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gogolucky13 · 1 month
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Oh yes! 😆
Thank you so much for reading and sharing!! 🥰🥰
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Summary: You’ve seen many things and met many people on your travels, but nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the White Wolf and what he has planned for you. (70s AU)
Pairing: cult leader!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Word count: 6,556
Warnings: Dubcon/noncon. Smut (fingering, oral f receiving, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex). Swearing. Descriptions of drug use and drugging. Forced body mutilation (branding). Manipulation and mentions of cult-like ideology. Use of pet names (angel). Bucky is dark and all kinds of crazy. (18+ only please).
A/N: This is my entry for @boxofbonesfic’s Spooktacular Smutfest challenge. I chose cult leader Bucky and the quote prompt “Why are you doing this?”, “Because I want to. Because I can.” which is in bold. A huge thank you to @sweeterthanthis for reading this and letting me scream at her about the idea. You’re amazing and ilysm. 🥰 Gif found here. Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @gogolucky13-library for all writing updates. Happy reading! 💜
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The tops of your shoulders burn in the glaring light of high noon, your brow crinkling against the bright rays. Sweat beads along your hairline and layers on the back of your neck as the heat continues to rise. Aimlessly, you walk along the desolate dirt road; worn cowboy boots scuffing in the ground and creating small clouds of dust that swirl around your ankles.
You’ve been called many things over the years—a drifter, a wanderer, a stupid, fucking hippie.
Always on the move and never staying in one place for too long, you can’t say the names are wrong. But for years, it’s been the only life you’ve known since running off at the tender age of seventeen. Sometimes you don’t remember how you ended up somewhere or what state you’re even in, but it never matters to you; just so long as where you’re going isn’t where you came from.
Readjusting the strap of your rucksack, your ears perk at the sound of an approaching vehicle from behind. Quickly, you spin on the balls of your feet. Your arm is thrown out to your side, thumb sticking up to the sky as a forced friendly smile is plastered on your face.
The small yellow car draws closer, seeming to slow down for a moment, before it speeds up again and swiftly passes by, leaving you in the wake of their dusty getaway.
“Fuck you,” you mumble with a brow creased in indignation. Your thumb falls and your middle finger rises, earnestly pointing it in the direction of the disappearing car. “Asshole.”
Dropping your arm, you sigh in defeat, begrudgingly continuing on with your trek under the scorching heat of the summer sun. Minutes pass in a tedious blur; an endless view of barren road and cloudless blue sky ahead. Bored, you count the kicks of the small rock you found a few miles back to occupy yourself until the unmistakable crunch of tire on gravel drifts from behind you.
Too tired and defeated, you don’t bother to turn around when you signal for a ride this time. With your arm held out, an old pick-up truck passes by, and you only look up when you hear it come to a stop a few yards ahead. Then, at the sight of the small group occupying the bed, you stop too; locking eyes with a pretty redhead.
“Hey,” says the redhead, voice a little deep and sultry. A hint of a coy smile plays on her full lips as she stares you down.
“Hey,” you reply.
Folding her arms, she leans over the tailgate as she asks, “Where ya headin’?”
Pausing, you raise a hand to shield your vision from the relentless sun. In the back of the truck, you see another young woman and two men—their eyes all intently on you. From where you stand behind the truck, you think you can see two more people in the cabin.
“Depends,” you counter, dropping your hand. “Where’re you goin’?”
The redhead appears pleased by this response, and her smile spreads across her lips, slow like a honey drip. Awkwardly, you stand in silence before her as you wait for her to say something else; your skin prickling in unease under her intense gaze. Then, a devilish look flickers across her face.
“Turn around for me, doll,” she says simply.
Caught off guard by her random request, you don’t respond right away, and simply stare dumbly at the redhead as she rests her chin on her arm, waiting. Glancing around to the others again, they don’t seem at all surprised or put off by the request; instead, looking to you expectantly.
Over the course of your travels, you have met many different types of people and have been asked to do many different things. So although this request isn’t the worst thing that’s been asked of you, it still strikes you as a little odd. But you wouldn’t have gotten to where you are now by saying no.
With a slight shake of your head in disbelief and a breathy laugh at the unusualness of the situation, you decide to entertain the group of strangers. You pick your arms up and hold them out, slowly turning your feet to spin in a complete circle. When you’re facing the truck again, you stop and let your arms fall back to your sides; locking eyes with the alluring redhead once more.
“Good enough?” You ask with a quirked eyebrow and tone ripe with sarcasm.
The redhead is very pleased now, emerald eyes twinkling with an impish glint in the bright sun. “More than,” she says with a sly smirk. “Want a ride?”
You don’t immediately accept the offer, and remain where you stand to assess the obscure group of people. Gently gnawing on the inside of your cheek, your gaze shifts from the redhead to the other three strangers, and the little voice in the back of your mind begins to speak up—warning you something is off with them and you should pass. But again, you wouldn’t have made it this far without taking a few risks.
Approaching the back of the truck, the redhead perks up, and the rest of the group makes room as you climb in. When you’re settled, the redhead pounds her fist to the outside of the tailgate several times to signal to the driver, and then you’re coasting down the gravelly road; the sun not as unforgiving with the wind whipping around you.
On your left is the other woman, who scoots closer to you. She begins to trace her slender fingers along the side of your face and through your hair, and your body goes rigid at the unexpected contact. Instinctively, you pull away, giving her a forced amiable smile in hopes to not offend her. Fortunately, she takes the hint and drops her hand, but remains a little too close for comfort.
Across from you, the redhead sits with a pleased smile that twists the corner of her mouth.
“I’m Natasha, by the way.”
“Y/n,” you reply.
“Pretty,” the woman beside you comments with a smile.
You awkwardly glance to her before you’re looking back to Natasha, a knowing smirk on her face.
An intricate braid falls over her shoulder, a white daisy tucked into the strands above her left ear. As your gaze trails lower, you notice a mark—a brand—on the upper part of her left arm. It’s too difficult to tell what the mark is from the angle you currently have, and you don’t get the chance to ask her about it because your attention is stolen when she speaks again.
“This,” Natasha begins, gesturing to the man on her right, “is Sammy.”
Playfully, she wraps her arms around his large biceps, resting her head on his shoulder. Watching them closely, you wonder if they could be together when you see the way Natasha’s face lights up as she gazes at him.
“Sam is just fine,” he chuckles, a pair of kind brown eyes looking to you as he nods in greeting. He takes a hit of the joint he holds then offers it to you. “Welcome to the family, Y/n.”
Without question, you reach for it; pinching the end and bringing the white paper to your lips to take a quick hit before passing it back to Sam.
“Thanks.”
“I think Sammy is better, but whatever,” Natasha quips. “Anyways,” she starts, sitting up again to continue introducing you to the rest of the group, “The big guy driving us is Thor, and beside him, Clint. That’s Pietro”—she points to the other man across from Sam and you lean forward to acknowledge him—“and his sister, Wanda.”
Looking to the woman beside you again, Wanda’s smile widens when you make eye contact. Her long auburn hair nearly touches her legs when she tilts her head, seeming to admire you more closely, and the initial unease you felt from her unwanted proximity dissipates under her thoughtful gaze.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say, glancing around to each of them with a smile. Then you ask, “So, where are we going?”
Wanda slips her hand into yours, lacing your fingers together as she replies, “Home.”
It’s an odd response, but you don’t think too much of it. Instead, you take a few more hits of the joint and happily enjoy the ride.
Eventually, the sparse greenery begins to thicken; large clumps of trees becoming more frequent the longer you travel the dirt road. After another mile or two, the truck begins to slow as it turns down an uneven, rocky path. It leads you to what looks to be an old camping site. A series of run down cabins are scattered around, and you spot the biggest one towards the back of the property, slightly away from the rest. But despite the dying appearance of the buildings, the whole place is alive with people.
You pass them walking along the path; see them coming in and out of the cabins. Some sit around fires cooking while others take down laundry from clotheslines. You spot a group of about eight tending to a garden off in the distance. Peace signs are being thrown around left and right, and although you know it’s a symbol for love, you can’t ignore the ominous feeling twisting in your gut that there’s something more sinister lurking behind all the friendly gestures and smiles.
Finally, the truck comes to a stop, parking beside a very old well, but you remain unmoving.
“Y/n!” Natasha calls, snapping you out of your mild daze.
Looking to her, you quickly realize you’re the only one left in the truck.
“Oh, look at you!” Thor exclaims, holding a hand out for you when you stand to exit the bed.
Natasha’s viridescent gaze shines with pride as she gazes up at you. “He’s going to be so pleased, don’t you think?”
“I’ll say,” Clint remarks, giving you a once over. “Welcome to Valhalla, kid.”
“Come, I’ll show you around!” Wanda cuts in, taking your hand the second you’re out of the truck and dragging you towards one of the cabins.
Your head feels as if it’s on a turntable as you try to take in everything at once. “What is this place?”
“A place for love and acceptance. A place for family!” Wanda beams, glancing over her shoulder.
The long strands of her hair cascade down her arm, but when she turns back around, you see it—a brand.
You open your mouth to ask her about it, but you don’t get the chance to when she starts talking again.
“This is where I stay with Nat and a few other girls,” she says, opening the door to one of the nicer looking cabins.
Inside, you find four beds and two dressers. Small, makeshift tables sit beside the beds, each one covered in their own personal trinkets.
“You can stay here with us,” Wanda offers as she sits on one of the beds. “But I have a feeling you might be staying with him tonight.”
“Who’s him?”
“The White Wolf.” She says it with a lovestruck look on her face and it has your brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Who?”
“He’s the one who brought us here.”
“Where is ‘here’ exactly?”
Wanda sighs, but she keeps her patience as she answers your questions. “Valhalla, our home.”
“Okay,” you drawl. “Tell me, does everyone get a mark like that when they come to Valhalla?”
You point to the brand on her arm—a skull with six tentacles. It’s hideous, and not something you want just for showing up here.
“No,” she replies, mindlessly rubbing the scar, “not everyone.”
“Good.”
Wanda gives you a hesitant smile before she stands again, reaching for your bag and putting it on her bed. “Cmon, we have to help prepare for the celebration tonight.”
Once again, she takes your hand to pull you along.
“A celebration of what?” You ask in ignorance.
“You!”
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Black paints the sky, the darkness illuminated by the speckle of stars; however, their shine is dulled by the blinding fire before you. The flames warm your skin; your head and body light as you dance around it. Your veins tingle with the aftereffects of the drugs you smoked, lowering your inhibitions and fracturing the defensive wall you built when you first arrived. The last few hours gave you the chance to get to know everyone a little bit better, and you realized they were mostly harmless.
Wanda slips her hand into yours, twirling you around before swaying the two of you to the tune of Sam’s guitar. Laughter bubbles inside you as you look to the youthful redhead, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But as you spin around again, you notice a figure approaching and it has you stopping, staring in ignorant wonder. Glassy eyes attempt to focus as the person draws closer, your vision blurred and wavering until they come to stand right before you. The fogginess that clouded your sight dissipates, leaving you with a clear view of a tall, blond man.
“Are you the White Wolf?” You wonder aloud, convinced this man has to be of some importance.
The fire sparkles in his sky blue eyes, a boyish smirk etching its way into the corner of his pink lips. “No,” he chuckles. “My name is Steve.”
A crease forms between your brows as your mind works to figure out this man’s relevance.
“I’ve come to bring you to the White Wolf,” Steve states with a hand held out to you.
Although he offers you a seemingly kind smile, wariness begins to trickle through you, holding you in place. It isn’t until you look towards Wanda, who gives you an encouraging smile and nod that you finally take the hand waiting for you.
Steve leads you away from the fire; the group of people parting like the Red Sea as he brings you to the large cabin that sits away from the rest. Realizing now, this is the home of the White Wolf, it all makes sense.
Gently, Steve opens the door and ushers you inside. “He asks you wait here for him. He’ll only be a few minutes.”
Before you even have the chance to ask one of the thousand of questions swirling in your head, Steve is leaving you with a smile that disappears behind the closing door. The silence of the cabin envelopes you as you stare dumbly at the door; the quiet laced with the distant sound of music and laughter, but the benign tones do nothing to balm your unease.
Swallowing thickly, your high begins to wane as the reality of how bizarre this place is returns. Your gaze shifts from the door to the rest of the space, taking in all that you can. It’s the largest cabin on the grounds, yet it’s still just as rundown as the rest of them.
The rotting of the floorboards is concealed by a dirty rug in the center of the room, along with a wooden dining table. The surface is splintered and the legs are visibly decaying. On the opposite wall of the door is a brick fireplace, an old couch facing the small fire that crackles in the stone concave. The oddity of someone having a fire in the middle of summer is a fleeting thought as you continue to survey the cabin.
There’s a queen sized bed in the corner of the room; a tattered mattress with a thin white sheet. It doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest and appears to be more of a glorified cot. Beside it, there’s a small table with a pile of books and a lamp. Bringing your attention back to the fireplace, you see a record player, and spot a stack of albums underneath it. You take one step towards it, but stop when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you.
From the other side of the door appears a man, one you don’t recognize seeing around the commune. Without a word, he closes the door behind him and steps further into the room. Even in bare feet, the man is tall, his long legs covered by a pair of snug blue jeans. His sinewy figure is exposed through the open front of his white button down shirt, and the necklace he wears glints in the light; a gold star resting over his sternum.
“You must be the White Wolf.”
It’s not a question, and you don’t pose it as one, because even your drug riddled brain can feel the confidence this man exudes.
He laughs softly, running a hand through his long brown hair. “That is what they call me, yes.”
The sound of his voice is oddly soothing; a deep rumble with a gentle edge to it. You try to ignore the pleasant shiver it sends down your spine.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?” He’s gesturing to a small table beside the door, a chipped porcelain teapot and some glassware on top of it.
You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until he mentioned it; licking around your mouth with a dry tongue. “Sure, that sounds nice.”
Silently, he prepares your drink, and you shamelessly watch in awe as his taut back muscles ripple under his shirt.
Then, he’s walking towards you, glass in hand and an innocuous smile curling his lips. “It’s my own special blend.”
“Thank you, uh…”
“Bucky,” he says. “Please, call me Bucky.”
It’s a weird name, yes, and you would probably find it funny any other given time, but not here, alone in a strange place with a man you know nothing about.
“Thank you, Bucky.” Your voice is small, timid, because for some unknown reason this man intimidates you.
Glancing to the drink you hold, you try to keep a neutral expression. It looks like a cup of dirty water with bits of leaves and tiny flowers floating in it, but despite the off putting appearance, you reluctantly take a sip because your mouth is screaming for some moisture.
A tartness bites at your tastebuds, your face screwing up at the blunt flavor before it fades into a faint flowery aftertaste.
You look to Bucky, who has made his way over to the record player. A tune you recognize begins to float from the single speaker, but the small bit of familiarity doesn’t bring you much comfort.
“So, what is this place?” You ask, finally finding your voice again.
From over his shoulder, Bucky smiles at you. “This place is whatever we make it. Whatever we want it to be.”
Confusion warps your features at the vague response, brow creasing deeply. Bucky seems to notice this, because he’s turning to face you, leaning against the table behind him.
“Let me ask you something,” he begins, “Has the world been kind to you?”
Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.
“Because from what I can see, it hasn’t been.”
With raised eyebrows and pinched lips, he pauses, allowing the weight of his words to settle in before continuing. “You’re wandering the country alone; no family, no job, no real purpose.”
Although true, his words still slice through you; an unpleasant reminder that makes you feel oh so small. It has your voice sticking in your throat, and creates a burn in your eyes as you attempt to hold back tears.
“It’s okay,” Bucky assures, walking over to you.
He’s in front of you in a matter of seconds, closer than a person should be to someone they’ve just met. Before you can step away, he grasps your jaw, keeping you in place as he his steel blue eyes hold your gaze with an intense stare.
“We will be your family,” he says earnestly. “We will give you purpose.”
Wincing at the unwanted promise and the tight grip he has on your face, you manage to wiggle free with a few gentle pushes.
“Please,” you softly beg.
The drink, still in your hand, slips through your fingers and falls to the carpet beneath your feet; a dark puddle instantly forming as the liquid leaks into the fibers.
“There’s nothing out there for you,” you hear Bucky say, but it’s an almost distant sound. “Everything you will ever need is here, with me.”
He continues on, preaching about the ways of the world and his beliefs about a free society, but you’re having a hard time keeping up as his ramblings become even more erratic and a haziness settles in your mind, smothering any coherent thought.
Lightheaded, your body warms as something seeps into your veins, and you’re barely registering anything Bucky is saying now. All you can hear is a low muffled rant, your ears feeling as if they’ve been stuffed with cotton. When you attempt to take a step towards the door, you stumble like a newborn fawn learning to walk. Catching yourself on the table, you plant two hands solidly on the flat surface to help ground yourself; scrunching your eyes and shaking your head in hopes it’ll help make the room stop spinning.
You quickly recognize this is not like any high you’ve had before. “What…” you attempt, the word heavy on your tongue, “what did you do to me?”
Through semi-blurry vision, you watch as Bucky stops his pacing around the room. Sapphire eyes shaded in dark desire are set on you, a wicked smile curling his lips when he takes in your incoherent state. Then, he begins to methodically stalk towards you.
As you attempt to even your breathing, you feel his dominant presence come up behind you; fingertips brushing over your waist until you’re suffocating. A shudder runs down your spine when he leans in, whispering directly in your ear, “Let’s get a look at you, shall we, angel?”
“I think…” you begin with a deep breath, vision swirling in a sea of colors. Nausea surges through your gut, and you helplessly rub numb lips together to subdue it. “I think I should go to bed.”
Bucky hums in acknowledgment. “We will in a minute.”
Large hands slide around to your front and creep under your shirt, palming at your breasts. His touch is a dull sensation, your body continuing to absorb whatever drug he gave you, but it seems to react on its own accord; nipples pebbling as he gently massages the supple flesh.
“Mm, so soft,” he breathes into your hair.
The hold you have on reality is slipping through your fingers like precious grains of sand; delicate and nearly impossible to keep. Unable to do much of anything—mind and body on two separate wavelengths—you can only comply with whatever Bucky wishes to do to you. Heavy arms raise when he slips your shirt over your head; skin prickling as his hot breath fans down your neck. His soft lips trail kisses along your shoulder, dizzying and intoxicating.
Slowly, his hands move from your chest down to your bottoms; fingers splayed as to not miss a single inch of your body. A sigh falls from your lips when he unbuttons your jean shorts and snakes a hand inside, cupping your mound over your underwear. The firm, possessive hold has you pushing your backside into Bucky’s groin; his hardening length evident even through his pants.
At the action, a pleased groan rumbles in Bucky’s chest, the vibrations resonating through your entire being. Roughly, he pushes his fingers against your throbbing core, the damp fabric sticking to your folds.
Even with tainted blood and a mind diluted from rational thought, you know it’s wrong. You shouldn’t want his touch, yet your body continues to seek it out—desperate for more. And when he pulls away, a pitiful whine strains in your throat, but the agony is short lived.
Strong fingers hook under the hemline of your panties, gripping your shorts and shimmying them down. Gently, he encourages one foot, then the other to step out of your bottoms, the piece of clothing tossed mindlessly to the side. Now completely exposed and at his mercy, your body thrums with an unquenched desire while your mind begs you to run away.
An azure stare burns your skin as Bucky kneels behind you, appraising all that you have to offer him. His hands run up and down the expanse of your legs, taking in everything he can before he brings his fingers back to your damp heat. A quiet yelp escapes you as your body reacts to his ministrations, calloused digits dancing through your glistening folds and pinching at your aching clit.
“Oh, angel,” Bucky sighs, lips pressing satisfied kisses into your lower back. “You’re perfect for me.”
The want to be scared is there—your brain continuing to scream at you that what Bucky is doing is immoral—but your body is persistent on betraying you; opening up like a blooming flower, ready to accept his sunlit words and exhilarating touches.
Bucky’s fingers continue to toy with your sensitive core before he slowly slides one, then two fingers inside you. Instinctively, your legs spread to allow him better access. Bits of the wooden table splinter under your nails as you dig them into the hard surface, a groan of frustration erupting in your chest because you’re disgusted at your body’s compliance.
“Please…” you sigh in desperation, unsure if you’re asking him to stop or to get whatever he has planned over with.
Through the fog in your head, you hear the squelching sound of Bucky’s fingers moving in and out of you; tongue, teeth, and lips grazing over your thighs. He keeps his other hand occupied, resting it on the lower part of your stomach as his thumb gently swirls over your throbbing clit.
Your breathing is ragged as you struggle to fill your lungs, but when you feel a hot, wet tongue swipe over your clit, you choke on air and your mind goes blank.
“Fuck,” Bucky hisses and you can only whine in response. “So tight, so sweet. I can’t wait to make you mine, angel.”
Defiantly, your legs begin to shake as he drags his tongue over your clit and through your folds a few more times; nausea beginning to curdle in your stomach at the conflicting wants and desires warring within you.
You’re drowning in a vicious sea of confusion, anger, and lust; your mind spiraling as it tries to keep up with everything that’s happening. But then, for a moment, your head breaks through the surface when Bucky pulls away, leaving you where you stand by the table. With your eyes closed, you take advantage of your brief respite and attempt to regain your composure.
Completely unaware of your surroundings, you don’t even realize Bucky has returned or that you’re moving until your back meets the soft mattress of the bed in the corner. Your fingers wrap themselves in the sheet that’s under you, gripping tightly as you brace yourself. From where you lay, Bucky’s presence looms over you as he stands at the end of the bed; slightly fuzzy but still very much intimidating.
At his own, tauntingly slow pace, he undresses himself; his eyes fixated on your figure as he continues with his appraisal of you. Then, he climbs onto the bed. His hands grip your ankles, caress your knees; fingertips dancing along your inner thighs as he encourages them to open so he can settle between them.
Tears slip out of the corner of your eyes, your breathing shallow as you stare up at him, waiting in nervous anticipation. With his thumbs, Bucky spreads your folds, running the tip of his cock over your wanting pussy.
“You were made for me, you know that?” he rhetorically asks, continuing to grind his hips and lubricate his cock with your arousal. A hiss passes through his clenched teeth as he drops his head back, eyes fluttering closed. “My angel. My perfect, little angel.”
Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you hold back a cry as an unwanted wave of pleasure ripples through you at his assertions. Because after being alone for so long, you can’t deny how good it feels to be wanted.
Suddenly, Bucky stops his movements, shifting his hands to grip your waist as he looks down at you. Blue crystalline eyes partly hidden behind hooded lids meet your watery gaze.
“No more waiting,” he says, taking a hold of his stiff member and guiding it to your entrance.
When you feel him nudge his tip against your throbbing hole, your legs tense and attempt to close on impulse at the intrusion, but Bucky forces them to stay open. He clicks his tongue in slight admonishment, shaking his head at you before pushing in further.
Gradually, Bucky’s thick member stretches you open; a pleasant burn radiating from your core that elicits a soft whimper as you attempt to adjust. With his bottom lip held mercilessly between his teeth, a deep groan of satisfaction resonants in Bucky’s chest when he’s completely sheathed inside you.
“Like I said,” he begins with a cruel smile, “made just for me.”
As he leans down, you raise your arms, unsure if you’re reaching out to bring him closer or to push him away, and before you even have time to react, he’s pressing his lips against yours; forceful and full of desperation.
Initially, you recoil at the unsuspecting action, but as Bucky’s soft lips move against yours; his tongue gently coaxing its way into your mouth, you give in. Dark locks curtain around your face as he hovers over you, and you mindlessly brush them away and sink your nails into his scalp as you continue to kiss him back.
A mewl spills from your mouth into Bucky’s when he retracts his hips and pushes back inside you. His pace is slow—agonizingly slow—and he’s everywhere around you to the point you feel like you’re suffocating. Breaking the kiss, you gasp for air as your nails claw down his back.
Bucky doesn’t stop. With his arms caged around your head, his thumbs caress your temples while his lips brush tender kisses to your cheeks between quiet praises. After several more thrusts, he reaches down to grip your thigh and hooks it over his hip. Deep and unforgiving, the tip of his cock reaches the spongy sweet spot inside you.
The hard springs of the mattress dig painfully into your back as Bucky continues to move. The slow drag of his cock through your velvet walls is overwhelming, and sooner than you thought would be possible, you feel the clench in your lower belly, but it’s not enough.
“Faster,” you beg through heavy breaths. “Please.”
The tightened grip on your thigh tells you Bucky hears you, but he does nothing to appease you. Slow and meticulous, like he wants to draw this out for as long as he can for his own sick delight, he maintains his languid pace, and continues to shower you with eerily sweet affections. It’s a tortuous climb, but the yearning for your release is close to being satiated.
Pleased moans bleed from your swollen lips, your eyes screwing shut as you wait for the riptide of ecstasy to pull you under, but just as you feel your climax within reach, Bucky withdraws himself and you’re left feeling empty and deflated.
“Not yet,” Bucky firmly says.
Too exhausted and strung out, you barely put up a fight when he’s pulling away and leaving you—naked and still wanting—on the bed. Sleep threatens to take you, and you blink heavily several times as you try to evade it, but then the bed dips and you’re being flipped onto your stomach.
Behind you, Bucky spreads your legs with his knees and sinks his cock back inside you. Immediately, you clench around him, delighted to be full once again. Then, you feel the weight of Bucky’s entire body on your back when he leans forward; pressing a kiss to your cheek as he slides an arm under you.
His lips brush against the shell of your ear when he asks, “Ready to become mine?”
A tired sigh falls from your lips, and with a nearly empty mind you submit. “Yes.”
In an instant, your entire equilibrium is thrown off as Bucky lifts you from the bed, bringing your back flush against his chest. His arm—strong and possessive—holds you tight as he begins to thrust inside you again.
The room spins and tears prick your eyes as you drown in Bucky and the pleasure he’s bringing you; puffs of warm breaths fan down your neck as he pants against your ear, the feel of his thick cock moving in and out of you. A pattern of crescent moons form in his skin as your nails dig into his arm, gripping harshly to help ground yourself.
Hot chords of pleasure tighten your abdomen as your climax rises and Bucky continues to fuck into you. And just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Bucky takes a vice-like grip to your left arm and pins it to your side.
“This is going to hurt,” he says lowly, “but it’ll all be over soon.”
A scream rips through your lungs, but it sounds foreign, distant. Your vision whites out, body seizing up, as your climax hits and you fall into ecstasy. But the rapture doesn’t last long.
You hear the sizzling of flesh before you feel it; bare skin melting into raw tissue under the hot iron of a brand. The stench permeates your nostrils, eliciting a profound gag as it ruthlessly assaults your senses; a revolting smell of burnt meat and charred blood. The pain is indescribable. Numbing and all consuming at the same time.
You scream again.
“Shh, shh,” Bucky soothes, his lips buried in your hair.
His hold on you doesn’t break, even when you claw desperately at his arm to make it stop; to make him stop.
“I know, I know,” he says, voice eerily calm and even.
And just as quickly as it began, it’s over.
The brand falls to the floor with a loud clatter, but the pain in your arm still lingers. Tears stain your cheeks and your lungs strain for air. Faintly, you feel lips brushing over your shoulder with soft kisses of approval.
“You did so good for me, angel,” Bucky commends, still continuing to move inside you. “So good.”
Gradually, black begins to bleed into the fringes of your vision; head light but too heavy to keep up on your own. It falls back, landing on Bucky’s shoulder, and you barely register the feral growl he releases against your neck as a warmth begins to spread within your weeping cunt.
Then, your world tilts; the indistinct sensation of Bucky’s lips on your temple the last thing you feel before everything goes dark.
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A dull, throbbing pain radiating from your left arm is the first thing you feel when you come to. Slowly, you blink your eyes open to take in your surroundings; regrettably finding yourself still in Bucky’s cabin, but you aren’t alone.
Beside you, Wanda sits with a contrite look on her face as she tends to your burn with aloe and cool clothes.
“It’ll start to feel better soon,” she comments, but she has yet to meet your eye.
Anger immediately begins to simmer in your blood at her apparent nonchalance about the manner.
“Why?”
With just one word you’re asking for a multitude of answers and reasons, but she gives you none. Instead, the corners of mouth fall as she pinches her lips together, her attention still focused on caring for your new mark.
Following her line of sight, you look to the wound—the charred outline of a five-point star. “What does it mean?”
Finally, Wanda meets your gaze. She forces a reassuring smile, a reflection of tears beginning to gather on her lower lash line as she responds, “It means we’re his.”
The words make your stomach drop and bile to rise in your throat, and it’s then you realize she’s just as trapped as you are when you glance to the tentacled skull that mars her own arm.
A few silent beats pass before you ask your next question.
“Why is mine different?”
“Because you’re only his.”
“Wanda.” Bucky’s stern voice cuts through the room, startling the two of you.
Quickly, she gets to her feet, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready to pass out or throw up at the sight of him. He takes calculated steps into the cabin, gesturing with his head for Wanda to leave you. As she begins to walk away, you desperately want to reach out for her to stay, but you can’t. From over her shoulder, she gives you an apologetic look before she disappears behind the closing door and you’re left alone with Bucky once again.
The air thickens and your heart is ready to beat out of your chest the closer Bucky gets. When he sits beside you on the bed, you try to move away, but your limbs are like lead. He brings his hand to your forehead, lightly running his fingers over the damp skin. No longer influenced by whatever drug he gave you earlier, you’re frantic to get away from his horrid touch; your head pressing into the pillow beneath it.
When he looks to your brand, a sickening smile spreads across his lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Fuck you,” you spit out, leveling him with a contemptuous stare.
Bucky clenches his jaw in vexation; the muscles twitching under his skin as he seemingly tries to keep his temper in check.
“Now, angel,” he begins, moving his hand to cup your cheek with a firm grip—a silent warning, “there’s no need for that.”
“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is small, the words shaky as you fight to hold back tears.
Bucky’s features are colored in pity at your naïvety.
“Because I want to,” he replies condescendingly, his thumb stroking along your face as he speaks. “Because I can.”
“You’re a monster.”
Bucky chuckles hollowly. “Maybe, but you’ll learn to love me. Just like all the rest.”
Sorrow settles heavily within your chest and creates a deep crease in your brow. Your bottom lips quivers as you give in to your emotions; no longer caring if Bucky sees you cry.
With his hand still resting along your cheek, his thumb catches a rogue tear. He wipes it away, bringing the digit to his mouth. “So sweet.”
Then, he leans forward and forces his lips on yours. It’s vile and nauseating, and you don’t respond to his slow movements. After what feels like an eternity, he finally pulls away.
“Get some sleep,” he remarks, adjusting the sheet that covers your naked body. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
With one last kiss to your forehead, Bucky stands and walks to the doorway. He pauses when he reaches the threshold, briefly looking to you with a twisted fondness before he closes the door; cutting you off from the outside world and locking you in his wretched prison—forever.
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gogolucky13 · 2 months
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Summary: You’ve seen many things and met many people on your travels, but nothing could’ve ever prepared you for the White Wolf and what he has planned for you. (70s AU)
Pairing: cult leader!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Word count: 6,556
Warnings: Dubcon/noncon. Smut (fingering, oral f receiving, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex). Swearing. Descriptions of drug use and drugging. Forced body mutilation (branding). Manipulation and mentions of cult-like ideology. Use of pet names (angel). Bucky is dark and all kinds of crazy. (18+ only please).
A/N: This is my entry for @boxofbonesfic’s Spooktacular Smutfest challenge. I chose cult leader Bucky and the quote prompt “Why are you doing this?”, “Because I want to. Because I can.” which is in bold. A huge thank you to @sweeterthanthis for reading this and letting me scream at her about the idea. You’re amazing and ilysm. 🥰 Gif found here. Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Please follow @gogolucky13-library for all writing updates. Happy reading! 💜
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The tops of your shoulders burn in the glaring light of high noon, your brow crinkling against the bright rays. Sweat beads along your hairline and layers on the back of your neck as the heat continues to rise. Aimlessly, you walk along the desolate dirt road; worn cowboy boots scuffing in the ground and creating small clouds of dust that swirl around your ankles.
You’ve been called many things over the years—a drifter, a wanderer, a stupid, fucking hippie.
Always on the move and never staying in one place for too long, you can’t say the names are wrong. But for years, it’s been the only life you’ve known since running off at the tender age of seventeen. Sometimes you don’t remember how you ended up somewhere or what state you’re even in, but it never matters to you; just so long as where you’re going isn’t where you came from.
Readjusting the strap of your rucksack, your ears perk at the sound of an approaching vehicle from behind. Quickly, you spin on the balls of your feet. Your arm is thrown out to your side, thumb sticking up to the sky as a forced friendly smile is plastered on your face.
The small yellow car draws closer, seeming to slow down for a moment, before it speeds up again and swiftly passes by, leaving you in the wake of their dusty getaway.
“Fuck you,” you mumble with a brow creased in indignation. Your thumb falls and your middle finger rises, earnestly pointing it in the direction of the disappearing car. “Asshole.”
Dropping your arm, you sigh in defeat, begrudgingly continuing on with your trek under the scorching heat of the summer sun. Minutes pass in a tedious blur; an endless view of barren road and cloudless blue sky ahead. Bored, you count the kicks of the small rock you found a few miles back to occupy yourself until the unmistakable crunch of tire on gravel drifts from behind you.
Too tired and defeated, you don’t bother to turn around when you signal for a ride this time. With your arm held out, an old pick-up truck passes by, and you only look up when you hear it come to a stop a few yards ahead. Then, at the sight of the small group occupying the bed, you stop too; locking eyes with a pretty redhead.
“Hey,” says the redhead, voice a little deep and sultry. A hint of a coy smile plays on her full lips as she stares you down.
“Hey,” you reply.
Folding her arms, she leans over the tailgate as she asks, “Where ya headin’?”
Pausing, you raise a hand to shield your vision from the relentless sun. In the back of the truck, you see another young woman and two men—their eyes all intently on you. From where you stand behind the truck, you think you can see two more people in the cabin.
“Depends,” you counter, dropping your hand. “Where’re you goin’?”
The redhead appears pleased by this response, and her smile spreads across her lips, slow like a honey drip. Awkwardly, you stand in silence before her as you wait for her to say something else; your skin prickling in unease under her intense gaze. Then, a devilish look flickers across her face.
“Turn around for me, doll,” she says simply.
Caught off guard by her random request, you don’t respond right away, and simply stare dumbly at the redhead as she rests her chin on her arm, waiting. Glancing around to the others again, they don’t seem at all surprised or put off by the request; instead, looking to you expectantly.
Over the course of your travels, you have met many different types of people and have been asked to do many different things. So although this request isn’t the worst thing that’s been asked of you, it still strikes you as a little odd. But you wouldn’t have gotten to where you are now by saying no.
With a slight shake of your head in disbelief and a breathy laugh at the unusualness of the situation, you decide to entertain the group of strangers. You pick your arms up and hold them out, slowly turning your feet to spin in a complete circle. When you’re facing the truck again, you stop and let your arms fall back to your sides; locking eyes with the alluring redhead once more.
“Good enough?” You ask with a quirked eyebrow and tone ripe with sarcasm.
The redhead is very pleased now, emerald eyes twinkling with an impish glint in the bright sun. “More than,” she says with a sly smirk. “Want a ride?”
You don’t immediately accept the offer, and remain where you stand to assess the obscure group of people. Gently gnawing on the inside of your cheek, your gaze shifts from the redhead to the other three strangers, and the little voice in the back of your mind begins to speak up—warning you something is off with them and you should pass. But again, you wouldn’t have made it this far without taking a few risks.
Approaching the back of the truck, the redhead perks up, and the rest of the group makes room as you climb in. When you’re settled, the redhead pounds her fist to the outside of the tailgate several times to signal to the driver, and then you’re coasting down the gravelly road; the sun not as unforgiving with the wind whipping around you.
On your left is the other woman, who scoots closer to you. She begins to trace her slender fingers along the side of your face and through your hair, and your body goes rigid at the unexpected contact. Instinctively, you pull away, giving her a forced amiable smile in hopes to not offend her. Fortunately, she takes the hint and drops her hand, but remains a little too close for comfort.
Across from you, the redhead sits with a pleased smile that twists the corner of her mouth.
“I’m Natasha, by the way.”
“Y/n,” you reply.
“Pretty,” the woman beside you comments with a smile.
You awkwardly glance to her before you’re looking back to Natasha, a knowing smirk on her face.
An intricate braid falls over her shoulder, a white daisy tucked into the strands above her left ear. As your gaze trails lower, you notice a mark—a brand—on the upper part of her left arm. It’s too difficult to tell what the mark is from the angle you currently have, and you don’t get the chance to ask her about it because your attention is stolen when she speaks again.
“This,” Natasha begins, gesturing to the man on her right, “is Sammy.”
Playfully, she wraps her arms around his large biceps, resting her head on his shoulder. Watching them closely, you wonder if they could be together when you see the way Natasha’s face lights up as she gazes at him.
“Sam is just fine,” he chuckles, a pair of kind brown eyes looking to you as he nods in greeting. He takes a hit of the joint he holds then offers it to you. “Welcome to the family, Y/n.”
Without question, you reach for it; pinching the end and bringing the white paper to your lips to take a quick hit before passing it back to Sam.
“Thanks.”
“I think Sammy is better, but whatever,” Natasha quips. “Anyways,” she starts, sitting up again to continue introducing you to the rest of the group, “The big guy driving us is Thor, and beside him, Clint. That’s Pietro”—she points to the other man across from Sam and you lean forward to acknowledge him—“and his sister, Wanda.”
Looking to the woman beside you again, Wanda’s smile widens when you make eye contact. Her long auburn hair nearly touches her legs when she tilts her head, seeming to admire you more closely, and the initial unease you felt from her unwanted proximity dissipates under her thoughtful gaze.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say, glancing around to each of them with a smile. Then you ask, “So, where are we going?”
Wanda slips her hand into yours, lacing your fingers together as she replies, “Home.”
It’s an odd response, but you don’t think too much of it. Instead, you take a few more hits of the joint and happily enjoy the ride.
Eventually, the sparse greenery begins to thicken; large clumps of trees becoming more frequent the longer you travel the dirt road. After another mile or two, the truck begins to slow as it turns down an uneven, rocky path. It leads you to what looks to be an old camping site. A series of run down cabins are scattered around, and you spot the biggest one towards the back of the property, slightly away from the rest. But despite the dying appearance of the buildings, the whole place is alive with people.
You pass them walking along the path; see them coming in and out of the cabins. Some sit around fires cooking while others take down laundry from clotheslines. You spot a group of about eight tending to a garden off in the distance. Peace signs are being thrown around left and right, and although you know it’s a symbol for love, you can’t ignore the ominous feeling twisting in your gut that there’s something more sinister lurking behind all the friendly gestures and smiles.
Finally, the truck comes to a stop, parking beside a very old well, but you remain unmoving.
“Y/n!” Natasha calls, snapping you out of your mild daze.
Looking to her, you quickly realize you’re the only one left in the truck.
“Oh, look at you!” Thor exclaims, holding a hand out for you when you stand to exit the bed.
Natasha’s viridescent gaze shines with pride as she gazes up at you. “He’s going to be so pleased, don’t you think?”
“I’ll say,” Clint remarks, giving you a once over. “Welcome to Valhalla, kid.”
“Come, I’ll show you around!” Wanda cuts in, taking your hand the second you’re out of the truck and dragging you towards one of the cabins.
Your head feels as if it’s on a turntable as you try to take in everything at once. “What is this place?”
“A place for love and acceptance. A place for family!” Wanda beams, glancing over her shoulder.
The long strands of her hair cascade down her arm, but when she turns back around, you see it—a brand.
You open your mouth to ask her about it, but you don’t get the chance to when she starts talking again.
“This is where I stay with Nat and a few other girls,” she says, opening the door to one of the nicer looking cabins.
Inside, you find four beds and two dressers. Small, makeshift tables sit beside the beds, each one covered in their own personal trinkets.
“You can stay here with us,” Wanda offers as she sits on one of the beds. “But I have a feeling you might be staying with him tonight.”
“Who’s him?”
“The White Wolf.” She says it with a lovestruck look on her face and it has your brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Who?”
“He’s the one who brought us here.”
“Where is ‘here’ exactly?”
Wanda sighs, but she keeps her patience as she answers your questions. “Valhalla, our home.”
“Okay,” you drawl. “Tell me, does everyone get a mark like that when they come to Valhalla?”
You point to the brand on her arm—a skull with six tentacles. It’s hideous, and not something you want just for showing up here.
“No,” she replies, mindlessly rubbing the scar, “not everyone.”
“Good.”
Wanda gives you a hesitant smile before she stands again, reaching for your bag and putting it on her bed. “Cmon, we have to help prepare for the celebration tonight.”
Once again, she takes your hand to pull you along.
“A celebration of what?” You ask in ignorance.
“You!”
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Black paints the sky, the darkness illuminated by the speckle of stars; however, their shine is dulled by the blinding fire before you. The flames warm your skin; your head and body light as you dance around it. Your veins tingle with the aftereffects of the drugs you smoked, lowering your inhibitions and fracturing the defensive wall you built when you first arrived. The last few hours gave you the chance to get to know everyone a little bit better, and you realized they were mostly harmless.
Wanda slips her hand into yours, twirling you around before swaying the two of you to the tune of Sam’s guitar. Laughter bubbles inside you as you look to the youthful redhead, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But as you spin around again, you notice a figure approaching and it has you stopping, staring in ignorant wonder. Glassy eyes attempt to focus as the person draws closer, your vision blurred and wavering until they come to stand right before you. The fogginess that clouded your sight dissipates, leaving you with a clear view of a tall, blond man.
“Are you the White Wolf?” You wonder aloud, convinced this man has to be of some importance.
The fire sparkles in his sky blue eyes, a boyish smirk etching its way into the corner of his pink lips. “No,” he chuckles. “My name is Steve.”
A crease forms between your brows as your mind works to figure out this man’s relevance.
“I’ve come to bring you to the White Wolf,” Steve states with a hand held out to you.
Although he offers you a seemingly kind smile, wariness begins to trickle through you, holding you in place. It isn’t until you look towards Wanda, who gives you an encouraging smile and nod that you finally take the hand waiting for you.
Steve leads you away from the fire; the group of people parting like the Red Sea as he brings you to the large cabin that sits away from the rest. Realizing now, this is the home of the White Wolf, it all makes sense.
Gently, Steve opens the door and ushers you inside. “He asks you wait here for him. He’ll only be a few minutes.”
Before you even have the chance to ask one of the thousand of questions swirling in your head, Steve is leaving you with a smile that disappears behind the closing door. The silence of the cabin envelopes you as you stare dumbly at the door; the quiet laced with the distant sound of music and laughter, but the benign tones do nothing to balm your unease.
Swallowing thickly, your high begins to wane as the reality of how bizarre this place is returns. Your gaze shifts from the door to the rest of the space, taking in all that you can. It’s the largest cabin on the grounds, yet it’s still just as rundown as the rest of them.
The rotting of the floorboards is concealed by a dirty rug in the center of the room, along with a wooden dining table. The surface is splintered and the legs are visibly decaying. On the opposite wall of the door is a brick fireplace, an old couch facing the small fire that crackles in the stone concave. The oddity of someone having a fire in the middle of summer is a fleeting thought as you continue to survey the cabin.
There’s a queen sized bed in the corner of the room; a tattered mattress with a thin white sheet. It doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest and appears to be more of a glorified cot. Beside it, there’s a small table with a pile of books and a lamp. Bringing your attention back to the fireplace, you see a record player, and spot a stack of albums underneath it. You take one step towards it, but stop when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you.
From the other side of the door appears a man, one you don’t recognize seeing around the commune. Without a word, he closes the door behind him and steps further into the room. Even in bare feet, the man is tall, his long legs covered by a pair of snug blue jeans. His sinewy figure is exposed through the open front of his white button down shirt, and the necklace he wears glints in the light; a gold star resting over his sternum.
“You must be the White Wolf.”
It’s not a question, and you don’t pose it as one, because even your drug riddled brain can feel the confidence this man exudes.
He laughs softly, running a hand through his long brown hair. “That is what they call me, yes.”
The sound of his voice is oddly soothing; a deep rumble with a gentle edge to it. You try to ignore the pleasant shiver it sends down your spine.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?” He’s gesturing to a small table beside the door, a chipped porcelain teapot and some glassware on top of it.
You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until he mentioned it; licking around your mouth with a dry tongue. “Sure, that sounds nice.”
Silently, he prepares your drink, and you shamelessly watch in awe as his taut back muscles ripple under his shirt.
Then, he’s walking towards you, glass in hand and an innocuous smile curling his lips. “It’s my own special blend.”
“Thank you, uh…”
“Bucky,” he says. “Please, call me Bucky.”
It’s a weird name, yes, and you would probably find it funny any other given time, but not here, alone in a strange place with a man you know nothing about.
“Thank you, Bucky.” Your voice is small, timid, because for some unknown reason this man intimidates you.
Glancing to the drink you hold, you try to keep a neutral expression. It looks like a cup of dirty water with bits of leaves and tiny flowers floating in it, but despite the off putting appearance, you reluctantly take a sip because your mouth is screaming for some moisture.
A tartness bites at your tastebuds, your face screwing up at the blunt flavor before it fades into a faint flowery aftertaste.
You look to Bucky, who has made his way over to the record player. A tune you recognize begins to float from the single speaker, but the small bit of familiarity doesn’t bring you much comfort.
“So, what is this place?” You ask, finally finding your voice again.
From over his shoulder, Bucky smiles at you. “This place is whatever we make it. Whatever we want it to be.”
Confusion warps your features at the vague response, brow creasing deeply. Bucky seems to notice this, because he’s turning to face you, leaning against the table behind him.
“Let me ask you something,” he begins, “Has the world been kind to you?”
Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.
“Because from what I can see, it hasn’t been.”
With raised eyebrows and pinched lips, he pauses, allowing the weight of his words to settle in before continuing. “You’re wandering the country alone; no family, no job, no real purpose.”
Although true, his words still slice through you; an unpleasant reminder that makes you feel oh so small. It has your voice sticking in your throat, and creates a burn in your eyes as you attempt to hold back tears.
“It’s okay,” Bucky assures, walking over to you.
He’s in front of you in a matter of seconds, closer than a person should be to someone they’ve just met. Before you can step away, he grasps your jaw, keeping you in place as he his steel blue eyes hold your gaze with an intense stare.
“We will be your family,” he says earnestly. “We will give you purpose.”
Wincing at the unwanted promise and the tight grip he has on your face, you manage to wiggle free with a few gentle pushes.
“Please,” you softly beg.
The drink, still in your hand, slips through your fingers and falls to the carpet beneath your feet; a dark puddle instantly forming as the liquid leaks into the fibers.
“There’s nothing out there for you,” you hear Bucky say, but it’s an almost distant sound. “Everything you will ever need is here, with me.”
He continues on, preaching about the ways of the world and his beliefs about a free society, but you’re having a hard time keeping up as his ramblings become even more erratic and a haziness settles in your mind, smothering any coherent thought.
Lightheaded, your body warms as something seeps into your veins, and you’re barely registering anything Bucky is saying now. All you can hear is a low muffled rant, your ears feeling as if they’ve been stuffed with cotton. When you attempt to take a step towards the door, you stumble like a newborn fawn learning to walk. Catching yourself on the table, you plant two hands solidly on the flat surface to help ground yourself; scrunching your eyes and shaking your head in hopes it’ll help make the room stop spinning.
You quickly recognize this is not like any high you’ve had before. “What…” you attempt, the word heavy on your tongue, “what did you do to me?”
Through semi-blurry vision, you watch as Bucky stops his pacing around the room. Sapphire eyes shaded in dark desire are set on you, a wicked smile curling his lips when he takes in your incoherent state. Then, he begins to methodically stalk towards you.
As you attempt to even your breathing, you feel his dominant presence come up behind you; fingertips brushing over your waist until you’re suffocating. A shudder runs down your spine when he leans in, whispering directly in your ear, “Let’s get a look at you, shall we, angel?”
“I think…” you begin with a deep breath, vision swirling in a sea of colors. Nausea surges through your gut, and you helplessly rub numb lips together to subdue it. “I think I should go to bed.”
Bucky hums in acknowledgment. “We will in a minute.”
Large hands slide around to your front and creep under your shirt, palming at your breasts. His touch is a dull sensation, your body continuing to absorb whatever drug he gave you, but it seems to react on its own accord; nipples pebbling as he gently massages the supple flesh.
“Mm, so soft,” he breathes into your hair.
The hold you have on reality is slipping through your fingers like precious grains of sand; delicate and nearly impossible to keep. Unable to do much of anything—mind and body on two separate wavelengths—you can only comply with whatever Bucky wishes to do to you. Heavy arms raise when he slips your shirt over your head; skin prickling as his hot breath fans down your neck. His soft lips trail kisses along your shoulder, dizzying and intoxicating.
Slowly, his hands move from your chest down to your bottoms; fingers splayed as to not miss a single inch of your body. A sigh falls from your lips when he unbuttons your jean shorts and snakes a hand inside, cupping your mound over your underwear. The firm, possessive hold has you pushing your backside into Bucky’s groin; his hardening length evident even through his pants.
At the action, a pleased groan rumbles in Bucky’s chest, the vibrations resonating through your entire being. Roughly, he pushes his fingers against your throbbing core, the damp fabric sticking to your folds.
Even with tainted blood and a mind diluted from rational thought, you know it’s wrong. You shouldn’t want his touch, yet your body continues to seek it out—desperate for more. And when he pulls away, a pitiful whine strains in your throat, but the agony is short lived.
Strong fingers hook under the hemline of your panties, gripping your shorts and shimmying them down. Gently, he encourages one foot, then the other to step out of your bottoms, the piece of clothing tossed mindlessly to the side. Now completely exposed and at his mercy, your body thrums with an unquenched desire while your mind begs you to run away.
An azure stare burns your skin as Bucky kneels behind you, appraising all that you have to offer him. His hands run up and down the expanse of your legs, taking in everything he can before he brings his fingers back to your damp heat. A quiet yelp escapes you as your body reacts to his ministrations, calloused digits dancing through your glistening folds and pinching at your aching clit.
“Oh, angel,” Bucky sighs, lips pressing satisfied kisses into your lower back. “You’re perfect for me.”
The want to be scared is there—your brain continuing to scream at you that what Bucky is doing is immoral—but your body is persistent on betraying you; opening up like a blooming flower, ready to accept his sunlit words and exhilarating touches.
Bucky’s fingers continue to toy with your sensitive core before he slowly slides one, then two fingers inside you. Instinctively, your legs spread to allow him better access. Bits of the wooden table splinter under your nails as you dig them into the hard surface, a groan of frustration erupting in your chest because you’re disgusted at your body’s compliance.
“Please…” you sigh in desperation, unsure if you’re asking him to stop or to get whatever he has planned over with.
Through the fog in your head, you hear the squelching sound of Bucky’s fingers moving in and out of you; tongue, teeth, and lips grazing over your thighs. He keeps his other hand occupied, resting it on the lower part of your stomach as his thumb gently swirls over your throbbing clit.
Your breathing is ragged as you struggle to fill your lungs, but when you feel a hot, wet tongue swipe over your clit, you choke on air and your mind goes blank.
“Fuck,” Bucky hisses and you can only whine in response. “So tight, so sweet. I can’t wait to make you mine, angel.”
Defiantly, your legs begin to shake as he drags his tongue over your clit and through your folds a few more times; nausea beginning to curdle in your stomach at the conflicting wants and desires warring within you.
You’re drowning in a vicious sea of confusion, anger, and lust; your mind spiraling as it tries to keep up with everything that’s happening. But then, for a moment, your head breaks through the surface when Bucky pulls away, leaving you where you stand by the table. With your eyes closed, you take advantage of your brief respite and attempt to regain your composure.
Completely unaware of your surroundings, you don’t even realize Bucky has returned or that you’re moving until your back meets the soft mattress of the bed in the corner. Your fingers wrap themselves in the sheet that’s under you, gripping tightly as you brace yourself. From where you lay, Bucky’s presence looms over you as he stands at the end of the bed; slightly fuzzy but still very much intimidating.
At his own, tauntingly slow pace, he undresses himself; his eyes fixated on your figure as he continues with his appraisal of you. Then, he climbs onto the bed. His hands grip your ankles, caress your knees; fingertips dancing along your inner thighs as he encourages them to open so he can settle between them.
Tears slip out of the corner of your eyes, your breathing shallow as you stare up at him, waiting in nervous anticipation. With his thumbs, Bucky spreads your folds, running the tip of his cock over your wanting pussy.
“You were made for me, you know that?” he rhetorically asks, continuing to grind his hips and lubricate his cock with your arousal. A hiss passes through his clenched teeth as he drops his head back, eyes fluttering closed. “My angel. My perfect, little angel.”
Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you hold back a cry as an unwanted wave of pleasure ripples through you at his assertions. Because after being alone for so long, you can’t deny how good it feels to be wanted.
Suddenly, Bucky stops his movements, shifting his hands to grip your waist as he looks down at you. Blue crystalline eyes partly hidden behind hooded lids meet your watery gaze.
“No more waiting,” he says, taking a hold of his stiff member and guiding it to your entrance.
When you feel him nudge his tip against your throbbing hole, your legs tense and attempt to close on impulse at the intrusion, but Bucky forces them to stay open. He clicks his tongue in slight admonishment, shaking his head at you before pushing in further.
Gradually, Bucky’s thick member stretches you open; a pleasant burn radiating from your core that elicits a soft whimper as you attempt to adjust. With his bottom lip held mercilessly between his teeth, a deep groan of satisfaction resonants in Bucky’s chest when he’s completely sheathed inside you.
“Like I said,” he begins with a cruel smile, “made just for me.”
As he leans down, you raise your arms, unsure if you’re reaching out to bring him closer or to push him away, and before you even have time to react, he’s pressing his lips against yours; forceful and full of desperation.
Initially, you recoil at the unsuspecting action, but as Bucky’s soft lips move against yours; his tongue gently coaxing its way into your mouth, you give in. Dark locks curtain around your face as he hovers over you, and you mindlessly brush them away and sink your nails into his scalp as you continue to kiss him back.
A mewl spills from your mouth into Bucky’s when he retracts his hips and pushes back inside you. His pace is slow—agonizingly slow—and he’s everywhere around you to the point you feel like you’re suffocating. Breaking the kiss, you gasp for air as your nails claw down his back.
Bucky doesn’t stop. With his arms caged around your head, his thumbs caress your temples while his lips brush tender kisses to your cheeks between quiet praises. After several more thrusts, he reaches down to grip your thigh and hooks it over his hip. Deep and unforgiving, the tip of his cock reaches the spongy sweet spot inside you.
The hard springs of the mattress dig painfully into your back as Bucky continues to move. The slow drag of his cock through your velvet walls is overwhelming, and sooner than you thought would be possible, you feel the clench in your lower belly, but it’s not enough.
“Faster,” you beg through heavy breaths. “Please.”
The tightened grip on your thigh tells you Bucky hears you, but he does nothing to appease you. Slow and meticulous, like he wants to draw this out for as long as he can for his own sick delight, he maintains his languid pace, and continues to shower you with eerily sweet affections. It’s a tortuous climb, but the yearning for your release is close to being satiated.
Pleased moans bleed from your swollen lips, your eyes screwing shut as you wait for the riptide of ecstasy to pull you under, but just as you feel your climax within reach, Bucky withdraws himself and you’re left feeling empty and deflated.
“Not yet,” Bucky firmly says.
Too exhausted and strung out, you barely put up a fight when he’s pulling away and leaving you—naked and still wanting—on the bed. Sleep threatens to take you, and you blink heavily several times as you try to evade it, but then the bed dips and you’re being flipped onto your stomach.
Behind you, Bucky spreads your legs with his knees and sinks his cock back inside you. Immediately, you clench around him, delighted to be full once again. Then, you feel the weight of Bucky’s entire body on your back when he leans forward; pressing a kiss to your cheek as he slides an arm under you.
His lips brush against the shell of your ear when he asks, “Ready to become mine?”
A tired sigh falls from your lips, and with a nearly empty mind you submit. “Yes.”
In an instant, your entire equilibrium is thrown off as Bucky lifts you from the bed, bringing your back flush against his chest. His arm—strong and possessive—holds you tight as he begins to thrust inside you again.
The room spins and tears prick your eyes as you drown in Bucky and the pleasure he’s bringing you; puffs of warm breaths fan down your neck as he pants against your ear, the feel of his thick cock moving in and out of you. A pattern of crescent moons form in his skin as your nails dig into his arm, gripping harshly to help ground yourself.
Hot chords of pleasure tighten your abdomen as your climax rises and Bucky continues to fuck into you. And just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Bucky takes a vice-like grip to your left arm and pins it to your side.
“This is going to hurt,” he says lowly, “but it’ll all be over soon.”
A scream rips through your lungs, but it sounds foreign, distant. Your vision whites out, body seizing up, as your climax hits and you fall into ecstasy. But the rapture doesn’t last long.
You hear the sizzling of flesh before you feel it; bare skin melting into raw tissue under the hot iron of a brand. The stench permeates your nostrils, eliciting a profound gag as it ruthlessly assaults your senses; a revolting smell of burnt meat and charred blood. The pain is indescribable. Numbing and all consuming at the same time.
You scream again.
“Shh, shh,” Bucky soothes, his lips buried in your hair.
His hold on you doesn’t break, even when you claw desperately at his arm to make it stop; to make him stop.
“I know, I know,” he says, voice eerily calm and even.
And just as quickly as it began, it’s over.
The brand falls to the floor with a loud clatter, but the pain in your arm still lingers. Tears stain your cheeks and your lungs strain for air. Faintly, you feel lips brushing over your shoulder with soft kisses of approval.
“You did so good for me, angel,” Bucky commends, still continuing to move inside you. “So good.”
Gradually, black begins to bleed into the fringes of your vision; head light but too heavy to keep up on your own. It falls back, landing on Bucky’s shoulder, and you barely register the feral growl he releases against your neck as a warmth begins to spread within your weeping cunt.
Then, your world tilts; the indistinct sensation of Bucky’s lips on your temple the last thing you feel before everything goes dark.
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A dull, throbbing pain radiating from your left arm is the first thing you feel when you come to. Slowly, you blink your eyes open to take in your surroundings; regrettably finding yourself still in Bucky’s cabin, but you aren’t alone.
Beside you, Wanda sits with a contrite look on her face as she tends to your burn with aloe and cool clothes.
“It’ll start to feel better soon,” she comments, but she has yet to meet your eye.
Anger immediately begins to simmer in your blood at her apparent nonchalance about the manner.
“Why?”
With just one word you’re asking for a multitude of answers and reasons, but she gives you none. Instead, the corners of mouth fall as she pinches her lips together, her attention still focused on caring for your new mark.
Following her line of sight, you look to the wound—the charred outline of a five-point star. “What does it mean?”
Finally, Wanda meets your gaze. She forces a reassuring smile, a reflection of tears beginning to gather on her lower lash line as she responds, “It means we’re his.”
The words make your stomach drop and bile to rise in your throat, and it’s then you realize she’s just as trapped as you are when you glance to the tentacled skull that mars her own arm.
A few silent beats pass before you ask your next question.
“Why is mine different?”
“Because you’re only his.”
“Wanda.” Bucky’s stern voice cuts through the room, startling the two of you.
Quickly, she gets to her feet, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready to pass out or throw up at the sight of him. He takes calculated steps into the cabin, gesturing with his head for Wanda to leave you. As she begins to walk away, you desperately want to reach out for her to stay, but you can’t. From over her shoulder, she gives you an apologetic look before she disappears behind the closing door and you’re left alone with Bucky once again.
The air thickens and your heart is ready to beat out of your chest the closer Bucky gets. When he sits beside you on the bed, you try to move away, but your limbs are like lead. He brings his hand to your forehead, lightly running his fingers over the damp skin. No longer influenced by whatever drug he gave you earlier, you’re frantic to get away from his horrid touch; your head pressing into the pillow beneath it.
When he looks to your brand, a sickening smile spreads across his lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Fuck you,” you spit out, leveling him with a contemptuous stare.
Bucky clenches his jaw in vexation; the muscles twitching under his skin as he seemingly tries to keep his temper in check.
“Now, angel,” he begins, moving his hand to cup your cheek with a firm grip—a silent warning, “there’s no need for that.”
“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is small, the words shaky as you fight to hold back tears.
Bucky’s features are colored in pity at your naïvety.
“Because I want to,” he replies condescendingly, his thumb stroking along your face as he speaks. “Because I can.”
“You’re a monster.”
Bucky chuckles hollowly. “Maybe, but you’ll learn to love me. Just like all the rest.”
Sorrow settles heavily within your chest and creates a deep crease in your brow. Your bottom lips quivers as you give in to your emotions; no longer caring if Bucky sees you cry.
With his hand still resting along your cheek, his thumb catches a rogue tear. He wipes it away, bringing the digit to his mouth. “So sweet.”
Then, he leans forward and forces his lips on yours. It’s vile and nauseating, and you don’t respond to his slow movements. After what feels like an eternity, he finally pulls away.
“Get some sleep,” he remarks, adjusting the sheet that covers your naked body. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”
With one last kiss to your forehead, Bucky stands and walks to the doorway. He pauses when he reaches the threshold, briefly looking to you with a twisted fondness before he closes the door; cutting you off from the outside world and locking you in his wretched prison—forever.
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gogolucky13 · 2 months
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Thank you so much for reading!! 🥰🥰
A Little Old Fashioned
Summary: Bucky is a bit subtle in telling you he likes you.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2,577
Warnings: Fluff. Maybe one swear-ish word.
A/N: This is a request for the lovely @emmabarnes! I’m so sorry this took me ages to finish, but I really hope you like it! Also, requests are not open. Enjoy! 😊💜 gif not mine.
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Wednesday. Hump day. Quite possibly your least favorite day of the week, besides Sunday. Wednesday is just a reminder the week is still not over and the weekend is still so far away. The worst. But what makes it a little bit better is seeing the tall super soldier standing by your desk, two coffees in hand.
“Hey, Buck,” you greet as you approach your desk, depositing a pile of papers you were holding.
“Hey, Y/n,” Bucky replies. A boyish smile curls his lips, and there’s a brief pause as he seems to get lost in your presence. But then he clears his throat, blinking a few times and looking down to the coffee he holds. “Here, I got you this.”
Reaching for the hot drink, instinctively returning the smile he gives you. “Thank you,” you sweetly say, “but you don’t have to buy me a coffee every time you get one for yourself.” Smiling melting into a teasing smirk as you notice the blush creeping up the former assassin’s cheeks.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I know,” he stammers, flesh hand coming to rub at the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. “I just thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”
The bashful look he gives you is endearing, and your lingering smirk is hidden behind the lid of the coffee cup as you take a sip.
“Well, it’s very thoughtful of you,” you assure. “And you’re, right, I could use a pick-me-up. I’ve got quite the pile of paperwork to sort through, thanks to Wilson’s stunt on the last mission.” A slight eye roll in jest has Bucky chuckling.
“Well, I’ll let you get to it, then,” he replies, stepping away from your desk towards the exit. “See ya around.”
“Bye.”
Giving him a final smile and a little wave, you watch as he disappears from sight before settling into your desk. The mountain of paperwork taunts you from where it sits, but you don’t get the chance to start on it just yet.
A quiet hum in contemplation from behind has you swiveling your chair to face your desk mate, Carla.
“What?”
“Oh,” Carla says in mock surprise, “nothing.” Looking up from her desk and registering the pointed look you give her, she continues. “Just interesting how a one Bucky Barnes seems to be lingering around your desk a lot recently.”
A crease forms in your brows at her words. “We’re friends.”
“Mhm,” she hums again, “if you say so. It’s just a lot of coffee and snacks he brings up here.”
“He’s being nice.”
“Okay.”
Lips pinching together and the furrow to your brow deepening, you turn back around.
Bucky is your friend, and he is nice. The blossoming friendship you have with Bucky started a handful of months ago after he held the door open for you one day as you arrived to work. Of course you’d known who he was when he first arrived at the Tower, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t originally a bit intimated by him. Not because of the unkind and grossly unfair reputation that preceded him, but because he was an Avenger, and a handsome one at that.
But the friendly smile and considerate gesture opened the figurative door to your friendship with Bucky. After that day, he seemed to pop up more and more in your everyday life. There was the the time you were attempting to juggle a pile of papers and office supplies back to your desk. Bucky seemingly came out of no where from the conference room you passed to offer his assistance. There’s also been a handful of shared lunches in the staff cafeteria, and a few times, Bucky offered to help you file paperwork, claiming I don’t have anything better to do at the moment. And recently, as your ever observant desk mate pointed out, he’s been bringing you coffee or sweet snacks a few times a week.
Pondering the implication from Carla for another brief moment, you shake it from your thoughts. You work in administration, hardly exciting, and you aren’t oblivious to the model-esque women Bucky seems to unintentionally lure in at company parties. He’s Bucky Barnes, the Winter Solider, and you’re, well...you. It just makes sense he’s only looking for a friend, and besides, he’s never given any romantic indications towards you.
Finally, the week comes to an end. Replying to some last minute emails and filing a few bits of paperwork, you’re ready for the weekend at last. As you begin packing up your bag, and shutting down your computer, Bucky’s reflection appears on the black screen before you, a smile on his face.
Turning in your chair, you’re a little surprised to see him, but not at all put out by his presence.
“Well, hello there,” you greet. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this Friday afternoon?”
The smile on Bucky’s face stretches just that little bit more, and he’s quickly dropping his gaze to the awkward shuffling of his feet.
“Uh, I was just wondering if you’re not busy, if you’d wanna grab a coffee or something with me?” He pauses. “There’s a coffeehouse a few blocks down...”
It’s obvious he’s a little hesitant, nervous maybe. But you chalk it up to the fact it’s the first time he’s asking you to do something not during work hours and not in the comfort of the Tower.
“Yeah,” you say, “I could go for a coffee or something.” Giving him another smile, you stand from your chair and grab your jacket.
“O-okay, great,” Bucky breathes in content and possibly relief. “Are you ready now, or did you need a few minutes...”
“Nope! I am all done for today and ready to get the hell out of here.”
“Alright,” he chuckles, watching you slip on your jacket and reach for your bag. “Here, let me.” Without a second thought, he takes the bag from your hand and slings it over his shoulder.
“Oh, thanks.” A smile of appreciation is aimed in his direction. “Let me know if it gets too heavy for ya, my laptop’s in there.”
“I think I can manage,” Bucky replies with another soft chuckle. He holds his hand out in the direction of the exit, waiting for you to lead the way.
The streets of New York are unsurprisingly busy. Bucky gestures in the direction of the coffeehouse, and you begin the trek through the crowd. A somewhat protective hand finds it way to the small of your back. It’s subtle, but you know it’s there. Guiding you through the mass of people, there’s hardly a moment where you’re in discomfort as Bucky ensures no one gets too close.
The quaint coffee shops comes into view, and Bucky is quick to hold the door open for you to enter.
“There’s a small park across the way,” he states as you stand in line, “I thought we could get our drinks to go and maybe hang out there for a bit.”
“That sounds nice.”
You give him a reassuring smile, because it does sound nice. Being cooped up in an office all day, albeit an office with extremely large windows, the lack of fresh air can still make it a little stuffy and tiring.
After placing your orders, Bucky doesn’t hesitate to whip out his wallet to pay for everything.
“I asked you to come,” he says, “Only fair.”
The park isn’t too busy; you’ve managed to find that awkward time between the end of work and school so there are a few open benches to relax on. Sipping at your iced coffee, Bucky sits a modest distance away, but his body is open towards you.
“I can’t wait for summer,” he comments, eyes closed, allowing a gentle breeze to blow over his face.
Admiring his profile for a moment, you hum in agreement.
“It’ll be here soon,” you reply, “and then we’ll all be wanting winter back.”
“Nah,” he says, turning to look to you, “I don’t like the cold. Summer has always been my favorite.”
His comment is innocent enough, but from the knowledge you have of his past, you know there’s a deeper meaning, a heartbreaking reason, as to why this man doesn’t like the cold.
“Steve and I used to train hop from Brooklyn to Cony Island at least once a summer.”
His voice brings you out of your thoughts, focusing on him again.
“I haven’t been back in ages.” A wistful smile pulls at his lips and crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I’d love to go sometime.”
“Why don’t you?” The question flies from your mouth before you can even register it.
Startled, Bucky looks back to you.
“I mean, why haven’t you gone back?” You softly say in genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know,” he replies, “I guess I just haven’t made the time for it.”
The topic changes from there, and conversation flows until the sun begins its descent behind the large buildings. Again, there isn’t a moment of hesitation when Bucky offers to walk you home. Even though you assure him you could manage, he’s insistent.
“Thanks again for the coffee,” you say when you reach the door of your apartment building. “It was fun to sit and chat somewhere that wasn’t the Tower,” you add with a smile.
“Yeah, yeah it was,” Bucky agrees, lips etching upwards.
“Alright, well I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.”
One last look of appreciation before you’re turning to enter the building, but then the sound of his voice stops you.
“Hey,” he calls, words faltering as he realizes he’s gotten your attention and he needs to continue. A nervous energy radiates from him as you wait. “Would you wanna go with me?” A quizzical look contorts your features, eyebrows raising as you try to piece together what he’s offering. “To Cony Island, I mean. I know it’s still a little early in the season, but the rides open next weekend, and...it could be fun to go with you.”
To go with you.
The words induce a small fluttering in your belly, but it’s quickly squashed as you twist out the true meaning. It would be fun to go with you because you’re a nobody, and the chance of Bucky being recognized is significantly low. Going with Steve, or anyone else on the team for that matter, would most likely cause an uproar. You’re a safe option. A friendly option.
“Yeah, Buck,” you finally respond. “I’d love to go with you.”
A sigh of relief seems to pass through his lips, and a somewhat dopey smile takes over his features.
“Next weekend, you said?”
“Yeah, if that works for you?”
“I’ll put it in my calendar.”
__________
Returning from yet another lunch with Bucky, you still hold the small bundle of wildflowers he brought you because I don’t know, they just reminded me of you. As you approach your desk area, a knowing look is on Carla’s face when she sees the flowers.
“From Sergeant Barnes?”
Narrowing your eyes in the slightest at her suggestion, you pause before responding. “Maybe.”
A small quirk of her eyebrow, lips pressed into an unimpressed line, she turns back around without saying more.
You reach for a water bottle and one of the coffee mugs that’s taken up residency on your desk. Pouring just enough in the mug for the flowers, you place them inside, gently fluffing the little petals before setting it off to the side. But your attention doesn’t stray from the mound of color as you begin to question the friendship you’ve come to accept with Bucky.
When you step into the elevator a little later, you’re surprised to see Steve standing there. It’s not often the Avengers themselves make their way to this part of the Tower, but it does happen. He gives you a curt, friendly nod as you enter, and those thoughts of Bucky and your friendship take over again. So you decide to ask the original man out of time what it could all mean.
“Hey, Cap,” you begin, “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Back in your time,” a pause when you see the look he’s giving you, “I mean no offense, I’m just curious, how did you go about dating back then? I mean, how did one know when something was a date?”
His eyes narrow in intrigue. “Does this have something to do with Bucky?”
You nod in silence, pressing the folder full of papers against your chest.
“What happened?”
“He’s asked me to go to Cony Island with him this weekend.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely a date.”
“What?” You ask in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
He turns, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the opposite wall to face you directly.
“Well, let’s look at all the facts,” he states. “Does he open doors for you?” A nod. “Does he bring you things?” Another nod. "Offer to help you with things?” A third nod. “Well, there ya go. He’s courting you, and he’s asked you on date.”
“I thought he was just being nice!”
“He is being nice,” he replies, “because he likes you.”
“Oh my god,” you softly groan. “What do I do?”
A shrug of his shoulders as he stands upright again. “That’s up for you to decide. Do you like him back?”
The question has you taking a moment, gaze falling to the floor as you contemplate. The idea was one you hadn’t fully considered because it just made sense Bucky was only looking for a friend. Protecting your heart and shielding your emotions, you never let it get to that point of falling for him. But as you think about all the little things he does for you, all the talks you’ve had, there’s only one answer to that question.
“Yeah,” you sigh, “Yeah, I do like him.”
“Then it seems like you know what to do.”
The doors open and he shoots you a wink as he steps out of the elevator, a playful smirk teasing the corner of his lips. Then you’re left alone with this new revelation.
By the time the weekend rolls around, you’re eager to see Bucky. He stopped by your desk a few times during the week, but it wasn’t the right time to ask him. To figure out if what Steve said in the elevator was correct and what Bucky’s intentions truly are. Of course you’d be happy to keep what you have with him platonic, he is a good friend. But for your sanity, you just need to know if that’s all he wants from you.
That’s why, on Saturday morning when Bucky comes to your apartment, you don’t hesitate to get it out of the way.
“Wait,” you begin, “before we go, is this a date?”
“Uh, I...um, do you want it to be a date?” He asks, an uncertainty in his voice, but he looks to you with wide, hopeful eyes, waiting.
A moment’s pause as you ponder your response. “I suppose I’m hoping that’s what this is.” A shy smile creeps across your lips, body heat rising as you look down at him from the top of the stoop.
The smile he gives you is breathtaking. Blue eyes twinkling in the mid-morning sun, a warm hand held out for you to take.
“Then it’s a date, Doll.”
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gogolucky13 · 2 months
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Thank you so much for the mention Lisa!! 🥰🥰 (I hope you’ve been well!)
I do have some Winter Soldier fics in my catalog, nonnie! You can find them here!
Hey, hopefully this doesn't come off insulting. Maybe its not and I just worry too much about offending people, idk, I'm new to tumblr. Do you know any good Winter soldier writers? Not Bucky, but winter soldier era kinda stuff? I am so confused by this platform and searching for good writers like you, but on other topics? Idk, I have no idea what I'm doing.
Specifically Winter Soldier? I'm afraid not. But @cockslutpadalecki writes some pretty spectacular Bucky stuff. Some of it can get pretty dark so I find it scratches the itch pretty close lol. But be sure to read the warnings to make sure it's what you're looking for 😊💖 Happy hunting.
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gogolucky13 · 2 months
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Oh my gosh, thank you so much!!! I’m so happy to hear you enjoyed it. This series holds a special place in my heart, thank you for giving it some of your time. 🥰🥰
Ghost of You Masterlist
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Summary: Bucky has worked hard to come to terms with his past and enjoy the new life he’s been given. But his mind is still plagued by nightmares of what he’s done and by the face of an unknown woman. What happens when the team is tasked with recovering another Winter Solider, causing Bucky’s past and present to collide in the form of the woman from his dreams?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader, Steve Rogers x f!Reader (platonic)
Series warnings: Angst. Swearing. Canon level violence. Mentions of panic attacks and mental health. Eventual smut. Fluff? Slow burn? Warnings for each chapter will be provided.
Posting schedule: COMPLETE (total word count ~50k)
Chapters below the cut.
Keep reading
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Crescent City is on my list too! And I really love the way she writes her characters so it’s hard for me to pick just one 😆 but I’m definitely #Team Rhysand 😍
Where are all my ACOTAR hoes at
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Halfway through book 3! I’m so glad I was off this week because it’s all I’ve been doing 😂 I’m planning to finish the series reread at least the first two books and then read Throne of Glass. Faeries have become me 😅😂🤣
Where are all my ACOTAR hoes at
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Hiiii 😄
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Not yet! I’m a little over halfway with the third book and then my plan is reread them and then move on to throne of glass 😂
Where are all my ACOTAR hoes at
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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It’s been consuming most of my every waking minute idk what to do 😅😂
Where are all my ACOTAR hoes at
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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I’m so deep in it and I wasn’t expecting it but at the same time I totally was. What do I do
Where are all my ACOTAR hoes at
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Where are all my ACOTAR hoes at
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Then. Now. Always.
Summary: Bucky loves you then, now, and always.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Word Count: 1,399
Warnings: Fluff. One swear-ish word. Bit of an AU.
A/N: This is my submission for @sarahwroteathing​ ‘s Pretty Words: Marvel Writing Challenge. I chose the prompt “…No matter how stalled I seem, some crank in me tightens the whirly-spring each time I see your face so thank you for aiming it my way…” which is an excerpt from the poem Easy as Falling Down Stairs by Dean Young. Hope you like it! 😊💜
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The room is alive with the buzz of excited chatter and live music. Luxurious white drapes hang from the large ceiling of the tent, accompanied by multiple rows of twinkling lights, giving the entire space a warm, golden glow. The celebration of two people finding love brings everyone together for a night of joyous fun and laughter.
Bucky leans an elbow onto the bar as he waits for his drink order, and the sign by the entrance catches his eye. A quiet chuckle vibrates his chest as he reads it over again.
Sam & Natasha’s Wedding
If you’re crashing this party, you better be funny!
Keep reading
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Twinkle Toes
Summary: Bucky tags along to your day of pampering.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 933
Warnings: Fluff.
A/N: Apparently I’m having a thing right now for an effeminate Bucky (because a man secure in their masculinity is hot af). Anyways, hope people enjoy this one and if you’re interested, here is the other story I’ve shared. Also, gif found here.
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Wallet, check.
Keys, check.
Phone…phone?
Standing in the middle of your room, lips are pursed in thought as you try to remember where you last had it. Not in your bag or on your nightstand, usually the only two places it would be if it wasn’t in your hand. Bag slung over your shoulder, you decide to look in the common room.
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Pretty Boy
Summary: You make Bucky a pretty boy.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 900
Warnings: Fluff.
A/N: I’ve always imagined doing this and thought I’d write a little something about it. This isn’t my first time writing, but my first time sharing on here, so hopefully people read it and enjoy it. :) Also, gif not mine.
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The common room is quiet, save for the soft pattering of rain against the large windows and the occasional huffs from the only other person in the room. You are on one end of the couch, legs curled under and a book on your lap. Bucky is on the floor in front of the opposite end of the couch, hunching over the coffee table as he puts together a massive one thousand piece puzzle.
It wasn’t unusual for you to find yourself alone and settled into a comfortable silence with Bucky. After arriving at the Compound, the two of you quickly formed a friendship, finding the other’s presence calming as you went about trivial tasks.
From your peripheral, you see annoyed fingers brush back loose strands of hair as Bucky lets out another huff.
Keep reading
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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Santa Baby
Summary: Bucky is picked to play Santa for the annual Christmas party.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Word Count: 1,551
Warnings: Smut. Mild drinking. (18+ only please).
A/N: This is an entry for the Merry Hoemas challenge hosted by @chrissquares​ @starlightcrystalline​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @amythedvdhoarder​ @pumpkin-and-pine​. I chose the prompt “So, technically, you slept with Santa?” from This Christmas. Thanks for putting this challenge together friends! Hope you like! 😊💜
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The Stark annual holiday party is an event people either loved or loathed—there’s rarely an in between. Extravagant decorations, expensive champagne, live music; the event has it all. And the final touch? 
A real-life Santa Claus.
As host of the party, Tony never plays the part. Instead, he designates the job to other members of the team, and the one who drew the short straw this year was none other than the Winter Soldier himself.
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gogolucky13 · 3 months
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The Holiday Hack [3/3]
Summary: Another party, another plan, but Bucky is tired of faking. [Fake Dating AU]
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Warnings: Mostly fluff. Mentions of drinking. Mild swearing.
Word count: 3,065
A/N: Surprise! I originally didn’t have any plans to add more for The Holiday Hack, but people seemed to really enjoy it so I thought I’d bring these two back one more time! This is the third and final part of The Holiday Hack and my last entry for the Merry Hoemas Challenge hosted by @drabblewithfrannybarnes @chrissquares @starlightcrystalline @amythedvdhoarder @pumpkin-and-pine. Thank you ladies for putting this fun challenge together! Hope you like and happy new year! 😊💜 gif not mine.
Part One // Part Two
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The following days after your family’s Christmas party found you and Bucky in a frenzy of flirty touches and eager kisses, always leaving you both wanting more. Driving back to the city the next day together wasn’t awkward in the slightest, to your somewhat surprise and honest delight. Bucky kindly offered to drive, and you said he could as long as he didn’t complain about the car being too small. He said he’d try, but couldn’t keep any promises.
Then once back in the city, most of your time had been spent together, usually in your apartment. Hanging out and apparently trying to make up on lost time wasted on petty jabs and childish taunts. With Sam still away for the holidays, the two of you took advantage of the alone time you had until you went your separate ways for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
While away, you kept in touch through flirty texts and silly pictures. At one point, you sent him a selfie of you and your childhood stuffed teddy bear he apparently took a liking to the second he saw it.
“Mr. Cuddles misses you :(“
His response was sweet, but still laced with his boyish teasing.
“Tell Mr. Cuddles I miss him, and I guess I miss you too ;)”
It made you smile because although Bucky admitted to liking you now, the teasing still didn’t stop, not that you really wanted it to. Now you knew his jokes weren’t meant to be taken seriously, the source of them coming from a place of adoration. Not that you ever thought he was being intentionally malicious before, it was just difficult at times to tell how much truth was behind a jab. Anyways, you’re convinced he still just likes to see you get flustered from what the things he says.
You can admit you didn’t necessarily want to be a part from Bucky, even for just a few days, but it allowed you the chance to sort yourself out, figure out where your head and heart lies with him and the sudden shift in friendship dynamic.
Up until the party, you thought you had Bucky figured out—a brooding, wannabe playboy who only gave you attention when he was teasing you about something or other. But then, pretending to be together had both of your guards unintentionally coming down, and suddenly you were seeing him in a new, affectionate light and he was confessing he’s liked you for a long time. To say you were blindsided would be an understatement.
But you can’t deny the increase of your heartbeat when he looks at you or touches you, or the fluttering in your belly when your phone lights up with a new message from him. And the way your body seems to turn to jelly when he presses those soft lips against yours… So maybe you were a little more than hung up on your no longer mysterious neighbor.
With New Year’s quickly approaching, your friends settled on having a small get together. No bars or elaborate parties this year. None of your friends know you and Bucky are kind of seeing each other now. You’ve both been too caught up in exploring the new change of your relationship that thinking of telling the others wasn’t on the top of either of your lists. Also, you’re more than happy to avoid having to deal with pestering questions or witty remarks about the situation. Therefore, you came to the conclusion to not tell anyone until after the buzz of the holiday season was over.
The party is tonight, Natasha and Clint graciously offering their larger apartment to host the New Year’s Eve festivities. All of your friends will be there, a part from Sam who won’t be home until the next day.
“Why can’t we go together again?” Bucky asks from your bed. He lays with his legs crossed at the ankles, flesh arm propped behind his head while his metal hand rests on his abdomen.
“Because it will draw suspicion,” you reply from the bathroom, finishing up with your hair.
“What? How?” The confusion and minor frustration in his tone is evident.
“When have we ever shown up to anything together before?” Popping your head out of the bathroom, you give Bucky a pointed look as if to say the reasoning is obvious.
He groans from the bed, metal hand dragging over his face. “This is stupid.”
“Well, it’s just for tonight.”
“What if I want to kiss you while we’re there?”
A smile lifts the corner of your lips because he’s so cute with his blue eyes looking to you, wide with an innocent curiosity and faint panic at the prospect of not getting the chance to kiss you when he wants to.
“I guess you’ll have to practice some restraint,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow at him.
Another groan, but louder this time, erupts from his chest. “This is so stupid!” He huffs before getting up from your bed to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. “I think you should consider telling people tonight.”
“And I think you should consider leaving because Steve will be here any minute.” You give him a toothy grin before moving to plant a kiss to his cheek, but he’s quick.
Turning his head just in time to catch your lips with his, Bucky gently grasps your face with his hands, holding you close as he deepens the kiss. When you pull away, you’re left breathless and slightly dizzy.
“If this is the only chance I get to kiss you tonight, I’m going to make it worth it,” he softly says, lips still hovering close to yours. He leans in again, placing a chaste kiss to your lips then your cheek, before he lets go and steps away. “See you in a bit, Doll.” He shoots you a wink then makes his way out of your apartment.
Natasha and Clint’s place is always impeccable, considering Natasha’s career as an interior decorator, it has to be. But this year, the holiday decorations she’s chosen leaves you gaping in awe at their beauty. Frosted blues, whites, and silvers are everywhere, from the ornaments on the tree to the faux snowy garland on the table tops. Glass icicles cover the island in the kitchen and you’re convinced you’ve stepped into an enchanted Winter Wonderland.
“These decorations are amazing, Nat,” you comment, eyes still roaming over the captivating apartment. “So beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Natasha smiles, plating a few more appetizers. “And thanks for coming tonight.”
“Of course,” you say before taking a sip of your drink. “Who else is coming tonight?”
“Um, I think just the usuals. Wanda and Vis, Bucky, Tony said he might stop by,” she replies. “Oh, one of Clint’s friends from work, Thor, is coming.” Her features are warping into one of mischief at the mention of this Thor guy, and you can already see the wheels turning inside the redhead’s mind.
“No, Nat,” you state firmly. “I don’t want a set up.”
Natasha raises her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. Just…letting you know the option is there.”
Playfully rolling your eyes, you take another sip of your drink in an attempt to stop the sudden urge to confess to your friend you don’t need the option because there’s already someone who’s caught your eye.
Before you get the chance to change the topic, the sound of the front door opening and new voices filters in from the hallway. Ears perking and heartbeat rising, the sound of one specific voice catches your attention and induces a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.
Clint, who was entertaining Steve in the living room, enters the kitchen with Wanda and Vis. The group exchange greetings, and as you pull away from Wanda’s hug, Bucky walks in with Steve. His eyes immediately lock with yours and you try to hide the smile threatening to break through.
Watching as Bucky says hello to everyone, you suddenly get nervous. How should you greet him? A hug? A handshake? High five? Before the only greeting you gave to one another was some form of playful taunt. But things were different now between you two, although, no one else knew it yet.
“Y/n.” Bucky’s voice breaks you from your thoughts and you realize he’s holding his hand out to you, an impish smirk on his lips.
“Uh,” you hesitate for a moment, looking around at everyone, then take his hand for the most awkward handshake of your life. “Bucky.”
He lingers by your side after the handshake, and you feel the faint touch of his hand playfully cupping your backside. Eyes darting around to assure no one is paying attention, you give him a quick look of admonishment before stepping away from him. He sticks his bottom lip out, puppy dog eyes silently expressing their sadness with the situation.
A knowing look comes over your features, a small smile tugging at your lips. Heart warming at the thought of Bucky wanting nothing more than to touch and kiss you right now. You sip your drink and attempt to join in the conversation between Steve and Wanda.
The hours counting down to midnight are filled with board games and drinking games, music continuously playing through the living room speakers. About an hour after Wanda, Vis, and Bucky arrived, Clint’s friend from work, Thor, showed up. Tall, muscular, blond-haired, blue-eyed Thor.
Natasha was sure to introduce the two of you, feigning ignorance of her plan to set you up. Thor is nice, so you entertained him in some friendly conversation, but you have no intentions of exchanging numbers or going on dates. Besides, he isn’t really your type.
After excusing yourself to use the restroom, you come back to the living room and sit beside Wanda on the couch. The buzzing of your phone distracts you from her conversation with Natasha. Retrieving the device from you pocket, the all too familiar fluttering in your stomach picks up when you see Bucky’s name attached to a new message flash on your screen.
You look pretty tonight.
Eyes darting up to meet his from across the room, he sits nonchalantly on one of the barstools from the kitchen, pretending to be engaged in a conversation with Clint. A bashful heat takes over your body, bottom lip between your teeth as you try to hold back a smile.
“What’s got you smiling like a little school girl?” Natasha’s voice pulls your attention from Bucky. “Or should I say who?”
Clearing your throat, your phone finds its way back into your pocket before you respond. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply coolly.
“Mhm,” Natasha hums as she sips her drink, letting you off the hook for now, but you know your friend is stubborn and too intuitive for her own good, and will eventually ask questions. You often think if her profession as an interior designer falls through, she could always work as a spy for the CIA.
Throughout the night, you’ve kept your distance from Bucky, much to both of your dismay. It’s not that you’re ashamed to say you’re seeing him, but you know your friends, and you know they like to make a big deal out of nothing. But you often catch yourself wistfully thinking of holding his hand, or sharing a New Year’s Eve kiss.
Maybe you should consider telling everyone tonight.
Somehow you’ve ended up in another conversation with Thor, the two of you sitting alone on the couch. You don’t think much of it, he’s got some interesting views on space travel you don’t mind listening to as you drink your holiday cocktail.
But you feel a pair of blue eyes on you, and they don’t belong to tall blonde in front of you.
Bucky still sits on the barstool on the other side of the room, attempting to keep up with Vis and Clint’s conversation, but you can tell he’s miles away. If the slight crease of his brow is any indication, he doesn’t seem too thrilled watching you chat with Thor.
You shoot him a wink to ease his nerves, and he playfully narrows his eyes at you in return.
Eventually, you politely inform Thor you’re in need of a refill and excuse yourself to the kitchen. When you enter the closed off space, you immediately sense you aren’t alone. Turning around, Bucky unsurprisingly stands in the doorway.
“Stalking me?” You ask with a sly smirk.
Bucky shakes his head, shoulders shrugging in indifference. “Nah, just wanted some water.” He moves towards the fridge, stepping around you.
“Oh, okay, don’t mind me then,” you reply, picking up your drink.
Moving towards the door, you don’t get far when a strong hand grasps your upper arm.
“No, wait,” Bucky says, “I changed my mind. I am stalking you and I’d like a kiss.”
Placing your drink on the counter, you allow him to pull your body into his, arms wrapping around his waist.
“Okay, but only because you’re so charming with your stalker ways.” You smile, but it quickly fades when he presses his lips against yours. You wish you could kiss him everyday, all day.
The kiss deepens when Bucky slips his tongue out to lick at your lower lip, and you gladly entwine your tongue with his. His hands are around your jaw, your hands find their way under his shirt to run light fingers over his lower back. Always losing yourselves in each other, neither of you notice when Natasha enters the room.
“Hey guys, it’s almost midnight—“ But the words are lost when she catches sight of the scene in her kitchen. “Well, what do we have here?” She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe as a perfectly manicured eyebrow is raised in questioning.
Pulling away from each other, throats are clearing and you brush a hand through your hair, heat building in your body for a whole new reason.
“Hey…Nat.” Your voice is weak in its attempt to sell an air of nonchalance.
“Seems like I found the who from earlier, just never would’ve guessed it to be Barnes!” She says with a laugh. “How long have you two been…”
“Not long,” you say. “And we haven’t really told anyone, so can you please not say anything? We were planning to tell everyone after the holidays.”
Natasha puckers her lips in contemplation, eyes narrowing at the two of you. “Fine. Steve and Sam are gonna lose their shit when they find out. Promise me you’ll tell them when I’m there.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“Oh, but this is so exciting!” She squeals, clapping her hands. “I always thought the two of you might eventually—“

“Okay, okay!” You say, cutting her off and rolling your eyes.
And this would be the reason why you didn’t want to tell anyone just yet. Grabbing your drink, you give Bucky one last look before ushering Natasha back into the living room with you.
The clock on the cable box indicates there’s only a few minutes left until the ball drops, and the group has gathered around the tv to watch the festivities in Times Square play out on the screen. As the countdown begins, the couples begin to pair off as they anticipate for their New Year’s Eve kiss.
“10! 9! 8!”
Gently chewing on your bottom lip, you shoot a quick glance to Bucky.
“6! 5! 4!”
“Screw it.”
Lips pressed into a hard line of determination, Bucky marches over to you.
“3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!”
Large hands grasp your cheeks, soft lips on yours, and you’re pulled into one of the most captivating kisses you’ve ever experienced. The drink you hold nearly drops to the floor as Bucky’s entire being consumes you. Gentle touches and fervent kisses, you wish you could stay in this moment forever.
But then Bucky pulls away, his forehead against yours as sighs of content escape the two of you.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t wait any longer,” he chuckles breathily.
“It’s—“
“What the fuck?!”
Steve’s voice breaks the two of you out of your reverie, and it’s only then do you both realize all eyes have been on you.
Wide eyes of embarrassment meet Steve’s wide eyes of bewilderment, and you’re fumbling for what to say.
“Steve—“

“You two like each other now?” He asks, brow furrowing as he clearly tries to make sense of what he just saw.
“Well, I don’t think we never not liked each other, but yeah, I guess we do,” you reply with a slight smile on your lips. You look to Bucky, whose cheeks are as red as Rudolph’s nose, and the endearment of it has your smile growing.
“Wow, okay, I never saw this coming,” Steve sighs, shaking his head as if that’ll help to sort his confusion. “Well, I guess congratulations. I’m happy for you both.” He gives you a smile, one that is genuine despite the corners of his eyes still lingering in bafflement.
“Thanks, Stevie.”
“Yeah, uh,” Bucky coughs, attempting to clear his throat of the awkwardness he’s created, “Thanks.”
“Have you guys told Sam yet?”
“No, not yet,” you reply, pressing your lips together in a suppressed smile because you can only imagine what his reaction will be. Probably more perplexed than the one Steve gave you.
“Alright, well when you do, make sure I’m there,” Steve says with a laugh.
The apparent shock has worn off of the group, and everyone has either gone for a refill, to use the restroom, or turned their attention back to the tv.
Peering back to Bucky, he meets your gaze with a hint of hesitation tinting the blueness of his eyes.
“Sorry if I—“
“Don’t apologize,” you say, stepping closer to him. “We had to tell them eventually. I guess this was just like ripping the bandaid off.”
“Yeah, suppose it was somewhat quick and painless,” Bucky sighs.
“Well, we still have to tell Sam,” you smirk.
“Mm,” he hums in affirmation, “That one may not be so quick and painless, but we’ll worry about that when he gets back.” He gives you a smile, pulling you into him once again and places a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Happy New Year, Doll,” he whispers softly against your skin.
“Happy New Year, Bucky.”
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