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winterarmyy · 10 months

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Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

"...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier × reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier!bucky #bucky fluff

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naomeii · 4 months

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Hello! Here's my request:

Modern au where Childe and reader get into a particularly heated argument because he always comes back bloody, battered and bruised from a fight. Unfortunately, Childe ends up telling her he liked it better when she was ignoring him instead of nagging all the time, which shatters her heart. He tries to apologize but she's already out the door and staying over at her mother's house. Even when her mother reassured her that Childe does love her, it did little to heal her heart.

On the other hand, Childe was in shambles. He kept on trying to call, email, and text her but she won't pick up. He was left alone at their shared house, the meal she made had gone cold but he still ate it and yet, he didn't feel full. He ends up crying himself to sleep on their entryway.

The next day, reader returns to their home with the intention of packing up her things and leaving but is stopped by an exhausted Childe who follows her even when she tells him not to touch her. He notices her missing engagement ring (she had left it in their bedroom) and is terrified; he begs her not to leave him while sobbing and holding her tight. Eventually, his pleas were heard when she finally forgives him after he apologizes for snapping at her.

Metamorphosis.

—Pairing: Childe x F!Reader

Content: Modern au, angst to fluff, arguments

Childe's entrance into your shared apartment was marked by the tired shuffle of his boots against the floor. The faint odor of blood mixed with the antiseptic scent of a healing agent lingered in the air. He looked up, eyes shadowed with weariness, as you confronted him in the doorway.

"What happened to you this time, Childe?" Your voice was a mix of concern and frustration, and your eyes scanned his battered form with a mix of anger and worry. This had become a routine – him coming back battered and bruised, and you, waiting to pick up the pieces.

Childe sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "It's part of the job, darling. You knew what you were getting into when we started dating."

Your jaw tightened at the dismissive response. "Part of the job doesn't mean you have to come back looking like you've been through a war every single time! Do you even care about how this affects me?"

Childe's tired eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a flicker of remorse. "I liked it better when you just ignored me, you know? Instead of nagging all the time."

As the weight of his words sank in, you couldn't help but recall the days when Childe was indeed all over you. His playful antics, the way he made you laugh until tears streamed down your face, and the warmth of his love enveloping you. It was a stark contrast to the current reality, where his flippant remark shattered the remnants of those precious moments.

"Childe, what happened to us?" The question slipped out, laced with a mixture of pain and confusion. "You used to care about us, about me."

He avoided your gaze, a hint of guilt crossing his features. "It's just the way things are now. We both knew my life was dangerous."

A bitter chuckle escaped you. "I knew, but I never thought you'd grow indifferent. I miss the Childe who used to come home to me, not this stranger who treats me like a burden."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The damage had been done. You turned away, tears threatening to spill. "I can't do this, Childe. Not if it means losing myself in the process."

As Childe desperately reached out for your hand, the door swung open, as you quickly left.

"Wait, please!" Childe's voice cracked with desperation, but you were out the door, oblivious to his pleas.

In your tear-streaked haze, you hailed a cab, directing it to your mother's house. The city lights blurred as you tried to make sense of the shattered fragments of your relationship. The cab's interior provided a temporary sanctuary, shielding you from the unresolved emotions that lingered at the doorstep of your shared home.

Arriving at your mother's house, the front door creaked open before you could even knock. Concern etched across her face, your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her worry palpable.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside.

Through choked sobs, you recounted the argument, the hurtful words, and the irreparable damage that had driven you away.

"Sweetheart, people say things they don't mean when emotions run high. Childe does love you; I'm sure of it. Relationships have their ups and downs, but love can overcome even the toughest moments."

Her words, meant to console, offered a lifeline in the storm of emotions. Yet, despite her reassurance, the ache in your heart persisted. The wounds were fresh, the echoes of Childe's indifferent words still reverberating within you.

"I know, Mom, but it just hurts so much," you whispered, tears welling up again.

She held you at arm's length, her gaze filled with concern. "Take your time, dear. Healing doesn't happen overnight. If he loves you, he'll realize the impact of his words and make amends."

On the other side, Childe's attempts to reach you knew no bounds. His phone buzzed with unanswered calls and texts, each message a desperate plea for forgiveness.

+𝟗𝟗 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐦 <𝟑 3:33 am Y/n, please, just pick up the phone. I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said. I love you more than anything. 4:32 am I'm an idiot, love. I messed up, and I need you to hear me out. Let's talk. Please. 4:45 am ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 (Hey, dummy. I know I screwed up. I didn't mean any of it. I miss you... Can we just talk?)

The echoes of your silence were deafening. Each attempt to reach you felt like shouting into the abyss, the void swallowing his words.

Returning to the shared house, the remnants of your presence lingered. The cold meal you had prepared sat untouched, a poignant reminder of a time when warmth filled the home. Childe mechanically picked at the food, each bite a tasteless reminder of the void that now enveloped him.

The once-familiar walls seemed to close in as he wandered through the silent rooms. The solitude amplified the weight of his regret, and a profound loneliness settled over him. Despite filling his stomach, an emptiness gnawed at his insides.

Tears welled up, and he crumpled to the entryway floor, the place where the love you both had built now reduced to a battleground of hurtful words. The cool surface provided little comfort as he cried himself into an exhausted slumber, the entryway serving as a painful witness to the wreckage of a love he feared might be irreparably broken.

As the morning light filtered through the curtains, you cautiously returned to your shared home. The air hung heavy with the residue of the previous night's turmoil. With a determined resolve, you planned to pack your things and spend some time with your mother until the wounds of the argument had a chance to heal.

The moment you stepped into the entryway, you noticed a disheveled Childe, still draped in the shadows of sleep. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, widened in surprise at your presence.

"Y/n…" His voice wavered, a mix of regret and exhaustion lacing his words.

"I'm here to pack my things, Childe," you stated, avoiding eye contact.

His eyes pleaded with you, but you remained steadfast. "Please, love, let's talk. I need you to understand."

"No, Childe. We've said enough," you replied, your voice firm. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, but you were determined not to let it sway your decision.

As you began gathering your belongings, Childe, propelled by a mixture of desperation and a genuine desire to make amends, rose from the floor. He moved closer, his hand reaching out involuntarily.

"Don't touch me, Childe," you warned, your eyes flashing hurt.

Childe's heart sank as he continued to trail behind you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and he winced at the palpable pain in your voice when you told him not to touch you.

His eyes were red and swollen from the tears that had stained the entryway floor the night before. Yet, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, fueled by the desperate need to salvage what was left of the love that once filled their home.

As he followed you through the house, his eyes caught sight of your left hand. The familiar glint of the engagement ring was conspicuously absent. Panic seized him as he realized its absence, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"Y/n, where's the ring?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and desperation.

You glanced at him briefly, the weight of your gaze heavy with unspoken words. "It's in the bedroom. I left it."

Childe's heart raced as he hurried to the bedroom, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. The room, once a sanctuary of shared dreams, felt haunted by the shadows of fractured promises.

He found the ring on the dresser, its absence from your finger a stark reminder of the fragility of the bond they had built. The intricate design, a symbol of their commitment, now seemed like a fragile artifact of a love slipping through his fingers.

Fear gripped him, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a tidal wave. He returned to find you near the front door, the distance between you growing wider with each passing moment.

"Y/n, I—I can fix this. I'll do whatever it takes. Please, don't go," he pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice bared for you to see.

As you moved towards the door, a determined resolve etched across your face, Childe's hand shot out, instinctively reaching for you. He caught your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. His eyes pleaded with yours, mirroring the desperate turmoil within him.

"Y/n, please, I beg you… don't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You paused, feeling the grip on your wrist, the pull of emotions warring within you. Childe's sobs echoed in the silent room, the raw vulnerability he displayed tearing down the walls you had erected around your wounded heart.

"Childe, you can't fix this with just words," you said, your own voice wavering with the weight of the situation.

His grip softened, fingers slipping from your wrist to intertwine with yours. "I know… I know, but let me try. I love you, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."

His tears fell freely, staining the floor beneath him. The vulnerability he exhibited, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, created a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you.

"I can't promise anything, Childe," you said, gently trying to disentangle your hand from his. "But I need time to think, away from this… chaos."

Childe, however, held on tighter, his sobs intensifying. "I messed up, Y/n. I don't want to lose you. Please, just stay. Let me try to make things right."

The conflicting emotions battled within you as Childe's sobs reverberated in the room. Despite the anger, hurt, and the shattered trust, a deep well of love still lingered within your heart. The sight of him crumbling before you, laid bare in vulnerability, tugged at those lingering threads of affection.

Taking a deep breath, you relented. Your free hand reached out, gently cupping Childe's tear-stained cheek. Your touch, though soft, held the weight of both love and reproach.

"Childe, stop crying," you whispered, your voice a delicate plea.

His tearful eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside their shared turmoil seemed to fade away. The touch of your hand, wiping away his tears, bridged the emotional chasm that had grown between you two.

"I love you, but this can't be fixed overnight," you admitted, your tone a delicate balance of firmness and compassion.

Childe nodded, his grip on your hand relaxing.

In the days that followed, the atmosphere in your shared home transformed. Childe, once a tempest of chaos and unpredictability, began to change. The realization of the pain he had caused you, coupled with the fear of losing the love he cherished, became a catalyst for a profound transformation.

His actions spoke louder than words. Childe started attending therapy, seeking guidance to navigate the complexities of his emotions and learn healthier ways to cope with the challenges that came with his role in the Fatui. The reckless impulsivity that once defined him began to give way to a more measured and thoughtful approach.

The wounds of the argument were still fresh, and trust needed time to mend, but Childe's commitment to change became evident in his actions. He took on a more active role in maintaining the home, shared responsibilities with newfound diligence, and made genuine efforts to communicate openly.

Gone were the days of recklessness overshadowing your relationship. Childe, now more attuned to your needs and the impact of his words, worked tirelessly to rebuild the connection that had weathered the storm.

While the scars of the past lingered, the metamorphosis within Childe created a sense of hope.

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peachdues · 9 days

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HOUSE OF CARDS — NSFW TEASER

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Kyojuro Rengoku x F!Reader • Bodyguard AU

A/N: happy KNY Sunday!

In honor of the new season premiering tonight, enjoy a first look at the first threesome between Reader and her two bodyguards.

Hope y’all are ready to be sandwiched between these two — things are gonna get filthy.

Note that when you see (…) that means I’m skipping to another scene — I can’t give the whole thing away, now can I?

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • threesomes • spanking • unprotected sex • double penetration • discussions of creampies • spanking • slightly mean!Kyojuro but only in bed • teasing

It was wrong; you knew what you were doing was wrong.

You were his employer and he your employee. By all accounts, the only reason for his presence in your life at all was thanks to a contract and a hefty payment.

But he was there, and he was looking at you with a smoldering heat that made you go weak at the knees. He’d protected you, both he and Agent Rengoku had thrown themselves over you to shield you from harm without a moment’s hesitation.

You’d been lonely for so long, and Sanemi had been so surprisingly gentle and kind. How could anyone blame you for wanting a little comfort, especially after what you’d just gone through?

You needed it; craved it.

And truthfully, you wanted to be fucked stupid.

“Please,” you whispered, taking another hesitant step toward him, your resolve threatening to crumble if he did not respond soon. “Please, Sanemi,”

The bodyguard’s eyes remained locked on your face as you leaned in, your nose brushing his. Though he was still, you could see the rigidity which had settled over his limbs, could see the tightness in his shoulders as he worked to keep himself from reaching out and holding you.

But then Sanemi’s eyes flickered down to your mouth, and you knew he was going to give in. Before he could lift them back up to your heady gaze, you let your towel drop to the floor, exposing your nude body entirely.

—-

(…)

The handsome, scarred bodyguard had your back pressed against your headboard, his base flush against yours as Sanemi circled his hips, grinding into you so deliciously that your eyes took residence in the back of your skull.

It was wrong — so, so wrong of you to fuck your bodyguard and to let him fuck you, but the way Sanemi’s hips swiveled against yours, the way his bare cock dragged against your walls while he kissed your neck, felt so fucking good that you couldn’t stop.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” Sanemi grunted against your throat, his hands sliding under your thighs and pushing them up until you were spread against your headboard. The new angle allowed him to shift his hips, the blunt head of his cock pushing so deep it was nearly painful.

“Oh my —“ You choked off, unable to string together a coherent sentence while the walls of your cunt clenched harder around the Bodyguard’s thick length. “Sanemi.”

The door to your bedroom banged open, and Sanemi was quick to cover your body with his own, yanking you down and behind him, concealing you from sight as he assessed the threat.

The threat, however, was no stranger. It was Rengoku, leaning against your doorway, a strange mixture of anger and heat blazing in his golden eyes, an unsettling smirk pulling at his lips.

“By all means, don’t let my presence interrupt you,” he purred. Above you, Sanemi smirked back and his hips began to roll back into yours, even as you squeaked. “I just wanted to ensure Agent Shinazugawa was tending to your needs.”

Sanemi abruptly snapped his hips against yours and your head fell back against your pillow as you cried out. A lewd squelching began to sound, breaking up the thick silence of the room as he repeated the movement again and again.

“I think she’s taken care of,” his voice was rough as his hand came to your breast and rolled a hardened nipple between his fingers. From the doorway, Rengoku’s eyes narrowed on your chest, his mouth watering at the thought of taking one of your soft mounds between his lips.

“But by all means, Agent Rengoku, if you think you should inspect for yourself,” Sanemi trailed off as the force of his thrusts increased, the bed posts beginning to rock against your wall.

Through the daze that the scarred bodyguard had fucked into your mind, the implication of Sanemi’s suggestion settled. To your surprise, you clenched even harder around the cock currently threatening to bruise your cervix, a small whimper slipping past your lips.

“Oh?” Sanemi turned his attention back down to his beautiful employer, goosebumps erupting over his skin as he felt your molten heat tighten around him. “You like that idea, do you sweetheart?”

Sanemi’s rough thumb found the bundle of nerves between your legs and pressed, your moans turning to cries as you writhed beneath him. “You want me to stop so you can show Rengoku how good this pussy feels?”

Your head began to shake as tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. “Don’t stop!” You gasped, your nails sinking into the rocky muscle of Sanemi’s shoulders, as though to keep him in place. “B-both.”

Sanemi’s hips stuttered against yours as Rengoku’s breath caught in his throat. But you only repeated those damnable words once more as your hand flung out towards the doorway, beckoning.

“I want you both.”

———

(…)

You yelped as Rengoku’s hand made contact with your exposed backside, making you jolt in his lap, though the bodyguard’s other hand effortlessly held you in place, draped over his thighs.

The sting was momentarily chased away by a soothing rub, before he withdrew once more, bringing his hand back down on your other cheek, a resounding slap! echoing through your bedroom.

“You cannot hide such important information from us, Y/N,” Rengoku admonished, the contrast between the richness of his voice and the sting of his hand against the sensitive flesh of your ass making your thighs squeeze together as you squirmed in his lap. “We cannot do our jobs and protect you if you’re lying.”

You whimpered. “I couldn’t tell you — client confidentiality -“

Another smack, this time firmer, choked you off with a squeal, as Rengoku’s fingers squeezed your ass cheek tightly upon impact, a thumb rubbing circles over your reddened flesh.

“Our duty is to guard your life,” the ordinarily sweet-tempered protector warned. “The more difficult you make that duty, the harder your life will be when we finally get you home.”

But even as he said it, you felt his fingers inch closer and closer to the dip between your legs, to where the evidence of how thoroughly you’d been enjoying this side of your kind bodygurd was thoroughly coating your inner thighs.

He gave you one last smack, seeming to relish the way your ass jiggled with the impact, as he smoothed his hand appreciatively over the reddened curve.

“What do you think, Agent Shinazugawa?” Rengoku called jovially to his partner. “Do you think she’s learned her lesson?”

You did not hear Sanemi move from where he’d been leaning against your wall, watching Rengoku punish you, until you’d felt his fingers beneath your chin.

“I do,” he murmured, his voice rugged though his hands were gentle as he tilted your head, inspecting the small, bandaged cut across your cheek. The smirk on the scarred, ruggedly handsome face of your other bodyguard made your thighs clench all the more. “But I think it’s time we show her how grateful we are that she’s safe.

——

(…)

Rengoku readjusted his grip under your thighs, securing you tighter against his heaving form while also holding you further open, to allow the Bodyguard at your back easier access.

The movement stirred friction between where Rengoku’s coarse base was pressed flush against your sensitive clit, and you cried out, your cunt involuntarily tightening around the burly blonde’s thick length.

Rengoku swore. “Wait a moment, my flame,” he circled his hips once before pressing deeper into you in warning. “I promise we’ll give you what you need soon.”

Your responding whimper was cut off with a choke, as Sanemi realigned the tip of his achingly hard member at your entrance, already stretched and filled by Rengoku.

“God damn,” the scarred bodyguard’s voice was like gravel as he rubbed his head against your heat. “It’s gonna be a tight fit — tighter than before.”

Sanemi shifted forward to press his lips against the nape of your neck. “You sure you wanna do this, sweetheart? We can take turns.”

At your front, Rengoku grumbled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he leaned forward to tease along your throat with his hot mouth as you mewled.

You gasped at the slight prick of Sanemi’s teeth against your skin as he waited for your answer, one dainty foot twitching where it hung mid-air.

“Yes!” You squealed, hips involuntarily grinding down on Rengoku’s length. “Please — I need someone to move —“

Growling in response to your confirmation, Sanemi pushed his hips up, squeezing his cock past that first ring of hot, pulsing muscle. There was some initial resistance due to the simple girth of Rengoku’s length as his flame-haired companion waited with clenched teeth. Sanemi quickly readjusted his stance, widening his feet and thrust up once, sharp and quick, the movement allowing him to sheathe himself once more inside the molten walls of your vice-like cunt.

A cacophony of sighs and strangled moans escaped the three as Sanemi became fully seated inside of you, as the three adjusted to one another.

“Fuck, I can feel you, Shinazugawa,” Rengoku groaned. “God, you both feel —“ he shuddered, and your legs clenched over his forearms as you moaned. “So fucking good.”

—

(…)

Sanemi’s head was thrown back, a whine tearing from his throat. “Fuck, I’m gonna — I need to pull out.” Another sloppy jerk of his hips upwards made it clear how close he was. “Now.”

But you couldn’t stand the thought of losing the comforting warmth of Sanemi’s cock, nor when it felt so good stretching you alongside Rengoku’s as the men alternated their thrusts, your body bouncing with each pointed movement from where you were sandwiched between them.

You were on birth control and both men were already bare inside you; flippantly, you rationalized that you might as well get your use from it.

“D-don’t!” You gasped, one shaky hand leaving its clawed grip against Rengoku’s shoulder in favor of reaching behind you, settling on the rocky expanse of Sanemi’s waist, anchoring him there. “Inside — both of you!”

“Oh fuck,” Rengoku hissed through clenched teeth, his thrusts stuttering. “Y/N — hah — are you sure?”

Reflexively, your legs clenched harder where they were draped over the crook of the fiery Bodyguard’s steely arms.

You nodded, desperate. “I need it — I need you to feel you both.”

Both men’s heads fell back as they simultaneously groaned.

—

(…)

A sudden graze of teeth against your ear made you shiver violently as Sanemi tugged at your lobe. “You’re gonna have to be a good girl, Y/N, and ask nicely, if you want it,” his voice dark and rich.

The white-haired bodyguard punctuated his demand by nearly pulling his cock out entirely from your heat before he snapped his hips up, eliciting deep moans from both his fellow guard and you pressed between them.

A feral, mischevious glint sparked to life in Rengoku’s searing gaze. He shifted beneath you, pushing his leg forward to keep you balanced as he moved one hand away from your thigh and cupped your breast.

Your eyes flew open as Rengoku pinched roughly at your nipple. “You heard your Agent, Y/N,” he rolled your mound in his palm before his fingers repeated the torture. “You need to beg.”

dw Sanemi is gonna suck Kyojuro’s dick later

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kyojuro rengoku #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #kny kyojuro #kny rengoku #kny smut #sanemi x reader #kyojuro x reader #demon slayer smut

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levans44 · 5 months

Text

Apartment #3 - Chapter 6

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

taglist: @tsofo26 @yvonneeeee @cass0419 @nekoannie-chan @felicitylemon @nada3000 @rorilisa @observantplum-blog @strepsils123 @mrsevans90 @smhnxdiii @rorilisa

A loud ding from the timer marks 40 minutes.

She peers into her oven, nervously eyeing her little experiment—the best, fudgiest brownies EVER! as proclaimed by a complete stranger on the internet, but she figured that the thousands of likes and online reviews had to count for something,

She went all out for this particular recipe, fishing for ingredients she’s never even heard of—dutch processed cacao, single origin chocolate, maldon sea salt. Seeing as how she’s never really had luck with baking, she’s not sure why she had chosen such a complex recipe. And just to pack on the pressure, there was a lot riding on these particular brownies. It’s the only reason why, after the second time she knocks over the bag of flour while reaching for the whisk, she doesn’t give up, hastily wiping up the mess through gritted teeth.

Because despite Fury’s orders to sustain minimal contact with her target, she could never stand to be in debt.

And during these past few weeks, she’d been indebted to Steve in more ways than one.

With these brownies, she figured they were more or less even.

One last time, and she could be done for good.

She waits impatiently, fingers drumming on the counter while the bake cools, before cutting up the brownies and draping some aluminum foil on top. She slides the tray off the counter and scoops it into her arms, balancing Steve’s thermos on top.

She slips out of her apartment and makes her way across the hall.

A tentative knock on apartment #4, then once more when no one responds after a little while.

Must not be home. Great. She’ll just return his thermos some other time and take the brownies to work—it’ll earn her a few much-needed brownie points with her coworkers anyway.

She’s just about to turn on her heels and head back across the hall, when she hears his door jerk open, revealing Steve in a white tank top and grey sweats. Her eyes falter for a second, a little taken aback by Steve’s unfamiliarly casual attire.

Eyes wide, he smiles, leaning forward with his palm resting on the door frame.

“Jess! Hey,” His brows furrow a little, eyes flitting down to the tray weighing down her arms.

“Hey, Steve.” She nods, eyes still fixated on how relaxed he seems in his pajamas, before it suddenly sinks in that this might be his rare day off from work. The last thing he’d probably want is her company.

She’s just about ready to thrust the brownies and thermos in his arms and run off, panic rising in her throat.

“Uhm, I’m just here to—“

“—hey, Steve, that the pizza guy?”

A male voice shouts from inside the apartment.

Shit, he’s got company. So definitely not a good time.

Steve swivels around, calling back to whoever is in his living room “Uh, no, Buck, it’s my…”

He turns back to her, eyes hesitating with an unreadable emotion.

“… my neighbor, Jess.” He finishes quietly.

Though her heart already sinks at the mention of his name, her stomach churns a second time when she hears footsteps approach Steve’s side. And low and behold, there he was—the infamous Winter Soldier and Steve’s best friend. It’s the first time she’s seen Bucky Barnes in person, and he’s just as formidable as Steve at first glance—biceps bulging through a red Henley shirt, metal hand sticking out like a sore thumb under his sleeve, not concealed with the glove SHIELD advises him to wear during public outings. He immediately sticks his hand into the pocket of his jeans, surveying her reaction to see if she’d noticed. She feigns innocence, smiling politely.

Yet, not everything’s true to her memory.

His hair’s a little shorter than how she’d pictured, and his eyes a little lighter, a strain of hazel running through the cool blue. Any lingering sense of intimidation dissolves when he smiles, casting a sideways glance at Steve then back down at her.

“So this is Jess, huh?” He smirks, leaning forward as he extends his flesh hand in greeting.

“Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

‘So this is Jess.’

That, and the way Steve’s perks up at Bucky’s words, the tips of his ears blooming crimson, could only mean one thing. It’s a glaringly obvious truth that she tries oh-so-hard to avoid.

Instead, she glances down sheepishly at the tray of brownies in her arms, then back up at Bucky’s extended hand.

“Oh, hey, let me get that for you.” Steve quickly reaches forward, taking the tray from her arm. She shoots him an appreciative smile before tentatively taking Bucky’s hand, feeling more than overwhelmed by not one but two super soldiers now crowding the doorway.

Bucky’s grip is more calloused than Steve’s, fingers shorter and thicker. His grip is just as strong and warm, though, and the charming grin he flashes her way leaves her wondering whether he’s just as… forward in meetings with other strangers. The rumor around her office had always painted him as the silent, brooding type.

“I-I was just gonna return your thermos, and uh…” her voice falters, gaze trailing over to the way Bucky was leaning over the tray still in Steve’s hands, lifting the aluminum foil on top curiously. Bucky looks back down at her, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry, these smell amazing. Are they… shit, Steve, they’re brownies.”

“Buck.” Steve mutters, subtly nudging his best friend’s side as he angles the tray away.

“Yeah, I baked ‘em this morning.” She nods, giving Bucky an awkward smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear, shifting her weight between her feet.

Her gaze trails over to the blonde, who’s giving her that familiar warm smile.

“You didn’t have to Jess, really. Thank you.”

His gaze is so earnest, voice deep as he thanks her. She can only nod hastily in response, swallowing thickly.

Steve clears his throat, taking another step toward her, and gestures toward the apartment with his head.

“Do you… do you wanna come in for a bit? Bucky and I were just about to put on a film.”

And maybe it was the endearing way he still uses the word film instead of movie.

Or the way he seemed so different from his usual put-together look—hair light and soft, standing up in small, unruly peaks as if he hadn’t styled it since he’s woken up. A white sleeveless shirt, clad tightly across his pecs, grey sweats hanging low over his hips.

Or, maybe, it was just his characteristic way of making an honest offer—warm and earnest, without any pretense of false politeness.

Whatever the reason, she finds herself nodding, slipping past Bucky as he steps aside to let her inside.

Steve carefully sets the tray on his kitchen island, quietly chastising Bucky when he immediately starts to fiddle with the aluminum, trying to sneak a piece. She shuffles awkwardly around the kitchen island, so that there’s 40 inches of beige linoleum between her and the two super soldiers. She refrains from peering around the rest of the apartment out of politeness. From what appears in her peripheral vision, though, she can tell that the layout of his house is pretty much the same as her own.

“Those are for me, jerk.” Steve mutters quietly, the corner of his lip quirking up in a smile as Bucky’s starts to pull a slice off of the tray.

“Sharing’s carin’ Stevie.” Bucky mumbles nonchalantly,

Steve gives in with a joking sigh, leaning against the counter as he looks up at her, brows raised.

“Do you want a piece, Jess?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay thank—“

“—holy shit.” She’s cut off by Bucky’s loud moan, holding up a corner piece with a large section already bitten off.

“Fuck, that’s amazing, Steve. You gotta try it.”

Bucky chews as he glances up at her, eyes glinting under the kitchen light. He swallows, licking his lips before asking:

“You a baker, Jess?”

Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, walking around the counter and reaching for a roll of paper towels at the other end.

“She’s a nurse, Buck.”

Bucky’s brows raise at that, eyes lighting up with renewed interest as he sinks his teeth in, taking another bite.

“You must like saving people, then, huh? Like Stevie here.” He juts his elbow toward his friend, who rolls his eyes and shoots her an apologetic glance. She tries to stifle a smile, settling down in one of the kitchen bar stools, feeling a little more relaxed as the two Avengers continue to bicker bout how many pieces Bucky’s allowed to steal from Steve’s tray.

“Bucky’s right, though, Jess. This is phenomenal. How long have you been baking?”

The truthful answer would have been 5 hours. Instead, though, she gives him a smile, shrugging innocently as she answers:

“Not long. Started a couple years ago.”

She figured the whole ‘home-baker’ thing tracked with Jess’s character—alongside the whole wide-eyed, girl-next-door look.

“So what movie are we watching?”

She asks nonchalantly—a clumsy attempt at shifting the conversation away from herself, but it works nonetheless.

Bucky sighs dramatically at the question, while Steve shoots him an amused glance.

“Well…” Bucky starts, picking up another brownie square before walking around the kitchen island toward the living room.

“… Steve was trying to convince me to watch Star Wars with him.” He sighs nonchalantly, plopping down on the living room couch.

And she can’t help but let out a surprised snort at that, hand immediately flying over to her mouth to stifle the noise. Mortified, she glances over sheepishly at Steve.

Leaned forward with both palms on the kitchen counter, Steve looks up at her with a raised brow, a slight twitch in the corner of his lip.

“Sorry, I just… that’s the last movie I would’ve guessed for you.” She murmurs quietly, still stifling a smile.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Steve shoots back almost immediately, his lips breaking open in an amused grin.

“Well, it’s just, you know… kinda nerdy?”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“That’s fair.”

From across the room, Bucky laughs too, scrolling carelessly through the TV channels as he tosses out a comment in their direction.

“Oh, you thought he was cool, Jess?”

She leans forward in her seat, staring directly into Steve’s eyes as a new sense of adoration blooms in her chest.

Who would’ve thought that Captain America was secretly a geek?

She shrugs, a small smile tugging on her lips as she mutters:

"I'd like to think so."

And despite the fact that the rest of the night is filled with nothing but trivial moments, she feels the knot in her stomach growing tighter with each second she spends with Steve.

When he patted the spot on the couch next to him, gesturing for her to sit down, the fabric of his sweats brushing against her as he shifted to make room. The scent of soft oak and fresh linen as he occasionally leaned into her side, pointing out nerdy tidbits about the Star Wars franchise, eager to share the comforting alcove of fiction he’d found in the 21st century.

Or even when the pizza delivery arrived and she finally got a peek at the box, discovering the name of his favorite pizza place. She had glanced over at Steve instinctively, lips stretched in a knowing smile as they exchanged a look completely unbeknownst to Bucky.

With Steve, her heart beats immeasurably faster at the littlest of things.

And it fills her with more dread than she can bear.

Apartment #3 Masterlist

note: aaaand after an eternity and a half, she finally makes an update. we've got some more shameless flirting coming up folks, brace yourselves

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testingthewatersss · 7 months

Text

Halloween Bucky Barnes x F Reader Oneshot 5000 words fluff, mild angst, comfort, very light-hearted and mild smut. 18+ MDNI Reader is Tony's sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who reappeared after TWS. The halloween party turns out much better than expected.

It’s Halloween.

Well, it’s the night before Halloween, but it’s also a Saturday. It’s the Saturday before Halloween, which means a party.

A Stark party.

This, of course, means that every single person who lives in Avengers Tower is expected to attend.

Including Bucky.

She had told him that his attendance was not mandatory. Tony had mirrored the sentiment with less interest, too. So he probably could’ve gotten out of the whole affair, had it not been for Steve’s excitement.

His clear, untempered excitement at the mere prospect of attending a party with his best friend.

“It’ll be just like the good old days, Buck! Except you’ll only have one dame on your arm this time- I’d hate to see Y/N's face if you asked her to bring a friend for me”

He hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he really, really didn’t want to go.

The idea of a bustling party, full of strangers and loud music doesn’t sound fun to him anymore.

No, now it fills him with dread. Dread that’s only worsened by the addition of the ‘costume required’ rule, and his inability to get drunk along with the rest of the crowd.

So, he’d nodded along, intending to address his concerns later.

Maybe offering Steve a night out together instead. Just the two of them. That’d be much more akin to the ‘good old days’ anyway. It’s not like lavish billionaire parties were the kind of things they were doing together before the war.

Even if he’s been dating one of said billionaires for over a year.

Y/N is probably the main reason that conversation never happened with Steve. If she hadn’t been going there would’ve been no way in hell that Bucky would’ve even entertained the idea of going himself.

But she is going. And the idea of a night without her is almost worse than the idea of the party.

So now, it’s too late to back out.

He’s dressed up like James Dean because out of all the ideas that had been thrown around, it was the outfit that seemed the least intrusive. It’s basically a leather jacket and some hair gel. Tony had scoffed at the concept, making a ‘Tin-man and Dorothy’ suggestion that had earned a scolding from Y/N, who had beamed at the idea and agreed to go as Audrey Hepburn to complete the look.

He hasn’t seen her all day.

He misses her, and it shows.

Steve is at his side, dressed in an ornate ‘Count Dracula’ ensemble which, paired with the black spray he’s put in his hair looks awful.

The fake fangs are funny, though. And his excitement had been infectious. The playful chattering and obvious glee had been hard to ignore all day, so, he hadn’t tried. He’d let himself get swept up in the atmosphere;

“She’s running late” Natasha announces, rounding a corner dressed as Marylin Monroe, “apparently there was a change of plan”

“What kind of change?” Steve asks before Bucky can—

“She lost a bet” Bruce says, also coming into view.

His costume idea is good.

He’s dressed as Tony, complete with a fake arc reactor and drawn-on facial hair.

If Bucky had a better relationship with the man he might’ve considered that one for himself.

“With who?” he presses, curiously spiking;

“Who do you think?” Tony answers gleefully, “You’re goin’ to love this”

He’s addressing Natasha when he says that, which he thinks is strange. But, Bucky purses his lips in silent consideration.

What kind of bet? he thinks, And why is Natasha going to like it?

A few more minutes pass in the same kind of ‘excited haze’.

Everyone is talking and most of them are drinking, glasses clinking in toasts. Steve has a beer in his hand, but Bucky knows that it’s empty now.

His own is almost drained, too. The taste is familiar and comforting, even if it’s not doing what it used to in regards to calming his nerves.

His nerves are getting more and more frayed with every passing second that she doesn’t arrive.

Everyone else is accounted for.

Steve, and Tony. Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Rhodey, Sam, Wanda and Vision- all present, all wearing their outfits.

God, even Happy has arrived, wearing his usual suit, but with the addition of sunglasses which he says make him a ‘man in black’.

Bucky thinks he looks a bit like a HYDRA officer who he worked for, once. He decides not to mention it.

“Come on, princess!” Rhodey yells, in the general direction of the stairs- “I’m sure your hair looks fine!”

He’s dressed as Fury. It’s funny, but, when no reply comes to his shouting, Bucky can’t help but frown.

Tony, however, snorts out a laugh that makes all eyes snap at him.

“What did you bet, anyway?” Steve asks

“That my new gamma-wave equation was compatible with her old nuero-partical theory-” he answers, “-She said it wouldn’t be because she didn’t believe I’d read her paper.”

“I meant what were the stakes”

“Oh” Tony chuckles, knowing that only Bruce would’ve understood the concept of the dispute anyway, “If she won, I was going to have to cover the internship paperwork for the rest of the year—“

“—And if you won?” Natasha cuts in, suspicious.

“He got to change my costume for tonight” Y/N's voice answers, from out of view.

Any relief that Bucky expected to garner from hearing her voice is dampened by how sullen she sounds.

It doesn’t suit the usual lilt of her voice.

It worries him. He feels both of his hands tightening into fists and is suddenly grateful for how he’d placed his beer bottle on the side.

“Oh no you don’t!” Tony commands, instantly animated, “Back up stairs! FRIDAY- Que the music!”

“Tony!” Y/N objects, tone slipping towards pleading, “Ple-”

Her “please” is drowned out by the loud start of a song.

A familiar song.

Steve recognises it first. His eyes widening as every single person that has gathered in the common room moves, all adjusting their positions so that they have a clear view of the stairs.

Bucky is no different.

He walks a little too fast, the vibration from the speakers filling him with urgency.

‘Star spangled man, with a plan'

The tune builds, and then he feels his face click with remembrance;

It was the song they used to parade Steve around too. With a haram of women in short skirts-

“I’m going to kill you,” she says, louder than the music, “Tony, I swear to god—”

‘and I tell you there’s no substitute— the Star, Spangled, Man, with a plan’

and then, the venom in her voice makes sense.

As she appears at the top of the staircase, almost unrecognisable, Bucky thinks it makes perfect sense.

So does her brother's untempered laughter, and the way that he’s snapping pictures on his cell phone.

Her usually brown hair is blonde. Shoulder length in soft waves, her lips are painted bright, apple red, which, hair colour aside isn’t too abnormal for her, but-

God, she’s… she’s dressed like Steve.

She’s wearing the full Captain America suit, skin tight and colourful with the shield slung over one of her shoulders.

As she starts to walk down towards the crowd, Bucky realises that his jaw is hanging open, so he snaps it shut.

“Give us a smile, Cap!” Tony gears, cell phone aimed at his sister's face, “and maybe a salute”

“I will break your fucking jaw-” she threatens.

“Language” Natasha scolds, failing to conceal her grin;

Y/N's head snaps towards her friend, and then, she moves her hand, flipping her the bird before turning to glare at her brother again.

“Can I at least lose this wig?”

“No” Tony answers quickly, “No, I think it really ties it all together”

“You’re an asshole” she hisses, “You’re not even wearing a costume”

“Yes I am” he retorts, almost offended, “I’m dad!”

“You’re who?!” she splutters, totally taken aback, “You- You’re going as dad?!”

“Yes” Tony replies with a smirk, ”but, young dad, y’know- not-”

“You haven’t even shaved” she says, pointing at his face, “He had a moustache- not a goatie”

“I couldn’t find a razor” he lies, not even trying to hide his glee, “and all I needed to finish the look was-”

“Son of a bitch” Y/N curses, realisation setting in, “you made me wear this so I could be your accessory?”

and then a ripple of laughter washes over everyone.

Everyone except for Y/N, and Bucky, who is still staring at her, awestruck.

“You’re a jerk,” she says when everything settles;

“That’s more like it” Tony says, “throw in a couple of ‘sons’, maybe a self-richeous speech about justice here and there-“

“Hey” Steve objects, suddenly realising that at least part of this might be at his expense,

Tony beams again, excitement unwavering under his sister's glare.

and then there’s silence.

The sibling's dynamic is strange at the best of times, and in situations like this, the entire mood of the evening is going to be decided by how well either party decides that they can take a joke.

“Just wait until next year” Y/N sighs at last, “I’ll get you for this- I swear”

“I bet you will” Tony agrees, looking falsely contrite, “But for tonight-”

“I’m your star-spangled man with a plan,” she says, defeated.

He bursts out a “ha!” and turns to celebrate his victory with Rhodey and the others.

Y/N takes the moment of reprieve to finally meet Bucky’s gaze. She takes a few steps towards him, before smiling in acknowledgement of Steve, too.

“Sorry about leavin’ you in the lurch with the outfit,” she says, “at least you’re basically just dressed as yourself.”

Steve chuckles at her, even though she’d been talking to Bucky, and then he comments on her hair.

“It’s a wig,” she says off-handedly, “What’s in yours anyway? Shoe polish?”

That makes Bucky laugh for the first time that evening.

A real, true laugh.

He’s not even sure why. The jibe hadn’t been that funny. Not really. But he’s giddy with relief that she’s okay. That she’s safe and finally here, and her outfit is… ridiculous, he knows it is, but he can’t help but find himself captivated by it all the same.

Y/N beams in response to his outburst regardless. Smiling at him with her with her painted lips like he’s the best thing in the world.

That’s how she always looks at him. It’s so familiar that he can almost ignore the costume.

“It’s not your shield,” she tells Steve, “Or your suit, don’t worry”

“I wasn’t worried” Steve replies, “I was wondering how it fit you so well”

Bucky laughs again, and this time he realises that both of them are grinning at him.

“You look great, doll” he says when he catches his breath, “I’ve never really been into blondes but I think you pull it off”

“I can’t wait to pull it off-” she mutters, tugging at the fake hair with dismay, “-but, thank you.”

And then, everyone’s moving.

The room is a blur of motion. Everyone is abandoning bottles and cans and glasses and heading towards the elevators.

And Bucky is holding Y/N's hand while he lets Rodgers knock against his shoulder and make jokes about candy.

They have to split into groups for the cars.

Y/N and Tony have to go together with Happy, so, with a pout and a kiss on his cheek, she leaves Bucky with Steve and Sam.

Wilson teases him a little about how love-sick he is, but Steve doesn’t let the ribbing go on for too long before he silences him with a fatherly glare that makes him the target of the jokes.

Bucky doesn’t have to come to his rescue because their car pulls up just after the Starks have left.

He hates being driven around.

The feeling of being forced to be still in the back of a moving vehicle is unpleasant. But not unfamiliar.

Steve is too polite to comment on the way that his flesh knuckles turn white as he makes a tight fist on his lap. Or, how on the way he flinches, hard, when they stop at red lights.

“Easy” Sam chides, ignorant of the reason behind the response, “we’re in an armoured car- relax a little”

“I think Tony called it luxury” Steve cuts in, trying to be supportive and change the subject, “but he’s right, Buck- Everything’s fine-

“Luxury or not” the other man replies, “We’re still in the billionaire equivalent of an armoured tank—”

“Yeah?” Bucky gristles, tired of the patronising tone, “So was Howard Stark”

His remark sours the atmosphere instantly.

Steve goes to put a hand on his knee but he jerks it free before he really makes contact.

Sam just falls into an awkward silence that Bucky thinks is much more tolerable than his attempt at conversation.

They arrive exactly seven minutes later.

He knows because he’s been counting.

Y/N had taught him to do that. When they’d been talking about ‘coping techniques’ he’d scoffed at the usual suggestion of deep breathing.

“Deep breathing doesn’t help when you feel like you’re somewhere you can’t catch your breath, doll”

“No” she’d agreed, patient as always, “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

She wasn’t the first person to talk to him about ways that might help him feel better. She was probably the first person to listen to him, though;

“What did you used to do when you really couldn’t?”

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds before she’d taken pity on him and smiled.

“When you couldn’t catch your breath.”

Oh-

“You mean…” he’d gulped, “You mean when I was there?”

“mhmm”

“Whatever I was told”

That was the first time he’d been really honest with someone who’d tried to ask him about that. The answer had slipped out before he’d had a chance to think about it, but when he’d had a moment or two to process what he’d just admitted, he’d been so embarrassed that Y/N's palm on his cheek had jarred him.

Jarred him so much that he’d jolted in place, the panic that they’d been previously discussing flaring in an embarrassing display.

“..Okay…” Y/N had exhaled, “… you’re okay…”

A jerky nod hadn’t reassured her much, but it’d been all he could offer her at the time.

“What are you doin’ right now, huh? Nobodies telling you what to do now.”

“I-“ he’d stammered, suddenly unsure, “-I’m counting”

“Counting?” she’d pressed, curious “Alright… Let me know how high you get”

And then he’d been crying. He’d broken down and sobbed into her shoulder until his chest had stopped racing.

Then, he’d been able to explain, very shakily, about how sometimes they’d kept him masked for so long that arbitrarily counting in his head had been his only way of not losing whatever scrap of sanity he’d had left.

He could always count.

No matter what terrible thing was happening to him. No matter what heinous thing he was being made to do to someone else.

He could manage counting.

“So” she’d whispered, stroking his hair back, “That’s what you do… You count.”

and he still counts.

and, because he’s been doing it for so long, he’s quite good at matching his silent clock to actual seconds.

and, by the time they’re all exiting the car, it’s only been another 20.

The atmosphere is still awkward. Even with the removal of the car from the equation.

“You okay, Buck?”

It’s Steve asking. Concerned, now.

He feels a sharp stab of guilt when he blinks his eyes over to him and sees that it’s genuine. That the playful, childish excitement from before is gone, replaced by fatherly worry.

“I’m fine, Stevie” he replies, deliberately making his tone light-

When he sees that he’s not buying it, Bucky smiles.

“I’m not a good passenger” he allows, “but I’m fine.”

That seems to work a little. The honesty does, anyway.

“Look” Bucky sighs, placing his flesh hand precisely on his shoulder, “This is all a little hard on me…even the car rides-”

“-You’re doin’ awesome, Buck-”

“-Give it a rest” he chuckles, jostling him a little, “I’m workin’ on some stuff, don’t worry about me.”

The latter part is what sticks with Steve.

He looks directly at his old friend, reading his face for a full 4 seconds before nodding in agreement.

“I can’t take you seriously with that hair,” Bucky says, breaking the tension as they head towards the back entrance, “How did you do it?”

“Natasha gave me some spray stuff?” he says, almost like a question, “Apparently it washes out.”

“I hope it does” Bucky grumbles, flashing his ID at the doorman without meeting his eyes—

The inside of the party is alive.

That’s the only way to describe it.

It’s like every single person in the building has merged into one singular being. And that being is having a blast.

There’s dancing and laughter and plenty of drinking.

The Stark’s always have an open bar, and it’s clear that this one is being used.

Custom Halloween cocktails (and the signature glasses they come in) are littering the space, acting as extra decor as the multi-coloured lights dance through them.

A woman dressed as a cat, holding a tray of neon green shots appears, smiling at Bucky as she offers him one;

“That I’d pay to see,” Tony says, coming up behind her, and drinking 3 of them in quick succession, “Terminator and Captain All-star doin’ jello shots”

Wilson, eye patch and all laughs, mirroring the billionaire and taking his shot with a grin.

“Play nice” Y/N’s voice inserts, as the crowd parts to reveal her, “They don’t even get drunk from them, T— why would they want to do them?”

“For fun?” Tony replies, doing another 2 shots without coming up for air, “You’re gettin’ a little too into character there, cap”

As if to spite her brother, she declines the waitress's offer before making a show of politely thanking the next server who seems to be busying themselves following the more high-profile guests around.

Any hopes Bucky might have had about spending the night with her are dashed a few minutes later by the arrival of the other Avengers… and then, a camera crew.

A camera crew who find Y/N being dressed as Captain America captivating.

And then, god—

The addition of Tony’s costume? that’s the nail in the coffin.

Every single person who doesn’t live with the duo is glued to them all night.

Snapping pictures and laughing and ploughing them with drinks.

She only manages to slip away to Bucky’s side twice.

The first time is because she catches him looking forlorn by a window.

That he’d been watching her reflection in but, still—

She’d nodded, making an inane excuse before crossing the room to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Are you okay, handsome?” she whispers, directly into his ear.

“I’m okay” he replies, meaning it. “Waitin’ for Steve to get back with the drinks- Couldn’t face the bar.”

“Smart move” Y/N murmurs, tangling her fingers with his metal ones for a moment, “If you need me, come find me.”

“I haven’t lost you, doll” is the reply he gives her, nodding towards the window in half admission, and half explanation.

She laughs, kisses him properly and then, she ducks out of view with the playful salute that makes him very grateful for the privacy the party lighting provides.

The second time, they’ve been there for hours.

Steve is having the best time Bucky remembers seeing him have in… well, decades.

and frankly, it’s infectious.

Bucky is laughing. Laughing, lips grazing a beer bottle as Natasha tells another embarrassing story about Rodgers that sounds strangely familiar.

He’s telling her that things haven’t changed that much in the past hundred years when he catches her.

She’s stood, arm draped over her brother's shoulder with her head turned just slightly towards where he’s sat on a high stool that’s draped in fake cobwebs.

She’s watching him.

She’s just watching him with this, adoring look on her face that makes him blush even though he’s not meant to know that she’s looking.

Her gaze doesn’t linger. He never actually meets her eyes. She’s way too good for that to happen.

But his moment of distraction is noted by Natasha, who makes a jibe about him focusing on the wrong Steve.

When Y/N separates from Tony to head towards the bathroom, Bucky makes his excuses as well, suddenly unable to bear another minute apart.

She actually does use the bathroom, which makes dread stir heavily in Bucky’s stomach.

You’re acting like a stalker, Barnes, he thinks, hiding in the dark—

“Hey, Buck” Y/N greets, in a half-hearted impression of Steve, “You doin’ okay?”

The second part of the attempt is much better.

So much better that he can’t help but laugh;

“That-” he chuckles, “is scary, doll. Please don’t do that again.”

She nods, beaming at him again.

“You havin’ fun?” she asks, in her usual lilt, “You look like you are”

That almost sounds awed. He’s blushing, and her hand is reaching out to stroke his cheek and god, he’s leaning into her fingers;

“You were watchin’ me?” he murmurs, shy.

She chuckles, leaning in to kiss his brow.

“Of course I was” she purrs, “seein’ you smilin’ like that, it’s the best part of a night like this.”

“A night like this” he echos, utterly entranced, “You mean Halloween?”

She shrugs and he can see the flush of alcohol in her face.

It’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

“See?” she murmurs, thumb on his lower lip, “You’re perfect…”

and, he thinks he might actually be melting.

He’s pressed into the corner that he’d put himself in, and she’s wearing that stupid suit, and she’s blonde and for some reason, it’s not funny.

Even though it should be.

It should be hilarious.

But, it’s… it’s not.

“That hairspray really has hold, huh?”

He chuckles at that, as her fingers try and run through his hair.

She gives up quickly, not wanting to risk pulling on the strands.

No, she wouldn’t ever do that.

“It’s yours,” he tells her lamely—

The spray… the hair— me…

The laughter she treats him to is nicer than the music that’s been playing all night. And the look of love on her face is sweeter than the bright red ‘blood’ orange cocktail that Natasha had made him drink.

“I love you,” she tells him, “Sweetheart”

“I love you” he echos, “and I’ve been watching you too…”

“I know,” she says with a smirk, “You’re not half as subtle as you think you are, Soldier.”

“Maybe not” he agrees, leaning obviously towards her now, “but in my defence- everyone’s lookin’ at you tonight”

“Everyone” she agrees, a little grumpily, “I was really hopin’ that Tony was going to steal the spotlight, but I guess I can let him have this one.”

“People are lookin’ at him too,” he tells her, “if that helps”

“It does” she sighs, knowing that she has to get back to her brother soon, “It’ll help a whole bunch more when people aren’t calling me Cap’ and making jokes about blondes having more fun”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. At the pout she’s wearing, and the way that there's a stubborn crease forming between her brows.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” she asks, expression softening when she looks at him, again.

“Having more fun?”

“Not yet” she replies, “but, if the way you keep starring at my ass in this suit is anything to go by then there’s still time for that to change”

That makes him flush hotter than he thought was possible;

He squirms a little. Embarrassed by the fact that he can’t deny the accusation behind her little joke.

“I…uh—“ he stutters, trying to explain himself, “— um, I…I- di-“

“You don’t like the outfit?” her brow raises in a challenge.

Again, he can’t say that. It’s not true.

He toes at the floor, embarrassed by just how much he does like it.

“I better stop torturing you” she sighs, tone reluctant, “Let you get back to enjoying yourself with Steve.”

“I’m enjoyin’ myself with you,” he says, a little breathy.

“I know” she agrees, smoothing her hand down his front, straightening his shirt, “I know but Natasha has been watching us for 3 minutes, and I think she’s drunk enough to make jokes about us hooking up in the bathroom like high schoolers.”

“and that’d be bad,” he says lamely.

“That’d be bad” she agrees, playful laughter back in her tone, “Because while I’m stuck with Tony, you’re the one that’ll have to hear them all night.”

He nods, before pulling her in for a kiss.

And then, she’s gone.

And he’s back, ignoring the one sly dig about how long he spent in the bathroom, and how Y/N has also only just reappeared.

She was right, he thinks, they’re lucky to get away with only that one dig.

The rest of the night is fast.

It’s loud and full of friends, laughter, and music.

and a never-ending stream of drinks which Bucky can almost trick himself into believing are getting him buzzed.

The routine of drinking them is calming if nothing else.

The fruity ones are sweet, and the beer is classic and the shots, he finds out, aren’t that bad either.

Even if he can’t taste them as they slip down his throat.

He thinks he might’ve liked jello-shots, before.

When they’d have actually served a purpose.

The way that Steve is beaming at him is a purpose on its own he supposes. And they’re serving that one, so, he keeps drinking them.

It’s not exactly like the ‘good old days’ but it’s nice.

It’s very, very, nice.

The only thing that would make it nicer would be if Y/N had been able to escape the spotlight of everyone else for long enough to join him.

But, the way she’s smiling at him whenever he catches her eye across the crowded room takes the edge off.

The distance feels playful, not painful.

The glances and winks are flirtatious, and Bucky is loving it.

He’s loving every single second of it.

and then, it’s winding down.

The guests are leaving, pressing gracious kisses against Tony’s cheek, and then Y/N's and then it’s back to Tony—

He disappears before the room clears, arm in arm with a very female-looking Hulk.

There’s green paint all over his neck already, so it’s hardly a surprise.

Banner hasn’t been drinking, and although he grumbles a bit about Tony’s choice of companion, when the fact that he’s dressed up as the man is highlighted, he realises that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

When it’s time for the remaining Avengers to head home they separate into groups organically.

Somehow, Bucky winds up driving.

He doesn’t complain about that, though. He prefers it. Even if Steve is a nightmare for interfering from the backseat.

Wilson is black-out drunk. His speech so slurred that they’re not even pretending to understand him; and when they eventually pull up into the underground garage, Steve’s big brother complex fires up into high gear and he takes full responsibility for taking him inside and seeing him safely to his room.

Bucky is thrilled by this. He doesn’t hide it well. Steve slaps his shoulder in mock scolding before he ducks away into the stairwell.

He doesn’t know why he’s giddy on the way to his room.

Well, he does.

But he’s trying not to focus on it because it’s embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing because he’s excited by the idea of his girlfriend waiting for him in their room-

-Dressed as your best friend, he reminds himself, Dressed as Steve-

The feeling of wrongness only makes him more excited.

God, that’s sick, he thinks, hand on the door;

“About time, Sarge”

Her voice makes any shame melt away from his core.

and then he’s walking towards her. He’s pacing towards the bed, where she’s leaning against one of the mahogany four-poster posts, with the shield propped up against her bed frame.

When he realises that he’s looking at that, it doesn’t take long at all for his gaze to jump to her boots.

They’re red and knee-high, and then he’s starring at her ass in the suit again-

“Shall I keep the wig on?”

He’s caught, again.

His mouth opens to…Well, he’s not exactly sure of what he intends to do, but, nothing wasn’t the plan;

“Or is the blonde too weird?”

This whole thing is weird, but he likes it.

He’s still just gawking, so she beams at him before kicking a leg up onto the bed, to better display the boots.

“I think we should make Steve wear these,” she says, “I think they’d really set-”

“Can we not talk about Steve right now?-” he asks, chuckling, “Please?”

“Yes, sir” she replies, straightening back out and offering him a salute, “the bedroom is a Steve free zone.”

and then, he’s kissing her.

He’s kissing her, and she tastes like cocktails and his hands are on her waist, and god, she’s perfect-

“Y’know, I-” he pants, lips barely leaving hers, “-I always liked the outfit.”

“Wanna know a secret?” she whispers, hands moving up to cup his jaw, “So have I”

Oh, god- he’s laughing.

They’re both laughing, and kissing, and then they’re on the bed.

And they’re still kissing—

She loses the wig quite quickly.

Bucky tugs it free and launches it across the room where it knocks over an empty vase with a dull clatter.

The boots, however, stay on.

Even when the suit eventually comes off, the shiny red boots remain.

and the next morning, when she wakes up, she kicks them off, letting them fall to the side of the bed. And then, as she turns to fully admire him, she finds herself laughing quietly at the stains of red that smeared across his cheeks, and his neck, and his mouth.

“I made a mess of you, sugar” she murmurs, thumb brushing over the curve of his jaw, “I’ll help you clean up later— I promise.”

“I’ll hold ya’ to that, doll”

Masterlist

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #oneshot #female reader #fluff #drabble #x reader

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captainsimagines · 1 year

Text

pretty woman, this is me trying || three

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(3/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: references to past sexual abuse; strong language; references to sex; reference to past trauma

Word Count: 2,390+

Author’s Note: Steve isn’t going to be evil, I promise. Oops. xxMoni

You entered through a different entrance today. One less guarded and one that didn’t full-body screen you.

You dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans with a puffy sweater to protect from the cold. Unsure of where to go after entering, you wandered around the visitor center for a few minutes.

No one looked at you funny. They had a nametag ready for you and a cup of coffee. You were treated spectacularly well by the secretaries and random agents you passed. Perhaps they didn’t know your occupation, perhaps they did. It’s hard to believe they’d act the same way with Natasha Romanoff.

Then again, Natasha Romanoff would skin them alive before an insult was even thought.

“You lost?”

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. It was Steve fucking Rogers. Steve fucking Rogers was talking to you.

“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for Bucky Barnes.”

Something strange flashed in his eyes. You swear his chest puffed out a little more and a guard went up. “What did you want with him?”

“He invited me over today. Something about taking a walk in the park.”

“Bucky doesn’t take walks in the park.”

“Bucky could have been talking in code for all I know. But he does know I’m coming.”

Steve stepped closer, crossing his arms. “I know his codes.”

You did your best not to cower, but he was so much bigger than you. One push and you’re certain he could pop one of your main arteries. “Can’t you just call him?”

“We have a roster of all the known visitors. If your name isn’t on the list, then you’re not allowed up. So let me go check—”

“It’s alright, Rogers. I invited her. Don’t pull the shield on an innocent.”

Bucky emerged from the hallway in that famous sweater and leather jacket combination you’ve seen him wear in paparazzi photos. But since it was actively snowing outside, his hair was down. Down and wavy and freaking conditioned.

“See, Captain Rogers? I wasn’t about to blow up the building.”

Steve looked you up and down, sneering for a second before it turned into something kinder. Was this the famous Captain America? Rude and overprotective? You understand that you’re a stranger and Bucky Barnes wasn’t a person to venture out all that often, but did you look menacing? Was there some kind of sign hanging over your head that read: Evil Hooker?

Or.

Steve never mentioned you being a hooker. A sex worker, even. Nothing of the sort came out of his mouth. He actually believed you to be Bucky’s… friend.

So Tony Stark and Bucky were the only ones who knew about this deal. Well, and Pepper Potts and Maria Hill. It made this whole thing a lot more comfortable. You didn’t really want the Captain America knowing you were hired to “fuck” his friend.

“Where did you meet?”

Bucky grumbled something incoherent underneath a heavy breath, glaring at his friend as he rushed to stand next to you. Not touching, but still… protective. And that little detail made you feel ten times greater than the star-spangled man.

“We met last week. At the bakery down the road. Now if you’ll excuse us,” Bucky explained, tilting his head for you to follow him. He began walking back to the hallway he came from, not sparing another glance over a shoulder. You met Steve’s eye—his incredibly judgmental eye—and gave him a tight smile.

“Bucky usually tells me about girls,” Steve interrupted you mid-step, speaking low enough that not even the super soldier ahead of you could hear.

“I don’t know your relationship,” you reasoned.

“No,” Steve sighed, looking you up and down again. “You don’t.”

You squinted at the man, suddenly angry, but you did yourself a favor and reeled in the frightful emotion. He had a shield and super strength, but the ball forming in your stomach had every indication of barreling through those things. Being looked down upon by men did something to you. It made you vicious, and rightfully so. A sort of viciousness that turned light blue to red and urged you to claw downward.

“It was nice meeting you, Captain.”

You turned on your heel, head held high, swallowing the neanderthal rage pounding through your veins.

Bucky really liked milking the fuck out of the heater. Your cheeks were hot and you were starting to sweat in your boots.

“Tea? Coffee?”

“You got bread?”

Bucky, looking away from you, paused. Quite comically, you might add. He lowered the coffee pot and turned around, one eyebrow high and lips threatening to widen into a grin. “I have bread.”

“And butter?”

“I’ve got bread and butter.”

“Good, because I’m starving.”

Bucky pulled out a long roll of French bread—freshly baked—and removed the packaging. He sliced a few pieces, piling them in a small basket. Then he got some packaged butter from the fridge. Not just any butter. Those tiny packets of butter from Panera. Dozens of them.

“You’re my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky snorted, buttering a piece of bread for himself. He stood while you sat on one of the barstools, buttering your own piece as well. “All it takes is to feed you, huh?”

“Well, when I asked for bread and butter, I was expecting you to toast some wheat bread and pull out the margarine.”

“Never. This is my favorite peasant dish. Might as well have fresh ingredients.”

You covered your mouth, laughing softly. “A peasant dish, huh?”

Bucky shrugged. “My Ma used to make this. But sometimes she’d head down to the Puerto Rican stores and buy some tortillas. I’d eat them with butter and jelly.”

“Please tell me they were flour and you at least heated them up.”

“I am not as uncultured as I look.”

Now that made you grin big.

You two ate in a comfortable silence, awkward questions stored for until after your stomachs were full. In the meantime, you glanced around Bucky’s apartment. You noticed things you didn’t have the time to notice yesterday.

Small accents on the walls: drawings, picture frames, and hanging ornaments. Drawings Captain Rogers most likely drew. Pictures that only showed Bucky, Steve, and Sam. Ornaments that didn’t have Christmas accents exactly, but rather the names of each individual Avenger. Like those Avengers made the ornament themselves. It was a personalized apartment, after all. Like Bucky valued his personal space and wanted it to be comforting when he returned from a hard day of battling the bad guys.

Kind of like you.

Your apartment was full. Like, literally. Counters full of picture frames, Etsy art, sweaters strung randomly. It was homey and warm, made to be welcoming.

You wonder if Bucky feels the same: Like more will never be enough.

“We can play 20 questions! Though, it might get kind of boring unless we search up the question chart—”

“I don’t like being touched.”

You paused, mouth wrapped around a strangled syllable. Something cracked in your throat before you cleared it, the remnants of the end of a word. “Alright, straight with it. Got it.”

“I was tortured and brainwashed and abused and sexually assaulted while in Hydra custody. That’s why I’m comfortable with hiring you. You have a choice, and you give me a choice. The two go hand in hand.”

You wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing especially intelligible sprang to mind.

“And don’t apologize or tell me, ‘Damn, that sucks.’ I’ve heard enough of it throughout my two years of freedom.”

“Then I’m drawing a blank.”

His lips twitched, but he continued, “Just… Be normal with me. Just don’t touch me.”

“No touch at all? What if I have to push you out of the way of a moving car?”

He made a noise resembling a chuckle. “I’d probably survive it.”

Not even to save his life? Alright, you can work with that. This man simply wanted companionship and you were an expert in that, too. Kendall enjoyed touching your waist or holding your hand during dinner, kissing you on the cheek or hugging you for too long. But he was, first and foremost, seeking company. And since this Christmas Ball called for nothing more than your company, everything was settled.

“And don’t get me wrong,” Bucky started, looking pained as he spoke. “I want to… I just…”

“Bucky,” you said, keeping your voice soft. “Is there something else you want to ask me to—”

“I want to learn how to touch people again. For them to stand near me again. To not… panic when someone raises a hand for a fucking high-five.”

You nodded, somewhat understanding. “It’s a gradual process. Some of the girls who experienced abuse while working or by monogamous partners described it that way.”

“Do I just need to get used to it?”

You shook your head. “It’s more like… Reminding yourself that sweet touches exist, too. That casual touches are just that. Casual. That accidental touches are bound to happen.”

“Tricking my mind into it.”

“Perhaps. But then again, it won’t be a trick that far down the road. It will be real.”

Bucky grumbled, looking down at the counter. Ideas were flying around in your head. Things to get him reacting well to you being around, the smallest of jump scares, ideas for the softest touches.

But this wasn’t just any client. This was Bucky Barnes. World War Two veteran, prisoner of war, war hero, Avenger.

That was who you were trying to help.

And you had the perfect method for introduction.

“Up for a walk?” you suggested, hopping off the barstool and grabbing your purse.

Bucky stood slowly, raising an eyebrow. “To where?”

“The fun is in the surprise!”

Bucky Barnes looked you up and down, assessing, but ultimately took a chance. He followed you out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

And that alone was an achievement.

He followed you.

You would not fail him now.

“Keep up with me!”

Bucky tried his best to keep the rumble of his laugh minimal. He wanted to be nice, to make this experience comfortable for you, too. But he didn’t want to seem overeager—What if you took it the wrong way? What if you expected something from him? So Bucky did his absolute best to not smile fully, to keep his laughs low, to keep his hands in his pockets.

He jogged to catch up, nearly slipping on ice. He doesn’t know how you haven’t fallen and face planted yourself. You were wearing running shoes—Bucky, and he has been chastising himself since you arrived at his front door, completely assumed you would be wearing heels. Everything he knows about sex workers is unbuttoned blouses and shoes too difficult to walk in. But then again, there are the ones who make their income on the internet.

You twirled and clapped your hands together, looking up at the sign that blinked through the layer of freshly fallen snow.

And Bucky made it a goal to google everything about sex workers in the modern age, because he feels like he should be punched in the face and spit on.

Oh.

Bad thing to think about right now. Bucky never liked when that happened to him back then.

“You want to get used to touch again? Start here!”

The Manhattan Kennel.

“Animals?”

You snorted, pulling open the door. Bucky raced to hold it open for you, internally cursing that you weren’t more careful.

“You can’t just barrel into someplace without assessing the possible threats!” Bucky whispered-screamed as close as he could to your ear. He understood that it was just a kennel… But to not search for threats ahead of you? Bucky takes it upon himself to do just that.

Two workers behind the counters, both male and in their early thirties. Surrounded by what looked like parrots and turtles—

“You think I, as a hooker, don’t look for threats?”

Bucky blinked, swallowing the embarrassing lump in his throat. You continued, “Two males, both of which look like they could carry me out easily. My purse has pepper spray and a pocket knife. I know how to break a nose with the heel of my hand. The dude on the left has a broken leg, by the way. And I’m pretty sure the one on the right is eyeing you instead of me.”

“Welcome to the Manhattan Kennel! How can we help you both find your lifelong friend?” the man on the right said, his voice a little higher-pitched than Bucky was expecting.

“Exactly,” you finished.

Bucky turned to you, hoping his equal amount of disbelief and proud astonishment were visible.

So he underestimated you. Okay. Bucky was thinking of kicking himself in the ass later, anyway.

“Do you have an area where we can sit and have the little angels run all over us?” you asked.

“Right up here,” the worker responded, as if that was a common request.

Was Bucky going to react well to this? Hell if he knows. He’s never exactly interacted with animals after his time with Hydra. They don’t incite the same amount of discomfort he usually feels when a human being stands near him. And Sam held a Veteran Dog event just last month—not that Bucky went, but he did see them being led into the compound.

But this did seem like a good idea. In theory. At least you weren’t touching him.

“We’ve got a mix of dogs this season. Big ones, little ones, fluffy mates, seniors, puppies—Was there any kind you wanted to look at?”

You turned to Bucky, your eyebrows raised sweetly and doe-eyes waiting for an answer. Were your eyes naturally that big?

“Um,” Bucky stuttered, swiping a nervous hand down the back of his neck. His metal fingers got caught in the loose strands of his hair-bun. “The seniors sound nicer.”

“Perfect!” the worker cheered, “Just make yourselves comfortable in the green playpen and I’ll have about five dogs come around right now.”

The worker exited, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky created a respectable distance, clearing his throat uncomfortably as you obviously pretended not to notice.

“Do you like dogs?” you asked.

“Never really gave it much thought.”

“Really? I like both dogs and cats. I love all animals equally. I don’t segregate.”

Bucky chuckled, wiping his bottom lip softly. “You mean, discriminate?”

“That, too.”

“Are you looking to adopt one today?” he fished, kicking an invisible pebble with his left foot. Looking down at his feet calmed him a bit.

“Don’t have the space. I’d love to adopt a tiny, little Shih Tzu, though.”

That pulled a small smile to his lips. “You look like someone who would twin with a small dog.”

“You’re not far off. I’d match Christmas sweaters and everything.”

He was in the middle of imagining you squeezing a Shih Tzu sized head through a doggy sweater when the shelter worker returned, clicking his tongue in a call to the dogs behind him. Several older dogs, white around the mouth and eyebrows, came barreling through the small gate. They ignored him at first, finding their own scents much more interesting. But they took notice the moment you fell to your knees, squealing in excitement and comments of sweet praise. Three dogs, a golden retriever and two corgis, barreled into you. Licking in eagerness, barking with elation, searching for your hands so they may pat their heads and tickle their ears. You obliged wholeheartedly, deciding to lay down and take the rushed steps to your stomach, your chest. You laughed and awed, nowhere close to stopping, in a strange and soft element.

You were on your back with weight on your chest, and you weren’t screaming in terror. You were reaching out and fluffing hair on the top of the dogs’ heads, and you weren’t breaking any fingers. Your clothes were being pulled and scratched at, but not torn off.

You were happy. Pumped with glee and spirit.

It damn near made Bucky tear up.

“You want to pet some?” the worker asked, staying by the gate. There were two other dogs drinking from the water bowls in the corner, minding their own business. The chihuahua drank and drank, while the other—a German shepherd—stared at him. The dog tilted his head, his tongue slipping out quickly to swipe at his nose. He made no move to approach Bucky. He just stared, interested, and kind.

Bucky hesitated, glancing over at you for a signal. You turned toward him, grinning from ear to ear, holding one of the corgis to your chest. You didn’t seem to mind the fuzzy butt near your neck.

“It’s up to you,” you clarified, doing your best to shrug. “But this would be a good first exercise.”

You didn’t divulge more information than needed in front of a stranger. The worker made no indication he had even heard at all. So Bucky lowered himself down to his knees, then onto his bottom, crossing his legs in an easy pretzel. He removed his gloves, breathing in long, calculated breaths. Preparing himself to be trampled—with paws, not with boots.

The German shepherd inched closer, curious, his beautiful brown and black coat mesmerizing Bucky. It had been a while since Bucky had seen a German shepherd. Last time was during the war. Steve had just returned with a small, rescued unit and gave his tent over to an injured sergeant. The man, who Bucky recalled as having the most gorgeous green eyes, had given his cot to his equally injured dog. With a horrid gunshot wound in his shoulder, the soldier sat on the cold, forest floor and wrapped his dog’s leg. Bucky hadn’t questioned him, hadn’t spoken much to the soldier, really.

All he remembered about that encounter was saying, “Describe the landscape of where you were held captive,” and the soldier replying, “This rascal probably remembers better than me.” Bucky couldn’t actually ask the dog the same question so he nodded his thanks, and never saw the dog or the soldier again.

Bucky figured it was safer to hold his flesh hand out first—safer for the dog. He highly doubted he would lose a finger to a dog with half his original teeth. The dog sniffed, nuzzling his nose in Bucky’s palm, groaning softly. Bucky released a shaky breath, one that hurt a little as it exited his lungs, but he sat still. He sat completely frozen, not risking moving, because this was the first time someone or something had touched him without him freaking out in a long time.

A paw repeatedly brushed against his knee, telling him to do more than just offer out his hand. So Bucky turned his hand over, rested it on the dog’s forehead, and pet him.

Then he used both hands.

Close to sobbing now, Bucky buried his face in the dog’s neck. The dog did the very same.

“Bucky?”

Bucky hummed, pulling the heavy dog closer.

“Did this make you happy?”

Bucky breathed in the mix of dust, dirt, and—weirdly enough—tortilla chips, that made up the dog’s coat. Honest in his answer, Bucky barely nodded as he mumbled, “It feels good to be hugged again.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #marvel fanfiction #mini-series #holiday fanfic #pretty woman au #captainsimagines #by Moni

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sunnflow3rshowers · 6 months

Text

Rp Search

In this year of Our Lord 2023, Omegle has fallen. (RIP) So here I am, laying all of this out, desperate to find more rp partners. I am 27, so I am only really interested in rping with people that are 21+. I am interested in both fandom and OC rps, depending on the mood and all of that. I will list the fandoms I'm looking for, as well as who I play, and general themes. I am a third person, literate roleplay, I stick to 1-2 paragraphs, but the length can always fluctuate depending on the roleplay and my roleplay partners. When it comes to RPs, I like them light and soft. I also like them dark and heavy, with lots of Whump, Angst, and Hurt/Comfort, as well as some darker themes that would require trigger warnings, all of which will be discussed privately, of course.

I prefer MxM for fandom rps, although there are some small exceptions for specific ships. I"m more open to MxF and FxF, and other pairings with more OC rps. With most Fandom Rps, I am looking for Shipping Rps, aka a Merthur rp, Kylux Rp, etc

Fandoms!

Fandom: Who I play

Teen wolf: Stiles Stilinski The Old Guard: Nicky Star Wars: Luke Skywalker, Armitage Hux Umbrella Academy: Klaus Stranger Things: Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins The Witcher: Jaskier Kingsman: Eggsy Unwin ATLA: Sokka Our Flag Means Death: Lucius Spriggs Gotham: Oswald Cobblepot Merlin: Merlin Criminal Minds: Spencer Reid Hannibal: Will Graham Arcane: Viktor Spider-Man: Peter Parker (NOT MCU) GOT: Sansa (only paired with Sandor Clegane) The Eternals: Makkari (only paired with Druig) Detroit Become Human: Connor Good Omens: Aziraphale Agents of Shield: Fitz (as gay and not paired with Simmons) FAHC: Jack (fem) Yugioh: Joey Wheeler Person of Interest: Harold Finch Haikyuu: Suga, kenma X-men: Charles Xavier The Boys: Hughie White Collar: Neal The Goldfinch: Theo Hunter X Hunter: Kurapika, Shalnark Barry: No-ho Hank IT: Eddie Hawaii 5-0: Danny Daredevil (netflix): Foggy, James Wesley Fantastic Beasts: Credence Vikings: Athelstan OC Fandoms! Hit me up if you want to talk about rps in any of these. In these sorts of rps I am 110% down to double up if you play canon against my oc, all of which can be talked and discussed privately! Marvel Xmen GOT Star Wars Barry General Rps! I am a huge fan of brainstorming rps with general themes! Fantasy Horror Drama Sci-fi Cyberpunk Etc! Please please just reach out and I'm always going to be happy to brainstorm! If you made it this far, thank you so much! If you are interested, like this, leave a comment, send me a dm, or add me on discord @ sunnflow3rshowers !

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brighteststar707 · 6 months

Note

Adzuuh if that last slot is still open, Vanderwood with 11 aaaand she/her pronouns? 👉👈💕

Aaah hi Becky! Thank you for the request <3

I see 'dirt' and I raise you... blood! I'm in an agent mood and this was the perfect excuse to write some soft/gruff Vandy hehe

I hope you enjoy my take on this prompt <3

Brushing dirt off of their face

✦ Vanderwood x Fem!MC

✦ Words: 938

Blood pounding in her ears, the matching sounds of hers and Vanderwood’s feet hitting the ground as they run, run, run. The shouts of their pursuers are getting more and more distant, but that doesn’t mean they are in the clear.

The mission had all gone well until this point. She and Vanderwood had split up to get the work done faster, but she had gotten caught in a bad spot when someone caught her in a room she shouldn't have been in. She managed to subdue them - but not before they landed a few hits on her and caused enough commotion to raise the alarm. Then it was a choice between facing whoever would come looking for them or running, and she didn’t like her odds.

She found Vanderwood back at the meet-up point and, for once, he didn’t berate her. He looked her over quickly, then swiped this thumb over her eyebrow. His hand came away red – she hadn’t even noticed she was bleeding yet. Before she could say anything, a warning or perhaps just a thank you, they heard shouts coming from behind them and knew it was time to go.

Her lungs are burning. She’d rather not shoot anyone tonight, but she knows not to hope for such things. If it comes down to it, she’d sooner shoot one of the faceless strangers than let Vanderwood or herself get hurt (in that order). It’s a test she has had to face many times over and, despite how she wishes she had higher morals, the answer never changes.

Eventually, they find a door leading to the outside and burst out onto the street. It’s a back alley, so there’s nobody around, but she’s still on edge. She looks around a few times and jumps when Vanderwood says her name. He’s looking at her, more specifically that same spot over her eyebrow. It’s starting to throb now, and she knows that by tomorrow it’ll be a full-blown headache.

“What? Am I still bleeding?” she asks impatiently. She always feels a little jittery when he looks at her for too long and the pain certainly isn’t improving her mood either.

“Ugh – stop complaining and just stand still.” He replies in a matching tone.

Reluctantly, she complies.

He rummages through his first aid pouch and pulls out a wipe to clean the wound properly. He is being uncharacteristically gentle with her, despite his impatience. He works quietly, dabbing around the edges of what must be a gash across her eyebrow, eyes flitting back to her face every so often.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Got into a fight, the idiot knocked my head into a table."

"Got anything worse than this?"

"No." At least, she hopes not. There's a soreness around her ribs but she's hoping it doesn't get worse.

"Good."

Is she making things up, or does he sound relieved?

Whatever it is, it makes her feel a strange sort of warm fluttering in her chest. She has patched up most of her own wounds before, so this kind of care is foreign to her, especially coming from Vanderwood. She isn’t sure where to look or what to say, if anything at all. It makes it even harder to stay still. She can only hope this strange feeling isn't showing on her face.

He rarely shows her this side of himself. He is usually gruff, quick to give instructions and most of their conversations quickly turn to bickering. To be treated so gently by him is a treat, especially after a mission like this, when she's feeling raw and tired.

They have all learned to hide themselves behind one shield or another doing the work they do, and many of them have fallen into similar personas as him. It’s easier to pretend you’re tough so people don’t pry. She treasures the little looks he allows her to get at who he might have been before.

Once all the blood has been cleaned up (she assumes, anyway) he pulls out some antiseptic. It stings, and she instinctively flinches away from him. He sucks in air through his teeth, irritated, and catches her chin between his gloved thumb and forefinger. He angles her head straight again and looks into her eyes to make sure she's listening.

"Stop moving or I'm going to get it in your eye, and you'll have much bigger problems than this cut."

"Fine."

His grasp is firm but not painful, and she complies. He holds her still as he dabs the rest of the disinfectant over the wound and then lets go so that he can survey his work.

She takes it as an opportunity to look at him properly. Other than being tired from running, he seems to have made it out unscathed. His hair is falling out of the ponytail he put it in before entering the building and his fringe is sticking to his forehead from sweat. In the little light the alley gets, she can just about see his eyes: dark and calculating and under all of that, some semblance of tenderness as he checks her over one last time.

He must be content with the result because he pulls out some gauze to make a temporary patch to cover the wound with. Now that some of the adrenaline is wearing off, she is starting to feel the toll this mission has taken on her. Various aches and pains are starting to make themselves known and she is exhausted. She can't remember the last time she slept for more than an hour at a time.

"Shall we go?" He asks.

"Yes, please," she replies.

He throws an arm over her shoulders and together they melt into the shadows.

#blogiversary 2 #mystic messenger #mystic messenger Vanderwood #mary vanderwood 3rd #mysme vanderwood #mysme #my writing

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not-a-robot-i-swear-really · 1 year

Text

Waiting for the Right Time

Bucky Barnes x GN!Black!Reader

Summary: Imagine that Bucky Barnes has a huge little crush on you. Now imagine that he’s not the only one who thinks that way.

Word Count: About 1150 words

Chapter Warnings: None, just Bucky getting jealous and slightly possessive, mostly fluff. Reader attracts attention from all across the gender spectrum, and is stated to have powers. No Y/N, we don’t do that here. Ambiguous ending ahead!

Bucky’s got a problem, and for once it has nothing to do with his past.

It’s you and the way the sunlight bounces off your brown skin to make it shine. It’s you and the way your smile makes his heart do backflips. It’s you and the way your deep brown eyes look at him with nothing but admiration and care.

Bucky loves you, and he is not ready to do anything about it.

He knows, logically, that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him if he were to confess. You damn near killed yourself trying to save him during a mission in Beirut, when a mercenary lobbed a bomb his way. You plucked it from the air and flew off with it, wrapping yourself in a blue shield just as it went off – you got a nasty scar, and it make his chest hurt every time he thinks about it. You smile to reassure him when he stares and tell him that it gives you a cool story to tell at family reunions. Worst case scenario, you would let him down gently and ask to remain friends. Even still, the worst-case scenario was apocalyptic to Bucky.

If he were going to confess, he needed to be absolutely sure that you would love him back. That was how things were, and that’s how it was going to stay until Bucky finally found the right time to confess.

Too bad the rest of the world didn’t get the memo to play along with his pining.

You got flowers the morning of June 26; Bucky remembered the exact day because his world came to a screeching halt when he read the note attached to them.

“Roses are red, violets are blue,

Know what’s on the menu? Me ‘n’ U~<3

From, Your Secret Admirer”

Bucky should’ve thrown the flowers away as soon as he saw them, should have stomped on them, thrown them in an incinerator, anything to make sure you didn’t see them. People sent you flowers all the time, and you never cared what anyone did to them – you like to joke that you had the opposite of a green thumb.

But he didn’t. He froze, and you came trudging out of your bedroom, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, wondering why Bucky spent so long outside your door without knocking.

“Aww, corny but sweet,” you cooed sleepily when you read the note. Bucky’s heart squeezed when you said that, and not in a good way. “Any chance these are from you?”

“No. No, they’re not.” Bucky grits out. If he sent you flowers with a note, he would be pouring his heart and soul into the card, not leaving a shitty pickup line.

“Wonder who it is then,” you yawned as you breezed by him.

Bucky spent the day tracking down the secret admirer. It was a random SHIELD agent, lower in the hierarchy, and too cocky for his own good. It only took a single visit from the former Winter Solider to get the agent to back off. Unfortunately, that agent wasn’t the last to pursue you.

When you went for your morning runs, a woman would join you every morning at exactly the halfway mark. She asked you if you wanted to go to the botanical gardens with her; Bucky showed up and pretended that there was a mission at the same time that would have happened. Thank god there actually was a mission to back him up.

When you thwarted a bioterrorist’s attempts to clear out the “undesirables,” you rescued a civilian from falling rubble with a well-timed shield. They offered to make lunch or dinner to repay you for saving them; Bucky waited till your back was turned to tell them that the Avengers didn’t accept food from strangers. Standard procedure and all that. There technically was no such procedure, but it was just common sense not to eat anything made by a stranger, right.

When Tony threw another one of his notorious parties, you were approached by a random well-to-do bachelor. He fancied himself an art aficionado and invited you to a personal showing of a rare Basquiat painting. When you left to get more champagne, Bucky got Sam to distract the man before you could give him an answer. Sam was sworn to secrecy, of course, Bucky would rather you didn’t see this side of him.

“How long are you gonna keep this up, man?” Sam groaned when he came back to the table.

“Keep what up?” Bucky kept his eyes trained on you, your enchanting laugh reaching his ears even through all the blaring music and cacophony of voices.

"This!” Sam gestured at you and Bucky. “It would just be easier to confess at this point. You can’t scare off everyone that goes near them forever.”

He gave Sam a deadpan glare. “I can and I will.”

“You would have to keep an eye on them all the time, you’d basically be stalking them at that point.”

“Actually, that’s not such a bad idea.”

“Wait-“

“There’s cafe across the street from their apartment, could probably stake out there.”

“Bucky-“

“You think I could get those little spy cameras from Tony’s lab without him noticing?”

“No! You need to say something to them before someone else asks them out and they say yes.”

“’S not the right time.”

“Man, someone else is gonna snatch them up while you’re busy waiting for the right time!” Bucky left before Sam could finish talking; another woman had sidled up your table.

As much as he hated to say it Sam was right.

Bucky hated this; the constant vigilance of chasing away would-be suitors, the way his heart squeezed every time he saw you smile at someone that wasn’t him, the fear that you would pick someone else before he could show you how much he loved you.

So on a cold November 12th, Bucky woke up earlier than everyone else in the tower to finally enact his plan. He went to the only shop open in Brooklyn for a fruit bouquet – filled with all the fruit he knew you liked and drizzled with chocolate. He dressed in the outfit Steve had helped him with – something casual, but made to impress. He put on your favorite playlist – Etta James, and Al Green, and Aretha Franklin.

With everything in place and his nerves at an all-time high, Bucky took a deep breath and knocked on your door.

A/N: Little something I thought up that I had to get out before I forgot or something, hope y'all enjoy! It was inspired by another post that I haven't been able to find, but it takes place in the 40s right before Bucky is shipped out to the warfront. If anyone can find it please let me know!

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x black reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x gn!reader #oneshot #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x poc reader #bucky barnes fluff #my writing #black!reader #black reader #poc!reader #poc reader #black writers #poc writer

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stargirlstudio · 2 years

Text

'86 Dallas [Part 1]

☆ Dmitri Antonov x fem!Reader

☆ Warnings: age gap (12 years apart), slight pain

☆ Word Count: 2016

☆ Summary: Dmitri is granted political asylum in America, rather than take him to Hawkins, Hopper drops him off in Dallas, Texas. The remaining daughter of Hopper's friend who died in combat, you told Hopper that if he needs a favor, to just ask. At the behest of you, you certainly weren't expecting your Uncle Jim to drop off an ex-Russian guard turned prisoner

☆ A/N: Yeehaw! This fic diverges from the original request. The original request was sent way before Vol 2 of ST Season 4. This fic also diverges from the canon.

“Jim?! The hell are you doing in Alaska?” I asked. His laughter fogged through the phone.

“Ah jeez it’s a long story. Listen, I have a big favor to ask of you. I figured it’s time to cash in on that promise,” He said. “I’ll explain more when I come down, but I really need you to keep an open mind,”

You watched a black helicopter land on an empty part of your plot, the dust blowing, shielding your eyes from the onslaught of debris. When it finally settled, your Uncle Jim came out and hugged you. “Wow you look like shit,”

He ruffled your hair, you looked past to see Joyce and Murray. They came and hugged you, telling you how much you’ve grown. To be honest, you barely remember them. You moved away from Hawkins, Indiana, your father’s hometown at a young age. You settled down South with your grandparents and your mother.

“How’s your mom?” Joyce asked. You gave her a sad look. “Oh honey I’m so so sorry,”

“It’s okay Joyce. It’s been years. I’ve got all this land now,” I told them. You noticed a man in a heavy coat, behind them alongside a woman with cropped hair.

Hopper noticed and patted your shoulder. “This is En- I mean Dmitri,” He said. “He’s the guy I was talking about,” You nodded. He gave a small wave.

“Should we take this inside?” The woman spoke up. You led them to the back entrance of your home. It was a sizable ranch, overlooking the land and the animals. “This place is isolated enough,” She said looking around.

“So what’s this about?” You asked. The woman, who you later learned was an agent, looked over at Jim.

He sat down with the others, right next to you. “I need you to house Dmitri for a while. Just until things calm down and he’s given the proper paperwork. Maybe for a few months up to a couple of months. We aren’t sure,”

Hopper later explained the prison and who Dmitri was. It was hard for you to extend your hand to your neighbors, much less a stranger from a different country. You’ve lost so many people, it was hard to be inviting. “A couple of months?!” I asked. Hopper nodded.

“Listen you don’t need to. We can always find someplace else, but I trust him with my life. He helped me! I am asking you, (f/n), to put some trust into me. If not him then at least trust me,” You thought about it for a while. Hopper offered financial compensation, but you declined. You knew Jim wasn’t a bad man who would put you in a compromising situation. Even when finances were tough in Hawkins, he lended a hand. And you were especially indebted to him after your father died.

“Okay, he can stay,” You glanced over at him. “If he tries anything, he’s out,” You paused. “Not just kicked out either,”

“Thank you,” Dmitri said, finally speaking up.

You both watched them take off in the helicopter, waving your hand to your dad’s old friends. You gestured for Dmitri to come inside, with him following close behind. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No I haven’t, don’t worry about it,” He said. You gave him a look and he quietly sat down. “I’m not even hungry,” He said before you heard his stomach growl. You laughed.

“Just keep your ass sat. I’ll make you something,” You told him. Dmitri watched as you took Tupperware from the fridge, preparing something with such concentration. He looked around at the family photos. Most of them with your grandparents who seemed to be long gone. Some photos of your mother and barely any photos of you with your father. You noticed him looking at the walls, serving him a plate of biscuits and gravy. “My dad had me during his junior year of high school,” You told him. “Then he went and served, never came back home,”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” He said solemnly.

“It’s okay,” You told him. “Just eat up,”

A day turned into a week and a week turned into a month. You didn’t trust him at first, you still didn’t. You didn’t like strangers. Yet still, you didn’t believe in leaving people hungry. You kept him fed and gave him some responsibilities around the ranch. He kept the horses clean, the goats fed, and picked the eggs from the coop. Your work days are much shorter now and he comes home dirty, but he always sank into the hot bath you ran for him.

He asked a lot of questions, to try to get to know you. He learned you absolutely adored romance novels, like peaches, and you once had a cat named Whiskey. On weekends you sold goat cheese and goat milk at the farmer’s market. Despite going so often, you’re there for business and keep to yourself. Apparently the ranch you now own used to be a place for children to learn how to ride horses, but it’s just a regular ranch now. You also loved photography.

“I don’t know, I guess, I just enjoy capturing things. I never know when I can’t see them again,” You said, glancing at the lack of photos with your mom and dad.

After that, Dmitri began taking up odd jobs outside of the paid work around the house. He told you about the neighbors you forgot about. And while you weren’t exactly at that place yet to introduce yourself to them after all these years, Dmitri told you that they would love to meet you. It was a friendly, mutually beneficial relationship between the two of you…until…it became something…more?

One day, a heavy knock interrupted your reading time. You set the book down, brushed out your nightgown, and opened the door to see an old man in a cowboy hat. “Hello, sorry to bother you tonight. I’m your neighbor over by the east. The name is Gael, nice to meet you,” He said, sticking a hand out. You shook it, giving him a small smile. “Does Dmitri live here?”

“Yes he is staying here,” I said. “Do you need him?”

He shook his hand, his hand waving wildly. “Oh no no no,” He exclaimed. “I wanted to give him this,” Gesturing to the box in his hand. “I have something in here for you. The gift to you was actually Dmitri’s idea but don’t tell him I said that!” He said cheekily. You looked down at the box of apples.

“Oh well that’s very kind of you,” You said. You looked out at the horizon, the sun was setting, you didn’t realize how late it was getting. “It’s still supper time…would you like to join us Gael?”

“I can’t intrude on both of y’all’s dinner,” He said. “I can get going,”

“No no…it’s okay. A friend of Dmitri’s is welcome in my home,” You said.

“Why thank you Miss. Let me go mount Delora, is it okay if I do right by that post over there?” You nodded your head and told him he can let himself inside afterwards. You put the other gift box on the table and rushed over to Dmitri’s room.

Knocking on the door, you called out to him, telling him that his friend Gael was here. After no answer, you knocked again. You turned the knob and when you opened the door, Dmitri was in the doorway of the connected bathroom. He was shirtless, hair wet, wearing jeans and a western belt. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” You said, covering your eyes.

“It’s okay! I'm not naked or anything,” That’s not the problem! You blushed harder, slowly closing the door.

“Gael will be joining us for dinner by the way,” You said quickly going back to the kitchen. You set out the special plates and utensils. Dmitri came back out, both of you avoiding each other’s gaze. He went out to check on his brisket, coming back in just as Gael came into the dining room.

“Hahaha! Look at you!” Gael said. “The grill master!” Dmitri laughed, hugging him.

“I can’t have you here, this is my first time trying your brisket recipe,” He joked. “What if it tastes bad?”

He patted his shoulders. “Can’t be worse than the time you lost my cows,” They both looked at you. Gael’s face dropped. “Oh shit you don’t know?”

You gave an exasperated look at Dmitri. “I got it back!” He said. “It took me all night but I got them back!”

You all ate dinner at your little round table, happy to hear the stories Gael was telling. Most of them involved Dmitri and all the mishaps. Dmitri has never smiled this hard, it was nice to hear him laugh. You had never heard him laugh before. “You know, it’s nice to meet you. I know the folks down at the market would love to see you more!” He said to you. “Dmitri over here says you’re very kind and offered him a home. Don’t be a stranger to the rest of us!”

“I would like to meet everyone. It’s just been a bit hard…”

Gael gave a soft pat, “And this too shall pass. You know we have a little get together at my farm every Friday. You and Dmitri can swing on down! You can bring that-“ Gesturing to the box of apples. “Mean ass apple pie. D told me you make some good apple pie,”

“I’ll think about it Gael,”

It didn’t take you a lot of convincing to go down to Gael’s farm. Every Friday, a neighbourhood potluck style dinner was held at Gael’s. Everyone seemed to be acquainted with Dmitri already but even though you were in this neighbourhood since childhood, it really felt like the first time meeting new people. He checked on you every so often, never leaving your side. Despite the many people wanting to talk to him, he always made sure you were included. After that, most days would consist of finishing farm work early and being able to go into town, and sometimes in the cities. You would eat together, have picnics, and do all kinds of stuff. Maybe you were starting to like him, but Dmitri fell for you a long time ago.

“Do I look silly?” He said one day. You gave him a confused look, thinking he meant the black cowboy hat Gael made for him.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Do I belong here?” He said. It seemed like this was bothering him for some time. “I got a call from Murray, he said I’m welcome into Indiana if I want to go there. My time here is almost over. My paperwork is being finalized,”

Your heart shattered, you liked having him around. It felt nice to have a companion — were you afraid to be alone?

“Oh well. I don’t think you stick out. You made great friends here and the people love you. If you want to go to Hawkins you can,” You said solemnly. “This was just temporary after all,”

Dmitri didn’t want to hear that. He wanted to hear some sort of gesture that this was his home. His new home. Especially from you, he didn’t know why it mattered so much. He was glad that everyone liked him, but he wanted to be here with you. “Murray says that he could see me in Indiana. I don’t know how true that is, but I’m not sure if I want to give it a shot,”

You laughed. “I’m not sure if you’re a midwestern guy. Hawkins is great, I mean it’s my hometown, but I don’t know if it fits you,”

Dmitri smiled. “And what about Dallas? Do I belong here in Dallas?” You dropped your head, not wanting to give too much away.

“I think you do,” You said. “I like that you’re here with me,”

“I like being here with you too,” He moved closer. “If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” You replied quietly. “Stay for as long as you like,”

Dmitri Tag List: @druigswh0ree @h3k3t @milfodyssey @lucilexe @wolfstcr

#fics #stranger things #dmitri antonov #enzo stranger things #fanfic #fanfiction #enzo x reader #dmitri antonov x reader

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