trying to trigger his memories. “It’s me, you're little ghost.”

His breath stutters. Then his hand twitches, and the blade drops a few inches, and his metal hand reaches out, like he's not sure why.

Like he's trying to break through his memories, your fingers brush. And in that half second, before the guards floor the room, before the tranquillisers hit, you see him. Bucky.

—-----------

They put you in a different kind of cell this time. No cot or blankets. Just four white walls, a drain in the floor and a single overhead light that never dims.

You sit with your back to the corner, bruised knees drawn to your chest, wrists still cuffed behind your back. The silence is heavier than pain. It eats your breath. Your thoughts.

And still, you whisper his name. Bucky. It's nothing louder than breath, but every time it leaves your lips, something in you aches. Wants to claw through the walls and find him.

They know that. That's why they left you alone. Not to forget.

The speaker on the wall cracks after eight hours. A voice, one you don't recognise, clinical and dispassionate.

“Your presence is disruptive to the Asset’s stability. We assumed sexual bonding would enhance performance. We were incorrect. He is not recovering post-reset. Every time he sees you, something breaks.”

You stare at the wall.

“You are not a person, you are not his partner, you are an echo of malfunction. He was never yours to begin with.”

You want to scream, but you keep your composure. And you just whisper it again. Bucky.

Later, maybe hours or maybe days, they drag you back into the dark: a corridor, a low hallway, boots echoing behind you.

And at the end of the corridor, you see him. Cuffed, muffled, and with a metal arm trembling.

They're preparing him for cryo.

Your knees buckle. He looks up as you’re dragged past. Your eyes lock. And in that moment, his body lurches forward, violently, crashing into two guards, shoving them back, roaring into the metal restraint on his mouth.

You don't speak, just look, and for that second, he stops fighting them. Just long enough to watch you disappear behind the closing door.

—---------

The world outside burns quietly. HYDRA is collapsing, not all at once, but in cracks, like ice splitting beneath the weight of something ancient. Something true.

It started with a leak, the files, and then the names. One by one, ghosts came clawing up from beneath the floorboards, screaming for vengeance.

Now? The compound trembles under the weight of consequence. Not that you feelt it. You float, half-conscious. Sedated. Limbs strapped down to a gurney, heartbeat slow.

You're underground, two levels below the holding cells, where there's no sound or contact—just white noise and restraints.

“Too unstable to reassing,” you heard them say. “Too bonded to the Asset. Put her down, but keep her breathing.”

Not dead, not alive. A test subject. A failure. But even now, even here, you feel him. You always do, like he’d become a part of you.

—------------

At first, it’s nothing more than a flicker of red light against the white ceiling. Then– gunfire. Screaming.

The groan of steel bending and the snap of one. Doors crash open above you: radios fizzle, and boots run in every direction.

You blink hard through the haze. Your chest burns. Something isn't right.

But then, finally – “little ghost.”

The door blows open in a cloud of smoke and fractured metal. He stands in the doorway, barely human. Blood down his jaw, hair matted, tactical gear torn to shreds. Eyes wide and wild but burning with something read.

You can’t speak, you just look.

And he moves, crossing the room in four steps, cutting through the restraints like paper. His metal hand cradles your neck, trembling. His other hand lifts your chin, checking your pulse.

“Bucky,” you croak. He stops. For one breathless movement, he freezes.

Then he loses his eyes, as if hearing breaks something inside him.

“I didn’t forget,” you say pleadingly. His fingers tighten, his forehead drops to yours.

“They tried to take you from me.”

“They almost did.”

“Never again, little ghost. I’ve told you, you’re mine. Always.”

He lifts you into his arms as you look into his eyes. They're different, still the same clear shade of blue, but the lifelessness of the Soldier no longer resides there. Something in between human and Assett. Something different.

He carries you through the burning compound, past bodies and smoke and fire. Sirens wail, gunshots echo. He doesn't flinch, doesn't look back.

Your arms wrap weakly around his neck, and you don't ask where you're going. You only know it's away, and you're safe because you are with him, the only life you've ever known.

[tripletstephaniescp]

I know I goes against everything we know about Bucky but imagine if he was a cuddly little baby with everyone. I mean everyone. And it's the cutest thing ever. He doesn’t even mean to it just happens cause his body craves it. He falls asleep everywhere and as soon as he does, his body moves on its own to get all cuddly. He went years with no warmth, no human touch, isolated in cold and darkness. He's so so touch starved.

Like imagine after a mission, everyone trudges onto the jet, tired as hell, all ready to pass out but no one's more exhausted than Bucky. Whenever their on missions, Bucky's body refuses to rest until the fight is over so as soon as he sits down, he knocks out from pure exhaustion.

Which is how his head ended up on Tony's shoulder. Normally he'd neve but the sway of the jet rocked him right to sleep, slumping against the billionaire.

"Guys. Tinman is sleeping on me" Tony hissed, more excited than anything else, seeing as Bucky was usually grumpy and moody when he was awake. Now that he was sleeping, his previously irritated expression had washed away, replaced with his soft fluttering lashes and slightly parted lips.

"Awww" Nat cooed, ruffling his fluffy brown locks away from his face while he continued to softly snore, blissfully unaware the others were quietly watching him.

-

Sam was the next to experience it on movie night. He held back a cackle when he felt Bucky burrow himself further against his side, seeking his warmth. His body felt safe, keeping him asleep while Sam quietly snapped a picture which he'd of course send to you.

Your big scary boyfriend is all cuddly again

You giggled at the picture knowing Bucky was probably dead exhausted. Sure, he fell asleep on others and sometimes whined a little in his sleep if you moved around too much, but you were truly his favorite pillow.

Because when it came to you, he turned into a very needy, cuddly little baby. On more than one occasion, Bucky had a full on pout on his face when you came to bed late. He loves to curl up into a ball (as best as he can, given how much bigger he is compared to you) while you hold him to your chest, his face smushed against your softness, listening to your heart beat. He lays down under the blankets while you wrap your arms around him, scratching his scalp and rubbing his back and he nearly purrs with how good and loved he feels.

I just can't deal with how adorable this would be because that baby deserves to be protected at all costs.

[tripletstephaniescp]

That's the way it goes. I was persona non grata for 6 months then both the kids suddenly couldn't stop touching me for months. Kids are weird.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DLOmnEaOvVt/?igsh=cmtsZWFrODlqZ2Q2 this is mafia!bucky and his son 😆😆

IF Bucky and Mal has a baby boy, half of their conversations would go like this.

Bucky reaches for his son, gently encouraging him to stand up. "Cmon. We have to go, the girls are waiting for us."

Baby Barnes ignores him and keeps on playing with his new toy, a colorful action figure given to him by Bee.

Bucky sighs. Drops his shoulders. Stares at the ceiling. And wonders where his son got his stubbornness from. Couldn't have been from him.

He would continue this standoff but you're downstairs, waiting to start movie night. "Malyshka said let's go."

That's all the baby needs to hear.

"My Misha!" his son beams, immediately pushing to his feet, legs wobbling.

Bucky's gaze sharpens as he takes his little hand. "Our Malyshka."

He swears his son returns his glare. "My Misha."

The argument continues during the walk to the living room and gets more intense when Bucky tries to kiss you, only to have your son shove his hands between your faces.

Bucky has to admit defeat when his son breaks out the bottom lip. Even Bucky doesn't have a defense against that and the baby knows it.

Fine. At least he has his sweet Bee.

Bucky grins down at her, arms opening. "You can sit next to me, Bumblebee."

She starts to skip over when a little voice rings out. "My BeeBee"

And just like that she changes course with a "sorry Papa, be rights back" and runs to her brother.

You carefully hid your grin when Bucky takes the seat on your other side and slumps down with his head on your shoulder. Bucky glances up at you, baleful blue eyes on your face. "You're all traitors."

"You love us."

Bucky flashes a grin, the same one plastered on the two mini mes beside you. "Damn right I do."

[tripletstephaniescp]

Ahhhhhhh.

Loveeee the idea of Bucky being super talkative when he's balls deep in your pussy

he brings a hand to the nape of your neck, supporting your head and bringing your gaze to watch his thick cock slip in and out of you with lidded eyes.

Bucky presses a long kiss to the top of your head with a choked groan, "Yeah, look at that," his balls press up against your soaked folds and you keen, brows furrowing and plush lips falling open at the delicious stretch of him.

"you okay?" he asks against your hair, still pumping into you.

you nod shakily, letting a soft moan fall past your lips, "feels so good." in the same moment, you reach down between your bodies to spread the lips of your cunt open.

Bucky moans from above you — "Oh shit, yeah, I like that."

you whimper, wrapping a small hand around Bucky's metal arm for leverage when he sinks alllll the way into your sopping heat.

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, circling his hips with a soft groan, "christ, you're tight," he leans back some to watch your folds hug his girth as he pulls out and pushes back into you, earning a squeal from you.

"Juuuusssst like that," the smirk is evident in his lofty tone, "ain't that right, sweetheart."

"Mhm," you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Your tight walls squeeze around his length and you feel him shiver above you.

"You keep that up, and this isn't gonna last much longer."

You mumble a 'sorry,' that breaks into a heated moan when you feel his balls tap against your folds.

"Don't be sorry," he slips his thumb past your swollen lips, pulling your bottom one down, "just sit there and look pretty fr'me, 'kay?"

[tripletstephaniescp]

This man!

Him. That's all. That's the post.

[tripletstephaniescp]

I want more and that is not meant to pressure you on anyway but I would love to hear more of their story.

Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You broke up with Bucky months ago, but you can't stop calling him. He always picks up. He always comes to get you.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Some angst, exes to lovers, umm terrible men

a/n: Obviously inspired by the Hozier cover of Do I Wanna Know so maybe listen to that while you read (do it actually I'm commanding). Thank you for reading ily!! <3

Masterlist

~~

The sound of tires rounded out the weak remainder of sobs wracking your chest. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hands as rubber crackled against the heated asphalt, but the action was pointless. The dampness only returned, tracking stickiness from your cheeks to your neck. 

The engine remained on as the car door opened and shut in quick succession. You kept your gaze downturned, catching the small rocks that probably got stuck in the soles of Bucky’s shoes as he crouched before you. The stairs you sat on whined in defiance as you shifted slightly, still too embarrassed to face him. 

“What happened?” he softly asked. 

A humorless laugh fell past your lips, tears salty on your tongue. “It’s so stupid.” 

“‘S not stupid,” Bucky refuted. He took your chin between two of his fingers and searched the planes of your face, his lips pulling back in short grimaces as he went. “Not when you’re crying like that.” 

You bit into your bottom lip as you faced him, tears continuing to fall even though the ache in your chest eased some. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have called Bucky. 

The sun was escaping from the horizon behind him, casting an orange-hued blaze reflected in the tall grass beyond decaying gas pumps. It was windy and so hot that the wind didn’t matter, dirt flying up and twirling by his puffing exhaust. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” you finally choked out, taking no action against the slide of his hand against your cheek. “You were busy. I know you were.” 

Bucky only glided his fingers along your skin in gentle shapes, tutted, and tried to catch the tears that met his skin. “Never too busy for you.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“It’s not.” 

“I’m the one who broke up with you.” 

“Aware of that. Unfortunately.” 

You let out a sort of disgruntled moan, mortification mingling with relief inside of you. You leaned into his palm and huffed a sigh, using the lone car traveling on the road as a distraction. With your hands in your lap, it was easy to pick at your cuticles and hide it, a habit Bucky had never gotten you to kick. 

“Tell me what happened,” Bucky tried again. “How’d you get out here?” 

The deteriorating gas station seemed to creak in response to his question, the old building minutes away from collapsing. You’d been surprised to find an older man actually working at the counter when you got dropped here. He’d let you use the phone, and, of course, you had Bucky’s number memorized. You’d had to hand the phone to the old man to get the coordinates of this place straight, and then Bucky had been on his way. 

At the memory of everything that had happened before that phone call, your mouth puckered in a fruitless attempt to keep tears at bay. You brushed Bucky’s hand away in favor of pressing your face into your palms and tucking forward. 

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky urged, moving his touch to the back of your head. “Couldn’t be that bad.” 

He spoke with a gentleness that you didn’t need—one that would only make you cry harder. 

There was a long pause, and then, “Someone hurt you?” 

You shot your head up at that, the several octaves his voice had lowered warning you of nothing good. “No,” you hurried. “No. Not… physically. Do you remember Josh?” 

Bucky’s hand ran back over your hair and landed on the juncture of your neck. His jaw flexed, and his eyebrow jumped, obviously unimpressed. “Idiot with the bike? The one with the tiny shorts?”

Your lips curled softly despite yourself. “Yeah, that one.” 

“How could I forget?” he smiled back, tucking his hands away from you and clasping them between his bent knees. You tried not to care about the loss. 

“Right, well, we were supposed to go on a road trip. We were going to visit his parents. But… well, he got a text while we were driving, and…” You stared up at the cloudless sky, the sun beating down on your misery. “And he’s been cheating on me. For a few weeks, maybe longer. When I brought it up—started getting angry—he pulled over and just… told me to get out.” 

“Bastard,” Bucky breathed out. “Leaving you here like this? I’ll kill him.” 

“You won’t,” you chastised, wiping your tears once more, sounding congested and sad and over it all. “It doesn’t matter, really. It never matters.” 

“S’that supposed to mean?” 

Another sigh. You edged forward on the stairs, slotting both legs between his crouched ones, creating space where there hadn’t been. More dirt kicked up behind him, and the old man inside was screaming at the TV, banging plastic against old batteries, or something of the sort. 

It hurt to look at him. His eyes were asking so many questions, so much concern etched into the blues, but you never had the answers. Never had the right ones. 

“It was stupid to call you,” you reaffirmed, face inches from his. 

“It wasn’t—” 

“I always call you. It’s always you.” 

Bucky wet his drying lips. 

“And you always come,” you continued. “Do you remember when we broke up?” 

His brows came together, his eyes never leaving yours. “Of course I do.” 

“What’d I say?” 

“That I can’t put you first. That I try, but I need to heal first.” 

“Right,” you whispered, dirt whisking the word from the air. “Then—” you blinked as more tears coated your throat “—why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does it never work?” 

Bucky’s expression fractured. He brought a knee down and captured your face in his hands, metal and warm skin overwhelming your senses. His eyes flitted between both of yours, brows furrowed impossibly tight. 

“I’m trying,” you stressed. “I’m trying to move on. To see other people. To give you space and time to heal. But it never works. I always—it always comes back to you.” 

“I don’t want you to move on,” Bucky said, desperate hands conveying his words. “The day you walked out the door was the worst day of my life.” 

You shot your gaze down in a plea for any of this to make sense. You had broken up for a reason, but right now, no reason seemed to take form. 

“But—”

“But you were right,” he interrupted, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. He looked so earnest, brows raised and eyes slightly wider to catch your attention. “Okay? You were right. ‘Course, I knew that. My girl’s right about everything, but I didn’t want you to be right.” 

Defeat made your muscles feel weak, deflating your shoulders and sending a new wave of uncomfortable sadness through you. Of course, you knew you were right. All those months ago, you had been so obviously right, but Bucky had fought so hard for you to be wrong. He never admitted to anything—until now. 

He had come to terms with it, then. 

You had dug your own grave. 

“Then why can’t I stop loving you?” you cried, the sound so aching it sent a crack through Bucky’s chest. He shook his head, but the motion was lost behind your blurred vision. You were so tired of crying. “I want to move on. I’ve been trying to but—” 

“Hey, baby, look at me, yeah?” Bucky hushed, repositioning his hands on your face if only to catch your attention. “I said you were right then. I needed the time. I needed to do right by you. I—I’ve been seeing people to help. I’ve been—making friends. The apartment’s got a bedframe now,” he added, tilting his head to offer you a smile. “I’ve been trying to be the man you need. I don’t want you to move on. Honestly, it’s been tearing my heart out to pick you up all these times.” 

Your chin trembled, but tears began to dry on your face. Bucky didn’t say more, but he continued to wipe the wetness from your cheeks and chin and jaw, searching your expression as he went. He looked pained, stressed. His car continued to run behind him and you were vaguely aware that this gas station might not actually have gas. 

“You got a bed frame?” you shakily asked. You grabbed his hands from your face, holding them in your lap instead. 

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky breathed out, looking down at your joined hands. 

“I didn’t know you even had a mattress.” 

“Needed one for when I got you back.” 

Your throat was dry, the wind a vicious attack against your quiet words. “Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I was just happy you were calling. I didn’t care if it was to get you from these—” He paused, looking down to the divots his shoes made in the dirt before finding you once more. “Baby, I would’ve picked you up from bad dates for the rest of my life if it meant you were talking to me. Don’t stop loving me. Don’t move on.” 

An array of emotions were displayed on your face. You squeezed Bucky’s hands in your lap and leaned forward until your forehead was against his, eyes closing in contentment that didn’t match the scenario. A sign above you buzzed with low voltage electricity that would surely give out soon, the weak neon flickering in a violent sun. 

“Give me a chance,” Bucky pleaded. “Let me show you.” 

You fought the urge to laugh. “Bucky, I would have given you another chance months ago. You never asked.” 

You stayed there for a few more minutes, calming your racing heart in the stifling heat. This felt like starting over, but it also felt like comfort and familiarity and home. Bucky didn’t move until you did, only prying himself away when you leaned back and sniffed, eyeing the car behind him with puffy eyes. 

He looked upon you with a sickening adoration, cupping the side of your head as he placed a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

You breathed out an okay as you stood and nodded your head, the motion dizzying with how much you had cried and how long you had sat on those splintering steps. He noticed—he always noticed, even when things weren’t great. 

Bucky held your face in his hands once more, but it felt different now. He kept you at a distance and stared at your face as he instructed, “I’m gonna run in and get you a water. Wait in the car with the air on.” 

“Hope you have cash,” you briefly smiled. “I don’t think he has a working cash register. Couldn’t buy water earlier.” 

Bucky shook his head slightly, a rueful smile in return. “Give me Josh’s address.”

[tripletstephaniescp]

OMG, I love these two.

Orientation

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky meets his potential new roommate and is immediately smitten.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Love at first sight, bits of humor, fluff, tension, sweetness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Finally sharing Stud meeting Smartie for the first time. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 (and thank you for your help and cheering me on), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky let out a deep breath when he heard the knock at the door and looked at his watch before he went to answer it. Another potential roommate, right on time. He hadn’t initially wanted to rent out the extra room since he could’ve made it work with rent going up, but the budget would’ve been very tight and it was better not to risk it since he loved the place. It would’ve also been nice if Steve or Sam could’ve moved in, but they had their own spaces and the idea of sharing his space with a stranger wasn’t necessarily bad. He just hoped whoever ended up renting the space got along with Alpine.

“One sec!” he called out and bent down to pet his cat, the white fur soft against his calloused hand. “Try to be nice this time, okay?” he teased, reminding himself to keep his expectations low when she meowed. Alpine was a wonderful cat, but also particular with the company she kept and she chased off the last person who visited. He trusted her instincts and if she didn’t like someone then that was that.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispered, steeling himself before he opened the door.

And the world as he knew it ceased to exist.

You stood there with the sweetest smile he had ever seen and he thought his heart would beat right through his chest with how hard it pounded. The feeling only intensified when he looked into your eyes and forgot how to breathe, his stomach filled with so many butterflies that he thought he’d leave the ground. Then he felt like he was falling in slow motion before he came back to himself. It was like the world got a little brighter just because you were standing in front of him.

Is this love at first sight?

“Hi! Bucky, right?” you asked, and he knew then and there he could spend the rest of his life hearing you say his name.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, his voice husky. “And you must be…” He paused before he said your name, letting it settle on his tongue.

No, he couldn’t flirt with or hit on his potential roommate.

Or can I?

He heard the hitch in your breath before you nodded. “Yeah, that’s me,” you repeated, your voice soft and sugary sweet.

He wasn’t trying to stare like a creep, but he really didn’t expect to see someone so beautiful. So perfect. When you expressed interest in the room since it was close to the nearby university, he refused to look up your social media accounts. He wanted the first impression based on instinct and a face-to-face meeting and not by what was posted online. He hoped he made a good impression, too, especially since he had freshened up after work, wearing one of his many henleys and jeans.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked, stepping back to give you some room. He took up a lot of space with his size and didn’t want to crowd you.

You winced and didn’t move, making him pause, too. “Before I do that…” He raised an eyebrow when you held your phone up and dialed a number. “My friend wants to hear you say that I’m going to be perfectly safe here.”

Both eyebrows shot up. “She wants to hear me say…” He trailed off when he heard a voice on the other end.

“Hey! You at the apartment?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” you replied, biting your lip and drawing his eyes to your mouth.

Focus. Don’t think about kissing your potential roommate.

“Oh, good! Is he listening? Hey, what’s your name and what are your intentions with my friend?”

Bucky cleared his throat, unable to say what his intentions were deep down. “My name is Bucky Barnes and I’m looking for a roommate. She’ll be perfectly safe here whether she accepts or not,” he said, praying that Alpine liked you enough so you’d move in.

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed to him.

“It’s okay,” he mouthed back. He wasn’t at all offended. You never could tell with strangers and it was nice that you had someone looking out for you.

“She better be safe!” He tried not to laugh at your friend’s tone. It reminded him of Steve, caring and protective. “Is he hot? He sounds hot.”

“You’re on speaker,” you reminded her and Bucky tried to keep a neutral expression because, well, he wanted you to think he was hot. “And, yeah, he’s hot. He’s a real stud muffin. Or stud horse? I don’t know, he’s a stud,” you rambled, your eyes wide like you forgot he could hear you, too.

Silence filled the space between you and he took the opportunity to put his hand on the doorframe so you could see just how large he was. “I’m a stud?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. The compliment nearly had him preening like a peacock, and there was tension. No one could tell him otherwise.

Your mouth fell open and a sound came out, but nothing else.

“Ooh, he must be really hot if you’re just making noises,” your friend muttered as you stared past Bucky’s frame into the apartment, avoiding eye contact. That only made you look more endearing. “Call me when you leave so I know you’re still safe.”

“I will. Bye,” you said quickly, hanging up before your friend could say anything else. “Um…”

He tilted his head, not pushing for you to talk. He was more than content to look at you. Did you have any idea how enticing you were?

“About the stud comments, I… Well. Yeah. I mean… Look at you.” You gestured to him and finally looked his way again, making him smile all over again. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I just… say things and I feel like I just made this weird.”

“Hey, it’s fine. I appreciate the compliment,” he said easily when he was doing flips on the inside. “You didn’t make it weird,” he added. Not when he was the one staring at you like a creep.

“So, not a terrible first impression?” you asked and he hated how worried you looked.

“If anything, it’s a great impression,” he promised you, stepping aside again. He’d be thinking about that compliment and you long after you left.

“My friend wanted to come here with me so I wasn’t by myself, but I refused. The call was the next best thing,” you explained, finally stepping inside. God, you smelled sweet, too. “I appreciate you being cool with that.”

“No problem.” And he didn’t miss how quickly you changed the subject. Whatever you felt moments ago, if you felt something at all, you clearly didn’t want to dwell on it, and he didn’t want to make it uncomfortable by dragging it on. “Why do I have the feeling you’d do the same for her?”

“Oh, I would,” you said, gasping when you spotted Alpine. “Oh, my god. She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, that’s Alpine,” Bucky said, holding his breath when you crouched down and held out a hand. You weren’t allergic to cats, he wouldn’t even entertain a potential roommate who was, so that was good. But what would she think of you?

“Hey, Alpine. I’m hopefully going to be your new roommate,” you said, waiting for her to approach. It made Bucky happy that you weren’t forcing her to go to you if she didn’t want to. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Alpine gave your hand a sniff and bumped it with her head before she surprised you both and put her paws on your chest. “I… I think she wants you to pick her up,” Bucky said in awe.

She isn’t chasing you off. She likes you. This is good. This is really good.

You picked her up without hesitation. “Oh, my goodness. I’m already in love,” you said when she purred and nuzzled close. Was it weird to be jealous of a cat? “You want to do the tour of your home with me?”

Alpine nuzzled deeper into your hold.

“She really likes you,” Bucky said, leading you to the living room and watching you as you looked around. “It’s not much.” It wasn’t the most lavish place, but it was nice, warm, and he had made it a home.

“I like her, too,” you said, smiling as you took everything in. “Are you kidding? This place is great!”

“Yeah?” he smiled, running his metal hand through his hair. He hadn’t noticed he used that hand until your eyes followed the movement. “Oh, yeah. This…” He put his arm out to show you and felt the need to somewhat explain it. “It’s a state of the art prosthetic, in case you were wondering.”

Losing his arm wasn’t a story he was ready to tell, not today anyway. For now, he just wanted you to see the place. And the prosthetic was something he wouldn’t have normally been able to afford, but he had been lucky and was able to be part of a test group of new prosthetics.

“I think it looks pretty badass.” There was no judgement in your eyes, only openness when you added, “And I’ll argue with anyone who says otherwise.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Some people asked invasive questions or tried to touch it, but you put him at ease and there was something wonderful in the air between you because of it. “That means a lot,” he whispered, nodding to the space. “So, you like it so far?”

“I love it,” you answered, your eyes now on the bookshelf. “My kind of space right there.”

“Yeah? You like to read?” he asked. He had a decent collection of books.

“Oh, yeah. Probably how I ended up getting a scholarship since I usually had my face buried in them,” you teased.

“That’s right. Academic scholarship,” he said. You had mentioned in your email that you were on a scholarship and that’s why you were going to the university, but you didn’t want to live on campus. “Must be really smart.”

Smart and beautiful.

“Oh, no. No. I wouldn’t say that,” you said dismissively. That wouldn’t do.

“If you got an academic scholarship, you have to be somewhat smart. So just admit that you’re a little smartie and take the compliment,” he said, chuckling when you shook your head. “I’ll bet Alpine thinks you’re a smartie, too.”

Smartie? What the hell am I saying?

You smiled when Alpine meowed in agreement. “Okay, I’m a little smart in some areas,” you said, biting your lip again. Were you doing that on purpose? “Is that braggy? I don’t want it to sound braggy.”

“Not braggy,” he said. Adorable as hell, but not braggy.

“Thanks,” you whispered almost shyly.

Yep, you were adorable. “Kitchen?”

“Oh, yeah. The tour,” you said, following and gasping again. “This is perfect! And is that an old radio?”

He would’ve liked something bigger eventually, but the size was good and the appliances were in great condition. “Yeah, I listen to music here sometimes,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Hey, it’s your space,” you said. It wouldn’t just be his space if you moved in. It would be yours, too. “And I like music.”

“You like pizza and movies, too?”

You stared at him like he suddenly had another head on his shoulder. “Of course, I like pizza and movies! I thought that was a prerequisite to even look at the place.”

He leaned against the counter and folded his arms with a grin. “Except I didn’t ask you about pizza and movies.”

“Touche,” you said, doing a small spin with Alpine still in your arms. Why did he suddenly want to dance with you in the kitchen? “So, you have a great living room, great kitchen. I’m going to guess the bedroom is amazing.”

He swallowed again, trying not to imagine you in his bed. “Yeah, this way.”

Bucky lifted his chin to indicate the direction of the extra bedroom. You immediately went toward it with Alpine still burrowed in your arms, leaving him a few steps behind. He took the opportunity to check you out, his eyes lingering on your ass. You were going to test his resolve if you decided to move in.

You went into the open doorway since the door across from it was closed, your jaw dropping when you looked back at him. “Wow, this is huge!”

Not the only huge thing in this place.

He barely managed to keep that thought to himself. “So, you like it?” he asked. He thought about turning it into an office or workout area or something, but there was no need.

“Yes! I can have my bed here, and put my desk there,” you said, pointing toward the corner. “I could even put a bed in for Alpine if she wanted to sleep in here,” you offered.

“That’s nice of you,” he said. It was very thoughtful.

“Well, it’s her space, too,” you said, nuzzling her before you set her down.

He nodded toward the closed door nearby. “Bathroom is right across the hall, and you won’t have to worry about sharing since my room has an en-suite attached,” he explained. He wasn’t sure how comfortable you would’ve been if you were forced to shower in his bathroom.

“I’ll have my own bathroom, too?” you asked, brushing past him so you could take a quick look inside. It took all of his strength not to push you against the wall and kiss you, which would’ve probably earned him a slap and a call to your friend. “How has no one snatched this place up yet?”

“Al hasn’t been a big fan of anyone, except for you,” he said honestly, looking you over once more.

“I’m honored that she likes me,” you said before you turned to face him, a wide smile lighting up your face. “How soon can I move in?”

He smiled back. “You want to move in?” he asked, those butterflies in his stomach again when you glanced at your feet.

“Only if you want me, too. Oh, yeah, and…” You dug into your purse and pulled out a small notebook, quickly flipping through the pages. “This is the rent price, right? And the estimated amount for the bills? Because I can give you a first and last month if I need to sign an updated lease.”

He looked over the page. Your notes were meticulous. “That’s the right price,” he confirmed, snapping his fingers. “I forgot if I mentioned it in the posting, but I didn’t even show you the washer and dryer. You don’t have to worry about going to a laundromat since I have them here.”

You put the notebook away and pinched yourself. “Nope. Not dreaming,” you said, your smile faltering a little. “But do you really want me living here? I’m boring.”

“I’ve known you for a very short time and I can tell you that you’re not boring,” he said. His life felt more exciting since you showed up today. “And I’m a mechanic, so I’m not exactly living the most exciting life.”

Bucky was proud to be a mechanic, but it was far from glamorous.

“Being a mechanic sounds pretty awesome.” You crossed your arms. “I do puzzles for fun.”

“Sounds like a great Saturday night,” he said without a hint of sarcasm, making you smile again.

“And to be clear, I won’t be bringing guys back here at 3am,” you promised, scrunching your nose. “I don’t know why I felt the need to say that.”

You mentioned in your initial contact that you weren’t seeing anyone, but he felt extra relieved that you didn’t want to bring guys here. “I won’t be bringing guys here at 3am either.”

The giggle you let out warmed his heart. “So, we’re doing this? You really want me to move in?” you asked hopefully. “Because I really will be a great roommate. I’ll clean, cook, and-”

“I want you to move in,” he assured you. He didn’t want anyone else there. “What do you think, Al?”

The feline brushed against your leg with a happy meow, giving you her approval all over again.

You bounced in place and he thought for a second you’d throw your arms around in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Thank you,” he said. You were doing him a huge favor by moving in. “And just to be clear, you’re comfortable living here with me being a guy?”

Bucky had never been more attracted to anyone as quickly as he was to you, but he wasn’t going to disrespect or make you uncomfortable in what would be your new home.

“You promised I’d be perfectly safe here,” you reminded him. He did say that. “And…” The soft smile on your face was an image he wanted engraved in his mind. “I have a good feeling about you.”

He was going to fall head over heels if he wasn’t careful. Who was he kidding? It was too late. “I have a good feeling about you, too,” he said, gazing into your eyes with a soft smile of his own. “And I can’t wait for you to move in.”

God, Steve is going to come over and demand to meet my new roommate. He better not flirt or lay on his golden boy charm.

“Could you excuse me for just a second?” you asked, slipping back into the bedroom. He poked his head in and watched as you did a little jig. It was the sweetest thing he had ever seen. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m a huge dork.”

“You’re far from that,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. You were perfect in his eyes.

“I just…” You turned a blinding smile his way. “I feel like I hit the jackpot!”

I’m the one who hit the jackpot.

And we know how the story goes for these two (so far). 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tripletstephaniescp]

I love how protective Bucky is as a dad. And how into his wife he is, which is not surprising. Wink. Love this story.

Bucky Barnes vs. Ethan Stark

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Reader Word Count: ~2.5k Warnings: Sap | Overloaded fluff | Silver fox Bucky(?) | Language | Allusions to spicy times | MDNI | Protective dad Bucky | Grumpy Bucky | Ethan 'Menace' Stark | Friends to lovers trope | Chaos galore | Tom Welling as Ethan Stark 🤭 | very much Unbeta'd | Let me know if I'm missing anything. A/N: This is one of the fics that got scraped. And what better day to repost dad!Bucky than Father's Day? There are allusions to SMUT, but I'm not labeling it because my fics aren't showing up under fic-tags. I reached out to Tumblr support and waiting for them to resolve it, but until then, consider this as a label. @soelstress sowed this idea in my head after reading Sappy Sunday Thought. Thank you, my lovely Soels! I have no clue how far and how deep I'm gonna spiral with this, but hey...this is a start. 💕🤭 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider credits to me. Picture credits to the Pinterest. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

According to Bucky, you were a savage.

Bucky was ecstatic until you soured his mood. Because you'd waited until three orgasms later to tell him, right after he pounded you against the wall, while his brain was still trying to catch up, when you delivered the blow. No pun there.

He woke up utterly happy that morning. Your daughter, Olivia, was coming home for the summer. She'd just completed her junior year at university, and you had both been counting the days until you saw your baby.

Over the past month, your daughter and husband had been busy planning quite a few activities for all of you. Bucky had even cut down most of his training schedule for the summer too. You, unfortunately, didn't have the same luxury. The project you and Tony had been working on with DOE was heading into fabrication, and you needed to put in a few more days of brutal work hours before you could dial down.

This visit was extra special. Olivia hadn't been home last summer. She'd spent it halfway across the country, interning at a start-up company in a research program, which she still heard her Uncle Tony whine about it. Most holidays were little weekend sprints. But this time, she was staying for the whole summer.

'Coz this time, she'd landed an internship with the research team at the compound after clearing a written exam and three rounds of interviews. Out of all the applicants, she was one of the three selected to intern at Avengers Initiative.

Tony had no idea, and Olivia had begged Pepper and Maria to keep it low. Olivia was too humble. She was determined to prove herself on her merit, not wanting anyone to think she'd been accepted into the program simply because of her connections. You were proud of your daughter. But there was no doubt Tony would be squealing when he found out Olivia was back and working at the compound, no less.

Bucky had been practically buzzing with excitement, already pulling on his jacket to head for the airport when you casually told him that he'd also be picking up Ethan Stark, who was flying with Olivia.

Bucky's pleasure-ridden mood fizzled out drastically. He turned to glare at you.

On the same fucking plane.

The absolute nightmare.

"Why the fuck was I not aware of this?" He snapped, stalking after you as you got dressed for work.

"Bucky," you sighed, not even sparing him a glance. You were running late, and it was all Bucky's fault. He couldn't keep his hands to himself, not that you minded very much.

It wasn't unpopular that your husband despised Ethan Stark from the moment Olivia was born--mostly because that kid had taken an immediate, obnoxious liking toward his daughter. And it had only gotten worse over time.

"No, seriously. Did you know that they were flying together?" Bucky pressed, backing you up against the couch with his hands caging you in. You tried to shuffle away, but he pushed his thigh between your legs.

"Hey," you squeaked, giggling and squirming, a little sensitive from earlier.

You tried to push him away, chuckling, but he didn't budge. Of course, he didn't. Instead, he flexed his muscles just right, making you moan.

"Tell me," he demanded. You found his pouty, murderous expression endearing.

Honestly, you knew exactly what you were doing. You'd only found out last night that Olivia and Ethan were flying home together. Smart girl that she was, Olivia hadn't breathed a word to her dad either, probably because it was common knowledge in your house that Bucky had a short fuse where Ethan Stark was concerned.

You hadn't meant to hide it.

Maybe you did.

You just figured it wasn't worth mentioning since Ethan already had a ride home from the airport, and you knew Bucky would go no matter what to pick Olivia. So, you decided not to poke the bear, if not required. But then Pepper called, asking for a favor, and honestly, you could never say no to her.

You sighed, winding your arms around his neck. Bucky leaned into you without the slightest resistance, his scorching blue eyes fanning the embers, sparking that wicked burn inside your core.

Fuck, he looked delectable. You'd gotten ridiculously lucky. The silver in his beard, the faint crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and those soft pink lips- all of it made you giddy. And he was all yours.

You pushed up onto your toes, one hand sliding to cup his jaw, your thumb dragging lightly over the coarse scruff. Bucky's breath came slower, as he relaxed into your touch, his jaw unclenching under your touch as he melted closer, letting you pull him exactly where you wanted.

"Bucky," you said sweetly, gently, pecking his lips and scratching lightly at the nape of his neck.

He groaned against your lips, moving to take more, but you slightly inched away, "They've been friends forever. They go to the same school."

"Yeah, still haven't gotten over that shit," Bucky grumbled, recalling the day Olivia got an admit to MIT, where Ethan Stark was pursuing his PhD.

"Ethan's a good kid. Besides, he really cares about her," You added before you could stop yourself.

And boy, you really should have shut up after 'good kid.'

Bucky looked absolutely repulsed, like you'd suggested he walk Olivia down the aisle- something you weren't supposed to talk about, let alone think, according to him. That was his rule. To him, Olivia was still his little baby, and he didn't have to worry about that just yet.

"Exactly. That's the fucking problem," Bucky growled, looking like he was about to punch something.

Ugh! You banged your head against his chest, frustrated.

This was going to be a long summer.

You wished Steve or Sam were here instead of on a mission. They would've picked up the kids from the airport without throwing a fit, unlike your husband.

"I'm NOT getting into this discussion. AGAIN. I need to get to the lab, or Tony's gonna roast me," you warned, wiggling out of his grip, and he reluctantly let you.

"Pepper asked. Please, Buck?" you requested again, rushing toward the door. When you heard nothing, you glanced back to see him sulking on the couch, arms crossed, frown still intact. He looked way too adorable for your own good.

Groaning, you marched back to him and dropped yourself into his lap. His hands automatically wound around you, helping you straddle his lap and tugging you closer, still refusing to look at you.

Stubborn little shit!

You ran your thumb over the crease between his brows.

"Bucky, please?"

"No."

"Bucky."

"No."

"I'll do anything," you tried, wiggling your brows.

"Don't bribe me with your body. It's mine." Bucky exclaimed, squeezing your tit in retaliation. He was not wrong. That kind of deal never worked on your husband.

"Bucky," you tried again, exasperated.

"Fine, anything?" He asked, eyes narrowed at you.

You nodded earnestly.

"Call Pepper and tell her I can't pick up her son." He scoffed.

When you sat there with your game face, silently throwing daggers and not ready to budge, he finally gave in.

"Fine," he conceded, rolling his eyes at you before pulling you in for a kiss.

****

Cramped into the narrow economy seat on a completely packed flight, Olivia Barnes was a nervous wreck. She hadn't planned to be anxious she was super excited to finally see you and her dad, but then her phone buzzed just as they were taxiing for takeoff.

Livi, Dad's gonna pick you and Ethan up. Love you. Can't wait to see you. Safe travels to you both.

Her stomach dropped.

Uh-oh.

Normally, that kind of text wouldn't bother her that much.

Except things were different now.

Very different.

Olivia knew her dad wasn't exactly a fan of Ethan- or any of her guy friends, for that matter. Bucky had a way of scaring most of her guy friends without even trying, but Ethan was different. He didn't scare easily. Olivia actually kind of enjoyed the back-and-forth between the two of them. But now, things were different. Now, she wanted Ethan to be in her dad's good books. Scratch that- his best books.

The tall, annoyingly handsome man sitting next to her, currently wrestling to fit his long legs into a comfortable position, was no longer just her best friend. He was her boyfriend. And no one knew. Well, except for Morgan and most surely aunt Nat.

Trying to steady her racing heart, Olivia leaned toward Ethan and hissed under her breath, "Why didn't you just sit in first class when they offered?"

Right before boarding, an airline associate had bumped Ethan's seat to first class--the perks of being Ethan Stark, son of the legendary Tony Stark.

A girl had recognized him despite his pathetic disguise of a baseball cap and dark glasses. "How's the ruse working, Superman?" Olivia had teased when the associate beamed at him, whispering about the upgrade. Ethan had flat-out denied it and stubbornly refused, choosing to stay right next to Olivia.

"In your dreams," he said now, flashing a grin that made her stomach flip warmly. "I'm sitting right next to you. Deal with it."

To make his point clear, Ethan moved one of his legs between hers, lifting her leg onto his and resting his hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Olivia rolled her eyes and shoved her phone toward him, showing him your text.

Ethan read it.

Blinked.

Blinked.

Blinked some more.

Then chuckled low and rough in his chest.

"Fuck me," he muttered, wide-eyed, looking at her.

"Ethan," Olivia snapped quietly, swatting his hand away from her thigh. "You need to be on your absolute best behavior. I mean it. Do not, I repeat, do not irk him."

"I never do," Ethan scoffed, leaning back in his seat. He pulled her hand into his, interlacing his fingers with hers. "He just hates me because I love you."

Olivia groaned, helplessly.

"Are you listening?" she grumbled weakly. "Until we break it to your mom and dad, and my mom, and Uncle Stevie and Sammy, we are playing it cool."

"And, will you stay as far away from as humanly possible, please?" she added.

Ethan smacked his lips in annoyance, squinting at her.

"Yeah, that? Can't do that," he said stubbornly, inching closer, and quickly pecked her lips.

"Ethan," she glared at him, "I'm fucking serious."

"So am I," he said simply.

"I can't!" He shrugged. "How am I supposed to hold back when you keep looking at me like that?"

"I'm glaring at you," Olivia said flatly.

"And you're hot," Ethan said, sniggering as he shamelessly snuggled his head onto her shoulder.

"Guess you'll have to try real hard then," she muttered, trying not to laugh. He was warm, smelled so good, and his floofy hair tickled her neck.

"Fine," he sighed dramatically, sitting up with a little pout. But not before stealing a quick kiss on her shoulder, making her stomach tingle.

"Fuck you, Ethan," she said, picking up the magazine from the flap in front of her, trying to distract herself.

"I'm game," he whispered warmly against her ear, winking at her.

Feeling her entire face heat up, she beat him with the magazine. He simply laughed.

"Alright. Distance. Noted," he chuckled, but made himself comfortable again, resting his head on the curve of her shoulder. He slept there for the next hour.

Not that she minded.

~

By the time the plane landed in LaGuardia, Olivia was more anxious.

Bucky's text was already waiting when they turned their phones back on.

Shared my location. See ya in a bit. Love you, sweetheart.

Olivia's palms were sweating.

They had to be friendly... but not too friendly.

Close enough to not look suspicious. Distant enough to protect Ethan from her dad's wrath.

To her absolute horror, Ethan snuck in a kiss at the baggage claim. "Don't know when I'll see you alone again," he said dramatically. As Olivia reached for her suitcase, he snagged her wrist, pulling her into him for a kiss.

Olivia jerked back so fast that she nearly toppled the luggage cart.

"Are you out of your mind?!" she whisper-yelled, throwing a frantic look around.

Ethan snorted, "Relax, my Livi. Your dad's outside," he said smugly, showing her phone where Bucky's location was blinking.

She gave him a dirty glare and marched ahead, clutching her backpack tightly.

And that's exactly how Bucky found them a few minutes later- Olivia marching stiffly forward, searching for him, with Ethan trailing behind her, grinning.

His gaze narrowed the second he spotted them.

What started as a survival skill, observation became instinctual for Bucky Barnes. And he was hyper-focused when you or his daughter were in the picture.

So, he didn't miss the way Olivia's ears turned pink when she saw him.

He didn't miss the way Ethan instinctively shifted a little closer to her before catching himself and awkwardly veering right.

When Olivia rushed to hug him happily, he didn't miss the smell of Ethan Stark's perfume on his daughter.

He didn't miss a damn thing.

~

Bucky barely said a word to Ethan after the initial greeting.

"Ethan," Bucky acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Sir," Ethan replied with a grin.

Olivia climbed into the passenger seat, nervous, while Ethan tossed both of their bags into the trunk before sliding into the back seat. He positioned himself right behind her seat.

Bucky glanced at them both, his eyes flickering between Olivia's stiff posture and Ethan's relaxed form.

"Good flight?" he asked casually.

"Great!" Olivia blurted out, flashing a smile.

"Terrible," Ethan chimed in simultaneously, leaning back with a dramatic sigh.

Olivia shot him a look through the side mirror.

Bucky's eyebrows lifted slightly, his gaze shifting to the mirror where he caught Ethan's reflection.

"Terrible?" he echoed, starting the car.

Ethan shrugged. "Well, you know… long legs and economy seats."

"Thought you'd travel first-class," Bucky pointed out, pulling out onto the next lane.

Olivia stiffened.

"Dad," Olivia chided. This passive aggression was nothing new, but that remark wasn't cool.

Ethan chuckled, "Yeah, well… first class is a bit expensive, sir. I'm saving money."

Apart from a million other things, this was what Olivia loved the most about him. Ethan Stark was a self-made man, just like her. She noticed the slight twitch at the corner of her dad's lips, a nearly imperceptible sign of approval at Ethan's answer.

That was a damn miracle right there.

Great job, Ethan! She thought...too soon, though.

"Though they did bump me into first class, I couldn't leave Livi alone back there," Ethan added.

Fucking menace was what he was! Ugh! Dickhead!

Olivia nearly facepalmed.

Bucky's eyes flicked toward her, then back to the road. "Didn't realize you two couldn't survive a couple of hours apart," he bit out.

The tension in the car thickened instantly.

Olivia forced a laugh that sounded more like a choking. "Dad…"

"Kidding," Bucky hummed, his tone unreadable.

He was so not kidding, alright!

For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing but silence. Olivia stared determinedly out the window, holding back the urge to scream at the man she loved- and at the same time, wanting to kick him out of the car so she could breathe and catch up with her dad normally.

God, he was annoying. She specifically told him not to irk her dad, but nope. What was he even thinking?

Meanwhile, Ethan seemed entirely too comfortable lounging in the back seat, utterly unbothered by the tension filling in the tiny space.

Quite dreadful, really. And the summer had barely even started.

Well?

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[tripletstephaniescp]

That's a civic duty I would WANT to fulfill!!!

Giddy Affairs

Pairing: Congressman!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader WC: ~300 Warnings: Fluff | Established relationship | Bucky getting nasty with you in his office | Bucky being insatiable | Bucky being a simp for his wife | Bucky being hot and incorrigible | Allusions to spicy times | Some wrist-tying | Some language | Very much unbeta’d | Lemme know if I missed anything! A/N: Sorry, I haven't been in a great headspace and I've been running my blog on queue. I promise I'll get back to all your wonderful messages/asks/reblogs ASAP. Put this together super quickly for Hot Bucky Summer 2025 | Week 03 Prompt: "Not now" | @buckybarnesevents Thank you for hosting. 😊✨🥹💞 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

"Where d'you think you're going?" Bucky drawled, fisting your dress at the small of your back and yanking you against him.

"OW! BUCKY."

You chuckled, trying to squirm away from his grip, but he didn't let you up, instead, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing you firmly to him as he dragged you toward his office.

"Congressman Barnes, Mr. Elliot wants to meet you," Grayson, Bucky's assistant, stopped you just before you both entered Bucky's office. He was clearly flustered to have walked in on yet another intimate moment.

"Not now. Reschedule it for tomorrow," Bucky murmured tersely.

You blushed, offering Grayson an awkward smile before Bucky shut the door.

"Bucky," you admonished, giggling as he lifted you with one arm and carried you to the couch.

He tossed aside his suit jacket, muttering about, "Stupid entrapments."

"What did you think, Mrs. Barnes? You'd show up looking like that and torture me?"

"I love that tie. Don't ruin it, Mr. Barnes," you warned, biting back your grin when you saw him loosen his tie in a hurry to unbutton the top two buttons of his white shirt.

You toed off your heels as he backed you toward the plush couch.

"That tie," he said, already yanking it loose, "is now your problem."

Before you could quip back, he pounced, pinning your wrists to the cushions and expertly looping the silk around. "You're too smug for a woman about to be ruined by her husband."

You laughed, breathless and bound, "Congressman Barnes, you're abusing your power."

He leaned in, nipping at your jaw, "I'm exercising my rights."

"How very patriotic."

"Mmm. Civic duty, doll," His smug reply went muffled as he licked a trail down your chest and took one of your tits into his mouth.

A sudden thought occurred to you, "Buck. The cameras."

He paused, chuckling, eyes glinting at you, "I disabled 'em the time we broke the desk."

"Good times," you said, your laugh turning into a lewd moan as he dragged your panties down.

"Let's see if we can top those times, sweetheart," he said, unzipping his pants.

Well?!

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[tripletstephaniescp]

I do, and can I say that right back to you? Love you lots! 🥰😘🥰

Boom! A wild Bucky dropped into your inbox! He dares you to share a little something with “I love you, but if you don’t clean that mess, I’m gonna put you over my knee!”

Entrancing Haze

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader WC: ~1k Warnings: Established relationship | Domestic fluff | Cavity-causing Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Protective Supersoldiers | Allusions to naughty times | Poly relationship | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: Thanks for sending me this ask, Syd! 🥹 Sorry I sat on this one for awfully long. Wild Bucky made me all giddy, and I had like three or four ideas, and I decidedly went with Stucky, 'coz why not? Hope you enjoy this, my love 💞 This is also my submission for Stucky Bingo | Prompt: Tickling | @stuckybingo Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!

Indulge Away!

His tongue was to be blamed, peeking out to lick his lower lip.

And that bloody strand of hair was to be blamed too, 'coz it was distracting.

Everything Steve was distracting. Your eyes drifted over the muscles shifting beneath his white tank top, and his eyes reflected the bleaky gray skies, as he painted the pouring cityscape.

Sweet heavens! He looked extra sexy when he painted!

You reached up to tuck the unruly hair back, but Steve caught your wrist mid-movement and pressed a kiss to your palm, making you shudder and smile in sweet distress.

You both were tucked near the open balcony door, the sound of rain filtering out most of the noise in your head, lulling you into a happy haze.

You'd started the afternoon rearranging the bookshelf, but somewhere between organizing and flipping through a novel, you'd abandoned the task entirely. You moved over to his side, set the book down, and rested your face against his arm, cheek pressed to the solid warmth of his bicep, watching the plain canvas come to life.

"You're so pretty," you mumbled.

"You're pretty," he whispered, tugging you gently into his lap and nuzzling into your neck, leaving a trail of warm kisses that made you giggle.

"But you're divine, Steve. I don't say it enough, do I?" You sighed, craning your neck to look up at him.

He kissed your hair and rested his chin on your head, nudging you to look ahead. Steve Rogers was blushing, and it was kinda endearing you did that to him.

"You do. You spoil us rotten," he said, handing you the brush.

"Nope." You shook your head stubbornly, trying to pull away.

"Shut up and take the brush." He held it out again.

"So bossy," you muttered.

"Are you complaining?" Steve chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. And yeah, you were not complaining at all. But he didn't need to know that.

Apparently, you were also not too shabby at painting either, at least according to Steve. You both were painting together now, and your initial nerves had melted away somewhere in the rainy downpour.

"Use the flat brush," Steve said, his voice warm against your ear. You picked it up, scooping a mix of Payne's Gray and Diaxozine Purple onto the bristles.

"Take more," he insisted, kissing your neck. You obeyed, dabbing a little more oil paint before dragging it across the canvas.

A chill breeze curled around your ankles, making you cocoon your feet more into the warmth of his lap.

It was serene.

Blissful.

Until.

Creeeaaaak.

More creaking.

You flinched. Steve did, too, hissing when the sound hit his sensitive ears, making you bounce in his lap.

"BUCKY," he growled.

A grunt and some very aggressive huffs followed, and then Bucky appeared, looking mildly annoyed and absolutely fucking adorable.

"What're you doing?" Steve asked, fully exasperated.

Bucky rolled his eyes. He looked from you to Steve to the scattered books.

"I love you," he began, pointing at the mess, "but if you don't clean that up, I will put you over my knee."

You gasped.

Steve snorted.

"Excuse you. I AM rearranging. Just got a little distracted, is all," you said, indignant. "And what the hell were you doing?" you asked, brushing more paint across the canvas.

"The shelf's blocking the flow of the room. I'm moving it."

"Bucky," you said sharply. "You promised you'd nap."

"You two shouldn't have left me in the bed alone then," he huffed, stepping closer.

"Seriously? I slept beside you for six straight hours this morning," you pointed out. "If I fall asleep again now, I'm gonna be wide awake all night." You paused, then added as an afterthought, "Maybe take Steve."

That innuendo was lost on Steve but not on Bucky because Bucky smirked, "I mean, I wouldn't mind."

"Nope. We need to work on your sleep schedule, Buck," Steve said in that disapproving tone that usually irked both you and Bucky. But right now, it wasn't directed at you. So you simply nodded.

"Fine. I'll just rearrange things," Bucky grumbled.

"If Mrs. Batton comes knocking the door complaining about the noise, I'm not dealing with her," you stated.

Bucky chuckled smugly.

You elbowed Steve, "Tell him to cut it out."

Steve shrugged. "This one's on you."

You gasped. "The fuck do you mean?"

Steve leaned in and kissed your cheek. You swatted at him, narrowing your eyes. "No, really. What do you mean?"

Bucky snorted behind you.

"You were the one who showed him those home improvement videos," Steve said, shrugging nonchalantly.

You frowned and looked at Bucky, who looked entirely too pleased with himself.

And the moment you saw Bucky take a step toward you, you knew what he was going to do. You pointed at him, "Keep your hands to yourself!"

"I don't think so. C'mere," Bucky grinned.

"No," you said, holding onto Steve's thighs.

"No?" Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"No?" Steve echoed, clearly enjoying this.

"Alright then. Make space, Punk," Bucky smirked, marching forward and attempting to lift you right off Steve's lap. The brush you held clattered to the floor.

"STEVE!" you cried, glaring at him as he actually made space for Bucky.

You clung to Steve's ankles. "You can't make me go!"

"You little menace," Steve laughed, trying to stay upright as you scrambled for leverage.

You lost your balance and collapsed fully onto Steve's lap, dragging Bucky down with you. He landed with a grunt. You tried to crawl away, but nope. Not happening. Steve wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

You laughed helplessly, thrashing in their grip.

"Lemme go!"

"OW. That tickles," Steve yelled when your fingers traveled from his ankles to his calves, right over his weak spot. He stumbled backward and accidentally shoved the couch.

"Oh, you started it," Bucky warned. He flipped you around in one swift motion. You lost your grip on Steve's legs and ended up face planting on Steve's chest, with Bucky falling on top of you both. He started tickling you, vigorously.

"You did start it," Steve added, holding your waist as Bucky kept going.

Oh no.

"BUCKYYYYY!"

You shrieked, laughing as they tickled your sides without mercy. You twisted around in their grip, knees knocking against Steve's, swatting at their hands.

Then you had an idea. A feral idea. Without much thought, you flashed them. The effect was instant.

Both men staggered, letting out throaty groans.

You took full advantage and bolted.

"She's definitely getting spanked for that," Bucky said through a laugh, already getting up.

"Yep," Steve agreed, hopping to his feet.

Laughing wildly, you didn't look back. You sprinted down the hallway, dove into the bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind you, and went teetering into the shelf.

"OUCH!" you yelped. Bucky! You lil shit!

"Hey," Steve called, "You okay in there?"

"Did you fall?" Bucky asked, banging the door.

"I just bumped into the shelf. Not a big deal," you replied, sighing as you rubbed your elbow.

"I'm fine!" you said before they started tearing down the door from the hinges with worry.

"No shit! Open the door," Bucky said hurriedly, his voice muffled against the wood.

"Promise no more tickles?" you asked, still buzzing with adrenaline.

"Doll," Bucky warned.

"Open the door," Steve said firmly.

"Geez! Calm down, both of you." You chuckled, opening the door and grinning proudly. After all, it was not every day you managed to escape the clutches of not one but two of your super soldiers.

They took a whole minute inspecting you for injuries, all while you assured you were fine.

Once sure you were okay, Bucky scooped you up and carried you to the bed while Steve pushed the shelf out of the way.

"We were supposed to be working on Bucky's sleep schedule," You reminded Steve over Bucky's shoulder.

"Who said we're sleeping?" Steve said, stripping away his vest and joining you both.

"What he said," Bucky said against your lips, grinning and taking your lips into a blinding kiss, "Let's start with five on each bum, what say, Captain," Bucky added after breaking the kiss.

"Sounds fair to me," Steve said, tugging your pants down.

"Noooo," you laughed, squirming away.

Much later, Mrs. Batton did come knocking on the door, but you'd be too lost moaning screaming to answer.

Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!

Well? 🤭 Did that tickle your fancy?

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

[tripletstephaniescp]

I am loving everything about this including the idea that she is just coming into her own.

Starting Over

Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're ready to start over, and your neighbor makes a lasting impression.

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, asshole ex, Alpine appearance, Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)

A/N: Here we are! My trailer park!Bucky intro. We're calling this AU Diamond in the Rough. Thanks to the nonnies and everyone who has asked about him. He's here, @ellethespaceunicorn, @targaryenvampireslayer, @vunblr, @vesearlee, @startcarvingdarling, @thezombieprostitute, @buckybarnesfic (sorry to anyone I missed)!❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Your life went up in flames recently all thanks to the match you struck. If people asked your parents, your friends, your old boss, or your now ex-boyfriend, they’d likely say it was a mid-life crisis or form of rebellion to get some sort of attention. The truth was that the fuel had spread for years, daring you to light it all on fire, and you did when you finally had enough. You wouldn’t say the old you was dead and that you were reborn, but you weren’t who you were yesterday either. 

This was the start of a different, and hopefully happier, version of you.

Staring at the worn down trailer in front of you, you hadn't made your way inside just yet. While your place with your ex had been large and open and new, this place had seen better days. It needed a fresh coat of paint to start, a new door and windows. It was sinking in that this was really going to be your new home, and it made you happy. 

“I’ll bring you back to life,” you whispered, determined to give this place the TLC that it deserved. If you poured yourself into this, maybe it would fix something inside you, too. You certainly didn’t need your ex or anyone else to help.

You looked over at your car, your beautiful Mustang, which had everything you thought to pack. Your bed and other furniture wouldn't get delivered until later, but that was okay. It hurt to think so much of your life, what defined you, could be boiled down to material possessions, but weren't you fortunate since so many had much less? Maybe unpacking as much as you could today would occupy your time and thoughts.

Like finding a new job, something you truly wanted to do and not what was expected of you. 

Your phone went off and you hesitated to look at the message, not sure who it would be from. It was funny how for years no one went out of their way to talk to you unless they needed something. Now that you were gone they suddenly cared? The thought left a hollow feeling in your chest, one you didn’t want to examine today.

“I have a bet on how long it’ll take you to come crawling back to me. Can’t wait to see you on your knees with those pretty tears when you beg for forgiveness, Pumpkin. And let’s face it, on your knees is where you belong because you’re nothing without me.” 

A surge of anger flooded your veins as you reread it. Even now he expected you’d come back with your tail between your legs where he could look down on you. He had another thing coming. “Trust fund prick,” you muttered, your finger hovering only for a moment before you blocked him. You should’ve done that the moment you dumped him, but doing it now in front of your new home, it felt more right. 

Your eyes burned when you put your phone away and an empty feeling began to consume you. Why were you close to tears? Because of him? You knew from the beginning what kind of man he was and you lied to yourself to maintain the facade that everyone else wanted. You were tired of living for other people’s expectations. This was your life, you didn’t need a man, and-

“You lost?”

You turned at the sound of the deep voice just feet behind you, trembling ever so slightly when you saw the man that husky voice belonged to. The sight knocked the very breath from your lungs. You were used to being surrounded by guys who paraded themselves as men, but they were little boys playing dress up. But the man in front of you? He was all man.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

He stood tall and proud, but relaxed and at ease in his element. Blue eyes like an ocean, yet he was the calm of the storm. The short dark brown hair matched his thick goatee and you wished you could feel it against your skin so you knew if it was soft or scratchy. The white tank top showed off his muscles and tattoos and the chain around his neck dipped beneath the neckline. The low hanging jeans hid what you knew was an amazing package. He was something out of a wet dream, the kind of man who looked like trouble.

The kind of man you should stay away from, but wanted to chase after you.

He slowly licked his bottom lip before he asked, “Cat got your tongue, Sweet Cheeks?”

Your face felt like it would go up in flames. Being attracted to what you believed was a new neighbor wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. “No, and I’m not lost,” you replied, gesturing to what was now your home. “I live here now.”

You could see why he thought you were lost since it was obvious you weren’t from around there. When you looked for a new place, you purposely picked an area far from your old place. If you had stayed close, it wouldn’t have severed the ties enough. It would’ve made your leash longer and that wouldn’t do. 

“Is that right?” He looked you over from head to toe and your mouth went dry when he smirked, the kind that likely disintegrated panties. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

The ruggedly handsome man held his hand out for you, and you only just realized he was wearing rings. What would it feel like if they dug into your skin? And, yes, you may have glanced at his left hand to see if he was wearing a wedding ring, which he wasn’t. “Thanks for the welcome,” you said, taking his hand. 

Electricity crackled between you, feeling the crackle from head to toe. The intensity shook you to your core when he locked his eyes with yours and brought your hand to his lips and kissed it instead of shaking it. You let out a breath when his goatee tickled your skin, his eyes locked with yours. Well, that answered your question- both soft and scruffy, the kind that would leave a delicious burn between your thighs. 

Jesus, you needed to keep your libido under control. You just got out of a relationship. Weren’t you just thinking moments ago how you didn’t need a man?

“I’m Bucky,” he said against your skin, reluctantly releasing your hand. “You wanna tell me your name, or should I just keep calling you ‘Sweet Cheeks’?” 

You told him your name, the sound barely above a whisper. He hummed and repeated it. Never once did you think your name sounded sexy until he said it.

“Why are you calling me Sweet Cheeks?” you asked. Did he call every pretty woman that? Not that you were full of yourself and thought you were drop-dead gorgeous, but you had some confidence in your looks.

He chuckled, a throaty sound that made you want to hear it again. “Well, I hope you don't mind me being forward, but…” he began.

You tensed up a little and looked down at yourself. Was he going to make a comment that you didn't belong there? That you stood out like a sore thumb? You were dressed down, but still looked pristine as you always did, a habit instilled in you that you had to look put together no matter if you were crumbling inside. Appearance meant everything to your family, and you needed to let that expectation go.

“Your ass looks incredible in those jeans. Sweetest fucking cheeks I’ve ever seen and that’s with your pants on.” He licked his lips when his gaze drifted down your body. “I don’t think I’ve seen a better ass than yours.”

You blinked and looked behind you to get a look at yourself. “Excuse me?” you asked. Of all the things you thought he’d say, that wasn't one of them. 

“I saw you from behind and stared for a good minute, thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you, before I walked over. You have the kind of ass that should be worshipped. Could make a grown man cry,” he said, your heart speeding up and your core throbbing. “And then you turn around with the face of a fucking angel and I swear my heart stopped,” he added, putting both hands on his chest for emphasis. “Givin’ me a heart attack over here.”

You almost laughed because he couldn’t be serious, but there was no humor in his eyes. In fact, he scanned your face like he was trying to memorize it. “That’s… no. My ass isn’t that great. Neither is my face,” you said. It wasn’t to fish for a compliment, as nice as it would've been, because while you had some confidence in yourself, you didn’t have that great of an ass.

But beauty was in the eye of the beholder, wasn’t it, and he looked like he was two seconds from dropping to his knees in the dirt to worship you like he claimed he wanted to.

“Tell that to my racing heart and my cock,” he said, your mouth parting when he pointed to his crotch. “But if you continue to disagree, I’m more than happy to show you how wrong you are.”

Your words were stuck in your throat, not used to being the center of someone’s attention that way. “I’m sorry, but we just met,” you said, unsure of how else to respond. He didn’t know you, apart from your name, and he was talking about worshipping your ass and looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole?

It was… kind of flattering. What would you have to be upset about? Weren’t you mentally telling your libido to calm down at the sight of him? You were attracted to him, he was just the one being brave enough to vocalize his attraction to you.

His gaze didn’t waver when he said, “Yeah, we just met, but I want you.”

Your mouth parted again. Well, he was certainly forward and that didn’t bother you. It was better than the fake people you surrounded yourself with before spouting pretty lies. “You want me? You don’t know me and I could be a taken woman,” you pointed out.

“I’ll get to know you if you let me. ‘Sides, it’s not like I see a ring or indentation on your finger, so I don’t think you’re married or engaged. And I sure as hell don’t see anyone here helping you with your stuff, so I’m guessing you’ve been single for a while or you recently got out of a relationship,” he said, taking a look around to make his point before he focused on you once again. You weren’t at all upset that he noticed your bare finger since you had looked at his, too. “You wanna be a taken woman?”

Was it that obvious that you were all alone? “So what if I did just get out of a relationship?” you asked. There was nothing wrong with getting out of something that wasn’t right. 

He smiled, not pushing when you didn’t answer his question. “Then he’s a fucking idiot for letting you go. And what better way to get over someone than getting under another?”

“I dumped him,” you clarified, not knowing why you needed him to know that. Your ex was likely spewing to everyone that he dumped you to save face, but that’s not what happened. “And I’m already over him.”

You should’ve felt guilty for that, but he wasn’t your forever and you weren’t his. He was free to find someone who fit with him better than you ever did. You were free to find your own happiness. 

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked, your legs pressing together. You had to get a grip. “And I wasn’t implying that he dumped you, only that he’s an idiot for letting you go and I’m happy to help you forget all about him.”

You finally let your laugh out and you swore you heard him groan. Did he like the sound of your laughter? “You really are forward, and I just said I don’t need to get over him.”

“I said I’d help you forget about him,” he said, taking a step forward and smiling when you didn’t step back. You weren’t some wilting flower he’d pluck from the soil. “Just let me fuck him from your memories and I swear you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

You frowned. Did he think you were an easy lay, or was he picking up on your attraction to him and running with it? “I haven’t even moved into my trailer yet, so maybe you should let me get settled before you continue to… I don’t know, harass me.”

His eyebrows shot up and the amusement died in his eyes. “Harass you? That’s not what I’m doing,” he swore, taking a step back to give you space. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you or came on too strong.”

The apology took you by surprise and slowly warmed you inside. Not many people ever apologized to you for anything. “No, I’m sorry. Harass wasn’t the right word,” you said. It was just flirting. Very… strong flirting. “But if that isn’t it, what are you doing?”

He smiled after a moment, that spark back in his eyes. “Just grabbing an opportunity when I see it. Life’s too short not to,” he said.

You respected that perspective. “Is that what I am? An opportunity?” you asked. Something to get out of his system?

“I think you’re a lot more than that and that you may be running from something,” he replied, tilting his head. “Are you running from something or someone?”

He asked like he genuinely cared and you didn’t know how to process that. “I wouldn’t say I’m running,” you said, though you were running in a way, running from the life you no longer wanted. “More like I finally closed a chapter.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you and helping you write a new chapter.”

“You say that like it’s a sure thing,” you said.

When his eyes swept over you again, it didn’t look like he was checking you out. It was as if he was trying to figure you out. “‘Cause it is,” he said, glancing at your door before you could say anything to his cocky remark. “Can help you out with repairs if you’d like.”

“I might take you up on that,” you said since you didn’t really have a clue what you were doing when it came to the handyman type of stuff. You could pay him, too. “Don’t get too excited. I said ‘might’,” you teased when he smiled. 

Something in your gut said that even if he wasn’t hitting on you that he would’ve offered to help. It was a feeling you had, just like he had a feeling about you. And sure, he looked like danger and sin and everything you should stay away from, but there was more to him than met the eye. 

What was his story? Who was the man behind the swagger and tattoos and rough edges? Did he grow up here or did he make a choice like you? 

“I run my own shop. I’m very good with my…” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Tools.”

You laughed again, louder than before, and his smile widened. “You really are something, Bucky,” he said.

“Love hearing you say my name,” he whispered, heat pooling in your gut before he pointed at your car with a whistle. “And she is a beauty. You ever need any help with her, you let me know.”

You agreed. She was a beauty. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ll take me for a ride or something like that?”

“Oh, I'll give you a ride,” he said in a low voice. “As many as you want.”

You ignored the ache between your thighs. “Not today, Bucky. I need to unpack.”

“One sec, Sweet Cheeks.”

“...Is that seriously what you’re going to call me?” you asked as he rushed to his trailer. It was ridiculous, but you didn’t hate it. You sure as hell liked it better than Pumpkin.

“‘Til the day I die,” he called back, whistling when he opened the door. “C’mere, girl. I got someone I want you to meet.”

Your brows furrowed. Who was in there who would possibly want to meet you? Did he have a kid?

You weren’t prepared for a white ball of fur to curl up in Bucky’s waiting arms. “And who is this?” you asked when he strolled back over. The image of such a beautiful cat in his arms was one that would put a smile on your face for days to come.

“This is Alpine. Found her near my shop a while back, starving and shivering. Nursed her back to health and she’s been by my side ever since,” he said, affection written all over his face. There was no bragging in his tone and that made you appreciate his story more. “Al, meet our beautiful new neighbor.”

You weren’t about to preen since he called you beautiful. “Oh, my god,” you whispered, tentatively holding a hand out to her when she lifted her head and regarded you with bright eyes. “Hi there.”

Alpine stared for a few seconds before she sniffed your fingertips and rubbed her head against them, encouraging you to pet her. You felt Bucky’s penetrating stare when you gently stroked her fur. “She’s a great judge of character,” he said, swearing under his breath. “I’m such a dick.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. He was a very forward flirt, but you didn’t get the impression that he was a dick.

“I didn’t ask if you were allergic,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Fuck.”

Your heart turned over. No one you knew would’ve ever considered that. “I would’ve told you right away if I was allergic,” you assured him, smiling when Alpine purred. “I’m glad he was able to nurse you back to health. I’ll bet you watch over everyone around here, don't you?”

You could just imagine her being a little guardian and your heart twisted. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to get a pet. Like your trailer, you could shower a pet with love, too. 

Alpine surprised you when she moved forward and pressed her head to yours. “Fuck me,” Bucky whispered when she curled up again and closed her eyes. “She really fucking likes you.”

“Maybe she’s just being nice,” you said. 

“Trust me, she wouldn’t do that unless she really liked you,” he said, leaning down slightly to kiss the top of Alpine's head. “Would you, Al?”

Your heart melted. It wasn't fair how sweet and sexy he looked holding an animal. The only thing missing was him in a leather jacket, which you had no doubt he owned. If you ever saw him in a leather jacket holding a cat, you’d probably combust.

“Like seeing me kiss a pussy?” he asked nonchalantly when he caught you staring. 

“Oh, my god,” you giggled, not dignifying him with any other sort of response to his question. Because if you pictured him eating your pussy, your legs would start shaking and you were altready hot and bothered enough thanks to him. “I really should start bringing my stuff in,” you said. You really needed to look over your resume, too, and find a job sooner rather than later.

“Say bye, Al.” He lifted her paw to give you a wave as she meowed. 

You smiled and gave her a wave, too. “Bye bye. Thank you for the warm welcome.” It was a smooth tactic bringing his cat out. You imagined she helped win a lot of people over if his charm didn't.

“Wait,” Bucky said when went to turn away. “You sure you don't need any help? I don't mind doing any heavy lifting.”

“I can manage,” you answered. You had to get used to doing things on your own now. “But I appreciate it.”

“If you change your mind-”

“I’ll let you know.”

He frowned, but nodded. “One more thing,” he said, nodding over to a clearing. “Potluck lunch two days from now. You should stop by. Give you a chance to meet everyone.”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up. “I can bake something,” you said. Something delicious that would leave a good impression on the neighbors. 

He raised an eyebrow. “You bake?”

“Yeah, I like to bake. Cakes, cookies, brownies, pies, whatever I feel like.” You shrank in on yourself, waiting for the inevitable laughter or insult. 

But it didn’t come.

Bucky merely stared when he ran his tongue over his lips. Did the man ever keep his tongue in his mouth? “Now, I think it’s only fair that I get to taste your sweet cheeks and I don’t know if I want to share.”

You shook your head. Surely you hadn’t heard him right. “...You mean my treats?” you asked. 

“Cheeks, treats, all of it. Bet it’ll all melt on my tongue,” he replied with a wink and turned away, giving you the chance to check out his ass when he slowly walked away. He spoke about worshipping your ass, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his. 

“You cocky son of a bitch,” you whispered with a smile. Of course you heard him right, and you bet he ate like a starved man. “Keep dreaming,” you called after him. 

“Oh, I will, Sweet Cheeks. I will dream about you,” he promised over his shoulder before he looked back once more. “You might just be my future wife,” he declared and went inside with Alpine while his words hung in the air. 

“Fuck me,” you breathed out, your shoulders shaking as you laughed because that just happened. 

You didn’t know how the rest of the day would go, but you did know that your new home and neighbor were going to make for a very interesting and exciting chapter in your new life.

Okay, lovelies. What do we think? Talk to me. Let me know if you love him as much as I do. And let me know where you think this is going. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tripletstephaniescp]

This made me almost cry and then I did from happiness.

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it. 

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful. 

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified. 

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left. 

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond. 

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much. 

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this. 

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now. 

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.” 

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.” 

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent. 

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection. 

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him. 

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?” 

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly. 

Something dropped in your gut. 

“It’s good, sweetheart.” 

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end. 

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it. 

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not. 

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched. 

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much. 

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.” 

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them. 

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?” 

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door. 

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.” 

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth. 

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.” 

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. 

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation. 

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…” 

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache. 

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.” 

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle. 

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.” 

“But I didn’t—” 

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze. 

A tick of silence passed. 

“You heard me.” 

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—” 

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—” 

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.” 

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained. 

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.” 

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.” 

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat. 

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability. 

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.” 

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—” 

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted. 

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.” 

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.” 

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.” 

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him. 

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”