Hi!! How are you?? I hope you’re feeling better!!
This is probably annoying but can I request another one?? So Y/n and WandaNat are having a fight because wandanat is stressed from work and when they came home it was messy because Y/n just had a mental breakdown -but they didn’t know- so they yell at her and Y/n started having panic attacks because of the yelling but it took them quite a long time to notice. Fluff in the end tehe!!
Also I just wanna tell you that your stories get me through a lot, you’re amazing!!❤️ (feel free to skip this request if you’re busy or tired and needs rest! I hope you’re doing fine!!)
Thank you so much!! Sorry for requesting again tehe 🙃
Just like the others
TW: mention of suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, mention of depression
WandaNat x reader
Maybe it got worse without you even noticing it, a month ago, maybe two ... no, actually three. You don't remember it.
Everyone has "no" days and what you are experiencing is just one of many. Everyone has those days when they can hardly breathe, they want to do nothing but curl up under the covers and pray they never have to open their eyes again. Everyone has these days… and for all these days they become more frequent. These days represent every day, every minute, every second ... a constant agony that never ceases and that never seems to end.
You are so focused on your thoughts that you do not realize the glass slips into your hands and then shatters on the ground. The sound of the crash makes you wince and you quickly bend down to pick up the pieces.
Ironic how you feel so like that shattered glass right now.
You drop the freshly picked piece of glass from the ground; you are so tired, you are tired of being treated terribly at work just because you are a woman, you are tired of never being enough, you are tired of looking in the mirror and just judging your physical appearance. That extra fat on your thighs, hips… the sadness when you look at your weight on the scale or when you see the scars on your wrist. The stupid comments on Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat… not being an Avengers. Being a simple person, an invisible point on a white sheet. A point, which is useless.
Sobbing shakes your body and you scream, scream as you pull cushions off the sofa and throw three or four plates against the wall. You scream but the anger does not diminish, the anger turns into sadness and you collapse on the sofa. You sit and watch the TV off.
You are nobody, you never will be. You don't even know why Natasha and Wanda got engaged to someone like you. You don't deserve them.
You look around, the living room is a mess, as is the kitchen; you should fix it but you can't find the strength, so stay there. Still and motionless, staring at the black screen as your chest rises and falls at a steady pace, inhaling and exhaling.
And you spend three hours like that, motionless, sitting on the sofa. The tears stopped only an hour before and your eyes are red, bloodshot. Your nose runs from tears and your chest hurts from too many sobs. You cannot continue like this, you cannot continue to collapse without reason because otherwise there will come a day when you will face the biggest challenge of your life. And when you do, there will be no going back. Nobody comes back from the dead.
Your hand unconsciously traces the scar on your wrist, once, twice, three times. Fate forced you to stay on that planet forgotten by any entity up there and introduced you to Natasha and Wanda. You wouldn't be there without them.
Another thirty minutes pass before the two Avengers return from a long and hard day at work. Civilians had died during the mission, which they had not been able to save. And he had destroyed them.
So when they walk into your apartment, all they hope to get is a hot meal while they snuggle up with you on the sofa and watch a movie. And instead they find the house in disorder, the cushions scattered on the floor and you, the shards of the dishes and the glass that can be glimpsed from the kitchen, and you sitting on the sofa, their patience ends.
"Damn y / n, what the hell happened here?" Natasha's scornful voice makes you flinch, and makes you turn to her. Her cold, pissed off gaze lands on you, and if you already felt like shit ... now you want to bury yourself.
«Tell me you ordered something» Wanda groans in frustration: «it's been a stressful day y / n, we never ask you for anything. We would just like some peace and relaxation when we get the fuck home! "
Wanda uses her powers to arrange the pillows before looking at you and tilt her head slightly to the side.
"Civilians died while you were here doing nothing and we were kicking our asses, is it too much to ask you to leave the house tidy on your day off !? I do not-"
Natasha stops when she realizes that something is wrong. She and Wanda exchange a worried look.
Your gaze is fixed on your shoes and the strangled noises you are making make your girls' hearts break. Guilty looks paint their faces as they see you floundering in the air, in the midst of a panic attack.
Wanda quickly kneels beside you, and her hands move to your temples. Her magic tentacles brush against her skin and her eyes are painted red.
"It's okay detka, you have to breathe"
Her words have no effect on you, you still hear their screams and then everyone else's. Did you know, you knew you didn't deserve them since you met them and all this is just another demonstration. Destiny sucks.
“Moya lyubov, we are so sorry but now you have to breathe; focus on your breath, love »Natasha's urgent voice just slows down the speed at which your chest lowers and rises.
Wanda gently lifts your face and takes your hand, placing it on her chest as she inhales and exhales loudly almost forcing you to follow her breath.
"It's okay, you're doing fine"
Natasha's gaze finds yours and, despite her smile, your mind returns to the cold, pissed look she had before her.
You remove your hand from Wanda's chest and you curl up in yourself as your breath shortens again, and the air begins to stop entering your lungs.
"No no, love you have to breathe"
Panic is clear in your girls' voices but you can't hear anything; you just feel your extremely fast heartbeat and the air that practically stops entering your lungs. Blackheads appear before your sight and your body sways as you practically stop breathing. Wanda uses her powers on you, her gaze in total panic as well as Natasha's.
You hear her calling your name several times while she closes her eyes and yields to the darkness.
It's terrifying… the feeling that you have NOTHING under your control. Seeing everything slip away from your hands without having the opportunity to hold it tight if not for a few seconds.
And she sucks, it sucks damn, the disappointment that arose from opening her eyes for the umpteenth time.
When you wake up, it takes your eyes a few minutes to get used to the light in the room. You are lying in your bed and by the rays of the sun that filter through the curtain, you understand that it is morning.
You get out of bed, slowly. Everything that happened the night before comes back to your mind and a sigh escapes your lips. The urge to go back to bed is particularly high but you ignore it.
You have to do one thing and you can't postpone it. Hear the voices of Nat and Wanda coming from the kitchen. You put on a Wanda sweatshirt and Natasha's shorts before you leave your room.
The two stop talking when they hear the door open.
The scent of crêpes invades your nostrils as soon as you enter the kitchen, you greet them both with a kiss and sit down.
You try to hide your nervousness and pray that the two pretend that nothing happened the night before, obviously someone up there wants you badly.
"How do you feel?"
Wanda says as she puts a floor full of crêpes in front of you. The two girls don't particularly like them but they are one of your favorite things so ...
"I'm fine, thank you." You smile at them and grab a knife and fork as they both sit across from you. The counter is large enough to allow you to put two on one side and one on the other without space problems and your girls sit in front of you, taking a plate as well.
You start eating and you also avoid meeting their gaze.
After the third crêpes, your urge to eat has completely passed while everything that happened the day before suddenly hits you. And both Natasha and Wanda notice the change in your behavior.
“I… um-sorry about yesterday, you were right. I had to fix the house and cook something, I'm really surprised "
Natasha and Wanda shake their heads.
«No, we immediately started to rant against you without even asking you why. It doesn't matter how stressed or tired we were- "
Natasha starts and Wanda continues, both of them are looking at you with so much love that your heart is filled with hope.
"- we didn't have to behave like we did, we caused you a panic attack so bad that I had to use my powers and you passed out anyway"
Wanda's voice trembles as her guilt floods her and, from Natasha's gaze, she's not doing too well either.
"It's not your fault Wands, I should have-"
"No." Natasha gets up and joins you on the other side of the counter: "We should have understood that something was wrong, you've been distant lately and we haven't asked you why ..." Natasha hugs you and you return it. Hell, you missed her arms around you.
Wanda gives you a small smile and joins you. You hold them both, as if your life depended on it. In fact, your life depends on it.
"Last night ... I read your mind while you were sleeping"
Wanda confesses, as soon as you come off and you drag a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. She knows. They both know it, you can see it from their looks.
"I know I should have told you about it, I know but-" you stop, the lump rising in your throat as you move away a little to be able to look into her eyes: "you are special, you are Avengers christ and one of my" bad days "is not it's nothing compared to your daily days, not- "
The words die in your throat when, looking up, you see both on the verge of tears.
"You don't have to suppress your emotions like this ..." Wanda's voice breaks as she reaches for your hand and intertwines it with hers.
«… We couldn't live without you» Natasha looks at you with shining eyes as she holds you in another hug. The former Russian spy has never been as scared as the night before, immediately after your collapse, after Wanda told her what she saw in your mind. They knew she wouldn't be your first time and they were terrified that you might do it again, while they weren't there.
"I didn't intend to do anything"
Your voice is little more than a whisper and you look down.
"But You were thinking about it though and ..." Wanda lets out a shaky sigh as she holds back her tears. Just the thought of losing you drives her out of her mind.
"We would like you to see someone"
Those words are thrown at you like ice water, but the looks of Natasha and Wanda, both guilty, worried and full of love, force you to accept that request. You can live for them.
"Thanks detka," Wanda whispers as she kisses your temple.
"We are here honey, we will always be by your side, always"
Natasha strokes your back softly as she lets the tears flow. A small smile curls her lips and it will also be strange but having said it to the two of them lifted a good part of that oppressive weight on her chest.
Thanks for reading! I'm better thanks; I also thank you for the request and I hope you liked it (I hope it doesn't suck too much) and send requests people, you know I love to write them <3
P.s: I'm writing another part of Soulmates, I swear
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It Never Ends - Chapter 4
Pairing: College!AU Bucky x fem! Reader
Series description: Bucky and Y/n are fourth-year undergrads with the same major. They’ve always had a crush on each other but were too reserved to do anything about it. One horrendous night pushes them together and they’re forced to navigate the fallout, for better or worse.
Series warnings: 18+!!! This series is not for minors. The main plot line is based around sexual assault/rape themes and the fallout that comes from that type of trauma. Please if you are not 18+ do not engage. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
A/n: I’ve decided I'll likely fail the Whumptober completion. I felt the prompts were forcing the story into an unrealistic direction and I want to do this justice. It might take longer than expected, but I will finish this series.
Please take care when reading this. As a survivor (multiple times over) I know how reading stories like this can be triggering without even realizing it. If anyone wants/needs to talk don’t hesitate to send me a message. Love you all. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting and reblogging so far.
Chapter 4 warnings: blood, violent fighting, swearing and derogatory slurs, reference to non-con, trauma, anxiety
Chapter 4 word count: 3k
Chapter 4 prompts:
No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”
No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose
No. 19 - JUST A SCRATCH bitten | bleeding | stabbing
Bucky could feel the crick forming in his neck and stiffness in his back before he even opened his eyes. He stopped the groan from leaving his lips when he remembered where he was. Not wanting to wake Y/n, he slowly freed his hand from hers, freezing when she stirred. She rolled over and Bucky only continued moving once he was certain her breath had evened out once more. With the stealth of a trained assassin, he gathered all his things and left the three roommates sleeping.
The campus was unsurprisingly dead for just past 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday. The cold morning air whipped his cheeks as Bucky left the dorm building. He should have walked straight to his dorm and caught up on sleep. It was the final week of classes before Thanksgiving break which meant mid-term assignments. And he needed all the rest he could get after what a late night Friday turned into and the shoddy floor sleep he’d just had. But he couldn’t. Not when his insides were buzzing with so much rage he thought he might combust in the middle of the East Boulevard.
Quentin fucking Beck.
Brock fucking Rumlow.
Quentin motherfucking Beck.
Bucky’s teeth were clenched so hard his jaw started to throb. He had forced himself to remain calm the night before. As soon as he’d heard her say their names, he swore to himself he wouldn’t make it worse. Y/n was already suffering enough, she didn’t need him getting all macho and protective when she’d only just remembered the horrendous details.
But now that he was alone, the fury erupted in chest and seared through his veins.
Bucky wasn’t a violent man. When they were teenagers, Steve was the one getting into fights. Bucky would come to his friend’s rescue often, only resorting to violence when absolutely necessary. But the Terror in Y/n’s eyes when he woke her from her nightmare was enough to make him plan out every excruciating and gory detail of Beck’s murder.
Quentin was in graphic lit with Y/n and Bucky this semester and Bucky already loathed every word that came out of the obnoxious douchebag’s mouth. Not to mention the way Bucky always caught him staring at Y/n. It ignited a jealous flame in him—not that his crush meant that Y/n belonged to him or anything. It’s just he could see the way he undressed her with his disgusting leering. So it was no surprise when Y/n named him. Could you really blame him for wanting to knock the guy out?
Gross staring habit aside, Bucky had heard and read the stories about Beck and Rumlow. But everyone in the Faculty of Arts knew Beck’s father was one of the college’s biggest donors so he was next to untouchable. That didn’t mean Bucky couldn’t have a little “chat” with him the next time he saw him.
Which turned out would be as soon as Bucky entered the 24-hour coffee shop between his and Y/n’s residences. The only students in there were either die hard studiers or those making a pitstop on their walk of shame from Saturday night debauchery. Quentin and his ever present sidekick were the last in line.
Bucky’s chest started heaving and he had to dig his nails into his palm as his right hand made a fist to ground himself, the prosthetic quietly whirring as he clenched his left.
“God, I can’t believe how much we drank last night. I need ALL the coffee right now,” Brock groaned.
“No shit. Where’d you end up anyways? With that brunette? Or the slutty blond?”
“I can’t even remember, man. I just grabbed my hoodie and left this morning. What about you?”
“Same, man. I just remember it being good.”
The two laughed at Quentin’s insinuation.
“And thank fuck I didn’t get barfed on this time.”
“I still can’t believe that bitch threw up on y—”
“Hey, what'd I say, man? Don’t call her a bitch. I should have remembered she couldn’t handle her shit. She was always such a lightweight in high school,” Quentin hissed at his buddy in a low tone.
“Jeez, cool it. I forgot you actually like that one.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. Just order our damn coffees so we can get back to the dorm. I’m going to go take a piss.”
Bucky watched as Quentin disappeared into the cafe’s washroom. He was counting his breaths and trying to focus on the burning sensation of his nails in his palm. Before he could decide what to do, his legs were already turning him around and sending him through the doors he’d just entered minutes before. The coffee shop was the last business on the strip of the East Boulevard that led to Bucky’s dorm, the same as Beck’s and Rumlow’s. His feet continued to rush him to a section of dense trees just before their building, only stopping when he got to the wooden bench he knew was there.
Hidden from view by the shade of the changing foliage, Bucky sat, waiting. It didn’t take long before his ears registered Quentin’s voice. Bucky held his breath as the two men approached him. He watched them pass, oblivious to his presence on the bench.
“Hey Beck! Fuck you.”
Bucky’s heart was nearly pounding out of his chest as he watched the two dark haired men stop and look at each other before turning to see him sitting on the bench, knee bouncing.
“I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?”
“James Barnes. We’re in graphic lit,” he returned as he stood up.
“Riiiight. You’re the pathetic war amp that’s always sitting with Y/n. She was always taking pity on the retards.”
Bucky’s left hand was around Quentin’s neck so fast he even surprised himself.
“If I ever hear her name come out of your putrid rapist mouth ever again I swear to fucking god I will end you.”
Quentin was gasping, clawing at Bucky’s metal arm as it lifted him ever so slightly off the brick walkway. “B-Brock, fucking p-punch this asshole!” he managed to choke out.
Suddenly Bucky was seeing stars as his mouth flooded with the taste of copper and iron, a blinding pain radiating from his nose. But his anger was still controlling him as he swung his arm in defense, making contact several times, though not certain with who. It was enough to spook the two hungover friends. They hurriedly put distance between themselves and Bucky, walking backwards towards the dorm.
“You’re gonna pay for this, Barnes!” Quentin yelled.
“What, you’re gonna tell daddy you got beat up ‘cause you like to drug and rape women?!”
“Fuck you, Barnes!”
“Not even in your fucking dreams,” Bucky returned cooly.
His pulse was still raging and his teeth were chattering, and yet everything was crystal clear. He knew he should be feeling pain, but it was as if a warm calm had washed over him. The only other time he’d felt like this was when Steve pulled him out of the water after his cliff diving accident. He was in shock. He texted his group chat with Steve and Sam.
Bucky: U 2 up? Need help.
His phone rang not even thirty seconds later.
“Where are you? What happened?” Steve’s voice boomed through the speaker.
“At the bench by the trees, you know just before our dorm? Got into a fight with Quentin Beck and Brock Rumlow. I think my nose is broken.”
“Jesus Christ! We’ll be down in less than five. Stay put.”
It only took two minutes for his friends and roommates to find him. Sam had a bag of frozen peas and Steve had a wet towel.
“Holy shit, Buck, that’s a lot of fucking blood!” The blonde handed him the towel.
Bucky hissed as he wiped his face and pressed it to his already swollen nose. “Ugh,” was all he could say. The shock had worn off and the pain was setting in.
“Here man, this’ll help,” Sam assured as he handed him the bag.
A muffled “thanks” came out from behind the frozen vegetables, followed by another groan.
“What the fuck happened, Buck? Why the hell are you getting into a fight with those two dicks at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday?”
“It was them. Fuck, I shouldn’t even be telling you, but I’m so fucking pissed. It was them. They’re the ones who…”
Bucky couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. And he didn’t have to. Sam and Steve pieced it together immediately.
“Yeah,” he sighed, closing his eyes at the slight relief the peas were bringing him. The pain was present now, and morphing into a sharp ache that spread across his cheeks and behind his eyes.
The three friends stayed silent for a moment, then Steve spoke up.
“Before I start having to figure out how to get one of my best friends out of jail for murder, can we take you to the clinic?”
Bucky chuckled at how well the blonde knew his thought processes.
“Sure, no murder for today. I promise.”
“Good. Let’s get you up then. You think you can walk the five minutes to the med building?”
Bucky nodded, and the two friends each took a side, guiding Bucky away from what looked like a violent crime scene and towards the clinic.
When Y/n awoke to an empty room, her heart sank a little. She looked at her clock: 8:17 a.m. She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. How could she be crushing on someone after everything that had happened? How could she even want to be around men after that?
But maybe it was because of what happened that she wanted Bucky even more now. To prove to her not all men were sex-crazy assaulting assholes. That not all men just saw her as an object. That maybe there might be someone that wanted her for her, not her body. That respected her and was actually interested in who she was as a person.
Bucky seemed like one of the good ones. He would laugh when she made jokes about white male fragility. When the outing of sexual aggressors that was happening on campus came up, Bucky seemed to listen so intently when Y/n had shared some of her shitty experiences with him. He’d mentioned the training he was making the swim team go through. She’d never met any man like him. So supportive, aware of his privilege, and genuinely committed to making a difference.
Maybe that’s why Y/n felt so safe with him when he found her on Friday. And why she was actually relieved when he said he was sleeping over the previous night. He didn’t make her feel embarrassed about what happened. He just listened, like he always did.
Y/n sighed again, then forced herself out of bed. She felt exhausted yet wide awake, and suddenly was overcome by an urge to get out of the house. She’d go grab a coffee or maybe something more soothing—she didn’t really need anything upping her anxiety at this point. Then she could pick up the medical letter from the clinic. That could be her outing for the day. Dr. Cho had said to take baby steps, after all.
By the time Y/n got to the clinic she was already worn out and just wanted to be back at her dorm. Nat and Wanda were still asleep when she got up and she had wanted to try going out by herself. But once she’d made it to the cafe, regret for not waiting for the redheads to accompany her began seeping in.
She felt so exposed walking around campus, as if somehow every single person she passed knew what had happened to her. It made her chest flood with shame and embarrassment and all she wanted to do was crawl up into a ball in her bed. The almond steamed milk was calming her nerves a bit, but only enough to get her to the clinic. She’d b-line back to the dorm immediately after.
“Hi, I’m here to pick up my letter from Dr. Cho? My name is Y/n L/n, I was here yesterday but the printer wasn’t working?” Y/n said meekly.
“Right, there was a sticky note saying you’d come today. Dr. Cho also wanted me to give you these,” the receptionist said as she handed Y/n what looked like a few info-sheets. She couldn’t bear to look at them at that moment so she folded them along with the note and stuck them into her bag.
“Thanks, tell her thank you.” Y/n’s expression dropped. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, that’s my friend,” she quickly turned away from the reception desk as she saw Bucky walk out of the exam room hallway.
“Oh my god, Bucky, are you ok?”
“Y/n, what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”
“Jesus, you’re covered in blood and your face is swollen and you’re worried about me?” She put her hands on his shoulders to inspect the damage more closely. The worry in her eyes was enough to melt Bucky’s heart.
“I’m ok, I promise. It’s a hairline fracture in the bridge, but didn’t have to get it reset or anything. Doctor says it should be healed in about six weeks. And I get the next three days off, so there’s that.”
“How did it… who did this to you?” Y/n asked as she pulled her arms from his shoulders, as if she might already know the answer.
Bucky rubbed the back of his neck with his metal hand, his eyes shifting away from her as he searched for a way to avoid the truth. He didn’t want to upset her, didn’t want her to think he’d betrayed her. Unintentionally, Sam and Steve came to his rescue.
“There you are, Buck. That was fast. Oh, hey, Y/n! Good to see you... again...” Sam trailed off, realizing the awkwardness of the situation.
Y/n’s cheeks burned immediately as she was bombarded with flashes of Friday night. “I’m, um, thanks… uh—”
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Please. We’re just, we’re glad we could help.” Steve chimed in.
“And we’re so fucking sorry that happened,” Sam added.
“Guys! Jesus. Not really the right venue, hm?” Bucky cut in sharply. “Let’s all get out of here, yeah? You want me to walk you back to your dorm, Y/n?”
Y/n’s shoulder’s dropped. Saved by Bucky, again. “Are you serious right now? You’ve got a broken nose and are asking to walk me home? Does he have any self preservation?” She turned to the two friends?
Sam and Steve burst out laughing.
“Oh, I like her,” Sam chuckled. “We’ve actually gotta run to practice, we’re already 15 minutes late. I’ll tell coach you’re going to be off and will be in touch with them. Y/n, do you think you could make sure this moron makes it back to our dorm?”
“You got it, captain,” she grinned warmly.
“Y/n, you really don’t have to—”
“Don’t listen to him,” Steve cut in. “He needs all the help he can get.”
“I’ve got him, don’t worry, boys.”
And she meant it. The anxiety and panic that had been building in her chest was now squashed by a sense of duty and purpose. What a powerful medicine, to be needed.
The four walked out of the clinic and into the crisp autumn morning, parting ways after saying goodbyes that were much less awkward than their hellos.
“You really don’t need to do this. It’s only five minutes from here.” Bucky protested as they started down the walkway.
“James, please. It’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me these past few days. I want to help. Let me help.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Y/n. I need you to know that.” He stopped and looked at her with a fierceness in his eyes that made her shiver.
“I, I know. I just, please, it’s helping to have a distraction,” she admitted softly.
“I’m glad my pain and suffering could bring some benefit to you,” Bucky returned cheekily.
“Fuck, sorry!” Y/n covered her mouth in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant, I’m so sorry.”
“Y/n, sweetheart,” he backtracked, placing his hand on forearm to lower it from her mouth, “I was just joking. You’re all good.”
“I… you never answered me. Who did this to you?”
Bucky sighed. “I need you to know I didn’t say anything specific. We’ll not at first. I just, after you told me last night, I was so fucking pissed. And I know I’m making this about me and I shouldn’t be and that’s exactly why I didn’t say anything last night. And you weren’t supposed to even find out about this. But I saw the two of them this morning at the cafe and I just fucking snapped and I called him a fucking rapist and started choking him and then I threatened him to never say your name again and then I think Rumlow punch me and then I threw a few back and then—”
Suddenly Bucky’s nervous rambling was cut off by Y/n’s tight embrace, and he could feel her chest hitching slightly against his.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “thank you so much.”
Bucky exhaled in relief. “I thought you would be mad at me, that I had betrayed your trust. I’d never get involved without your consent. I know it’s not my place. I just lost control and I’m sorry but I’m not really sorry because he fucking deserves so much more than that and—”
“Bucky,” Y/n stopped him, releasing their hug to gently place a hand on his cheek, “You have no idea how much this means to me. You words, your support. Everything is so fucked up, but having you around during this has made me feel safe. So thank you.”
Bucky leaned into her touch. “Whatever you need, Y/n. I’m here. Anytime, any place.”
Y/n searched his eyes for a moment before nodding once. “Let’s get you home and under some ice. That looks painful as fuck.”
Bucky laughed softly, “Yeah, it’s not the most pleasant feeling.”
The two turned back towards the dorm, Y/n lacing her fingers with Bucky’s as they continued down the path.
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That Black Tee
Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, fingers, slight metal arm kink, sex against a wall, semi-public sex, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI.
Summary: It was such a simple thing. Just a simple black tee-shirt. But the way Bucky wore it had you practically melting -- and he seemed to realize it, happily granting your needs
A/N: idk guys there was just something about that black tee-shirt bucky wore in episode 4 of TFATWS. it got my mind wandering. and i love practicing writing smut i hope im getting better at it lmao
You knew you absolutely, utterly fucked the second Bucky took off his jacket, revealing that damn black tee.
So simple yet so fitting, so accentuating. He looked casual and cool yet incredibly powerful and dominant with that metal arm fully on display thanks to the short sleeves. Between that damn shirt and the hard expression he wore, you were pretty much done for. It took all you might to not march over to him right that second.
Bucky appeared to be aware of all this as he turned to you, feeling your eyes wandering shamelessly over him in that shirt. He just looked so… him. Not a soldier, not some asset, just him. And he was hot.
He shot you a little smirk, making your eyes widen, suddenly unreasonably worried your boyfriend could read your mind.
You two must’ve been too caught up in your silent communication because the next thing you heard was Sam asking if you were okay.
You jumped and forced yourself to look away from Bucky. "Yeah, Sam," you nodded, "I’m fine."
He hummed, suspicious. "Are you sure?"
But before you could answer, Bucky felt it was his time to chime in. "She’s a little distracted."
Your eyes widened again, this time sending a signal to your boyfriend to shut the hell up. He wouldn’t look at you and instead just laughed to himself.
"Distracted?" Sam questioned.
"I- I’m fine, really-,"
Bucky cut you off, "Actually, I need to talk with her about something."
Your jaw went slack as you tried finding some words of explanation, something to save yourself from this situation as you could see Sam’s concern growing. But nothing was able to come out before Bucky was grabbing your hand.
"You can’t talk to her out here?" Sam asked.
Bucky shook his head, profusely. "It’s a very private matter. Incredibly serious. Just between me and her."
"Bucky-," you just about yelped as he started walking to one of the off-shoot rooms from the living space. Sam tried asking more questions but Bucky promptly shut him down by slamming the door. Hard. It was a miracle the thing didn’t just fall right off its hinges. For whatever reason, that suddenly turned you on even more.
You stood there in the middle of the room watching as Bucky slowly turned to you. He had a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took in your nervous yet needy state. Your thighs were practically in pain from how hard you were trying to squeeze them together, wanting some relief to your core that was set ablaze by him. Him and that damn outfit. That damn hair. His damn face- God, you just needed your boyfriend right now.
Bucky walked towards you slowly, intensely. You tried averting your eyes to save yourself from crumbling but he stopped you. His fingers came to your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He appeared to be just as eager.
"What happened back there, doll?" He asked just barely above a whisper. He held your chin firmly.
"What- What do you-,"
He chuckled. The fucker chuckled at your flustered state. "What do I mean? I mean that look you were giving me. How those eyes were peeling off my clothing piece by piece. Made me want to take you right there."
Bucky’s words went straight to your core. The wetness was pooling profusely, practically soaking through your jeans. You let out a little whimper as his thumb brushed over your lip.
"It’s your tee-shirt," you whispered, surprised that you could even find any sort of words in your dazed brain. He was way too intoxicating.
Bucky’s face shifted in surprise. "My shirt?"
You nodded. "It just… looks good on you."
He couldn’t help but let out another chuckle. You pouted at his reaction which he took as the opportunity to quickly place a kiss on your lips. You tried moving into him, grinding your body with his to beg for more, but he stopped, forcing you two apart.
"Oh, doll," he mumbled as his hand left your chin and slowly made its way down your body. Over the curve of your clothed breast, down your stomach, to your hips… the hand finally dipped under the waistline of your jeans. Without much warning, two fingers traced your folds, dipping slightly in to collect the wetness. He gave a few thrust, teasingly. Bucky groaned. "You’re this wet just from how I look in my shirt?"
You gasped, nodding. Embarrassment wanted to coarse through you but the pleasure from Bucky tracing his fingers to your clit was too much. Slowly, he started with circular motions, making your body jolt. You squealed in surprise. Bucky smiled down at your reaction.
He kept it up, adding pressure every now and then as he continued. Your legs began to shake forcing you to grip his arms in support. Bucky noticed this and brought his metal hand to your hip, steadying you.
He picked up the pace, his eyes boring into yours intensely. You let out a breathy moan at the sight of him, looking at you so hungry and aroused.
"Come on, honey, cum for me," he mumbled, still working on your clit. Every now and then he’d stop to dip a finger in as if gaging your wetness. In those moments you’d groan, waiting for the contact to come back. He never let you suffer long, though, finding his way back to your clit quickly, keeping the pressured motions. "Be a good girl and cum for me, doll, and I’ll fuck you real nice against the wall just like you deserve."
That was the final straw. His words alone practically sent you over the edge. Your body shook as the first orgasm pulled through you, lighting fire throughout your body. Your hips bucked and twisted uncontrollably, almost trying to get away from the touch but Bucky didn’t lighten up. He worked you through it, whispering sweet praises in your ear, making you lose it even more.
Once you came down from the high, Bucky wasted absolutely no time gripping your hips and pushing your back to the nearest wall. You yelped in surprise before his lips attached to yours, rough and demanding.
He lifted you up and grabbed your legs, circling them around your waist. You took the opportunity to grind into him feeling his erection hit your covered core. It lit a new fire in you making you gasp at the feeling.
Bucky moved his lips down your face to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. You whined and grabbed onto that fucking tee shirt, still trying to push into him, wordlessly begging him to speed up.
"Eager, doll?" Bucky asked. You could practically hear the dumb smile on his face and it made you want to slap it off. But all you could do in response was nod.
He placed one more kiss on your lips before his hand made its way back down your body. This time he popped the buttons of your jeans open. Briefly, he placed you back down to pull your jeans to your ankles. When that task was done, you were back wrapped around his waist, now feeling the erection more prominently. You let out a deep, uncontrollable moan when it hit.
As if he understood your annoyance, Bucky quickly undid his own jeans. In your dazed state, you must’ve zoned out because the next thing you knew, your panties were just pushed to the side and his cock was breaching your walls. You two were in sync letting our moans and groans at the warmth, the wetness.
His arms held you tight as he began his thrusts, so precise and strong. You were backed into the wall forcefully, enjoying the pressure and pleasure combining into one. Your boyfriend groaned above you, sounds going right to your core which was made evident by the squelching sounding in the room.
Bucky kept his thrusts up as his metal hand left your hip and made its way to your clit. His body held you up with his other arm, giving you a second to marvel in his strength. It was always such a treat when it came out in the bedroom. How he could hold you down or hold you up had your mind spinning half the time.
As his thrusts began to pick up, his metal hand started with the circular motions again on your clit. The coldness meeting your warmth was enough to drive you crazy. Your hands fisted his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded. You let out a surprised moan at the whole sensation which Bucky seemed to like as he gripped you harder. Your brain was going fuzzy, drunk even, as he pounded you into the wall flawlessly.
"Bucky… B-Bucky…" you choked out.
"Hmm?" You could tell he was staring at you despite your eyes being fluttered shut. He was taking in every inch of your face contorting in glorious pleasure. It seemed to drive his thrusts faster, the circular motions on your clit picking up as well.
"I- I’m gonna-,"
"You gonna cum again, doll?" He asked, a little mockingly. You would’ve bit back if you weren’t in this state but you couldn’t do anything, just take what he was giving. You nodded weakly. "Alright, honey, that’s it… Cum for me, come on. I got you."
It was like Bucky flipped that last switch as his strength and speed picked up. You yelped, clinging to his shirt even tighter.
One final push on your clit was all you needed before you were crumbling in his arms. Your body shook as your orgasm flooded you with ecstasy. Bucky didn’t want to let up with the trusts, though, chasing his own orgasm and thoroughly working you through your second. He kept pounding, his hand opting to leave your clit to grope at your breasts under your shirt. The metal hitting your skin in a new place made you squeal again.
The sounds and motions were it for Bucky as the next thing you knew, he released inside you, coating your walls and thrusting in and out, letting it leak onto your skin. You moaned at the sensation.
Bucky gave a couple more weak thrusts before he let out a final groan and stilled inside you. Both his arms now were around your waist, pulling you close as you two panted, coming down from the pleasure.
Bucky leaned forward, his head resting on your shoulder. Your hands left his shirt and came up to his hair, where you ran them through his short locks.
"Was that what you needed, doll?" He asked, voice breaking through the heaviness of the room.
You giggled, "Exactly what I needed."
"Hmm," he sighed and straightened back up. He pecked your lips. "Guess I gotta wear this shirt more often."
You gasped, slapping his chest lightly as he laughed. But you couldn’t totally disagree. "I wouldn’t complain if it made an appearance every now and then."
Bucky shook his head, "I don’t understand how a black tee shirt can get you going, doll."
After he spoke, he slowly removed himself from you, letting you down from the wall. Warm wetness began soaking your thighs feeling so intimate, so hot, it almost made you almost suggest round two right then and there but that didn’t seem on the table after Bucky handed you some tissues to clean up. Not to mention the fact there were people in the living area.
You shrugged, readjusting your shirt and pulling your jeans back on. You watched as Bucky also readjusted his appearance. "It’s because it’s on you," you insisted. "You could walk around in the most ridiculous outfits and I’d still beg you to jump my bones."
Bucky let out the most joyous laugh at that. He walked back towards you, securely wrapping his arms around your waist. You placed a kiss on his lips, which he hummed happily into.
"I’m flattered," he mumbled. The light blush across his cheeks confirmed his words.
You smiled, "What can I say? I got a hot boyfriend and he should know it."
Bucky placed another kiss on your lips. "Oh, trust me, I think he knows it now."
You let out a giggle and pulled away from his grip, despite a little protest. "Come on," you said and motioned towards the door, "we should probably leave this room before we get any shit from them."
"Oh, you’re getting a lot of shit once you come out of that room," Sam called from the other side of the door, making both you and Bucky jump. "Might as well stay in here."
You groaned at the words, your face and neck suddenly becoming hot in embarrassment. Bucky just chuckled, somehow finding everything amusing, and wrapped an arm around you.
"Worth it, though," he whispered before placing a kiss on your cheek. You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t at all argue. Just glancing between the wall and that black tee made you suddenly hot and bothered all over again.
Bucky picked up on your gaze, once again practically reading your mind. With a suggestive smirk, he asked, "Round two?"
You bit your lip as his hand began running over the curve of your ass.
Bucky didn’t waste a single second before whisking you off your feet
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Heyy, hope you're having a great day!
I just watched 'Animals' mv by maroon5 and was in my dark!Steve feels so...may I please request a serial killer dark!Steve stalking the reader, killing others & hiding it in his basement and seducing reader by acting like a nice golden boy 🙈👉👈
Title: Judge, Jury
Pairing: Serial Killer!Steve x Reader
Summary: Everything he’s done, he’s done for you.
Warnings: descriptions of violence (non-graphic), dubcon, stalking, mentions of past sexual assault/rape and trauma, mentions of past child-abuse, manipulation, dubcon, unprotected sex, overstimulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dead dove: do not eat for the love of god—
A/N: WHEW!!! so firstly, i loved this request, and i’m so sorry it took me so long to crank it out! this one’s clocking in at just under 9k words, so i hope it was worth the wait! i got OBSESSED with the idea of yandere!Steve trying to right all the wrongs in reader’s life, and, well… this is what came of it. PLEASE let me know if i’ve missed any warnings or tags! This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!!! 😘
“Shhh. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” his voice is a whisper, barely audible underneath the clanging of the pipes, and the muffled whimpers making it through the gag. “You’re not asking anything new, you know.” he says, his eyes sad, almost sympathetic as he regards the middle aged woman cowering before him.
Her hands are tied to one of the rusty pipes behind her, and when she continues to whine, he grabs her face. “I said quiet.” she silences herself with a sniffle. “Thank you.” he leans away, resting his hands on his knees as he squats down. “You’re asking why you, right?” the knife in his hand moves easily between his fingers as he plays with it idly. “Why you’re here, what you did.” he cocks his head. “But you know what you did, don’t you Marilyn?”
Her eyes widen at the sound of her own name, and her struggles renew themselves. Steve presses the blade against her cheek, hard enough for blood to well along the blade. “You know what you did.” he looses the gag, knowing the moment he does the pleas will start. Steve doesn’t mind that so much—after all, he’s the one sending them to meet the God of their choice, he doesn’t mind acting as the priest to their confessor.
“P-please, I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” she blubbers, and it makes the anger swell rapidly in his chest. He nicks her other cheek with the knife.
“Don’t lie to me, Marilyn.” he spits her name like a curse. “I know you remember.” He tilts her face up with the flat of the blade, wanting to see the recognition bloom in her eyes when he speaks your name. And it does. “You remember now?”
“I d-don’t, I d-d-didn’t—” she blubbers, and Steve knows by the guilty look on her face that she did, and she does. “P-please, Steve—”
“Oh, you remember me now, Mar?” he asks. “You remember how you took her from me?” he growls. “How you treated her?” he’s holding her throat now. “Foster home to foster home,” he growls, his grip tightening until she’s sputtering. “And every time she came home to you, the fucking men you never watched close enough? They got to her.” the curses slip from his lips unbidden, and Steve squeezes—and then regains control, releasing her. Marilyn coughs, and looks up at him fearfully.
“Don’t worry. I’ll jog your memory some more, we’ll remember it all together.”
The first time he sees you, he doesn’t really believe you’re the same girl he used to pick flowers for. You’ve grown up so much since he’s last seen you, and he knows you don’t recognize him either. He was so small then, so skinny and fragile, he knows you won’t reconcile that memory with the man who’s just happened to be at the coffee shop at exactly the same time as you for the past three weeks.
Or at least, that’s what he thinks.
“Steve?” your voice is tentative, questioning. His heart is pounding—you hadn’t noticed him before, your eyes glossing over him as though he was just part of the scenery. He’d been intending to come up to you soon, to re-introduce himself, but it seems like the wires have finally untangled, and you see the boy he used to be in the face of the man he is. “Steve, is that… is that you?”
He flicks his eyes up to yours, widening them in faux surprise. He says your name softly, slowly, like he’s drawing it up from the depths of his memories. You can’t know he’s been saying it every single day since you left, and thought of you just as often. “I can’t believe it’s you.” he says, allowing a small smile to grace his lips.
“I just moved back for work,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just, well I saw you, and I couldn’t believe it was you.” you gesture at him. “You’re huge!” you say, and he laughs. He doesn’t tell you that he had to get big, that he had to get strong—so he could find you. So he could protect you.
So he could hurt everyone who hurt you—and that was quite an extensive list.
“I couldn’t let Buck keep calling me punk forever,” he says, and pats the seat next to him. “Do you have a minute?” he asks, knowing that you do. It’s Tuesday—you always get a late start on Tuesdays.
“Totally.” the collar of your t-shirt slips down a little as you move to sit, and Steve sees the shiny flesh of your scar poking out from underneath it. He forces his face to remain neutral, but he can’t stop his fists from clenching angrily at the memory of it. You see his eyes dip, and your own follow their path, your hand coming up to lightly touch the skin before adjusting your shirt. “Still have it,” you joked, though your voice was strained, just a little.
Steve remembers that scar—and the man who gave it to you. His eyes go dark for a moment at the memory. I should have made her scream longer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s okay. Not like you weren’t there, right?” you shrug, as though unaffected—but Steve knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself—knows you won’t use a curling iron anymore, not after that. He hears the ice clink in your glass as you lift it to your lips, and his eyes follow the delicate movement of your throat as you swallow. “But enough about all that. How are you? I…wow.” you gesture at him again, that sweet smile back on your face.
He loves that smile.
“Well, I went into the service, but you already know that.” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a show of nervousness. “That toughened me up pretty quick.” It was only when he came back to find you gone, and Marilyn’s next foster-paycheck already set up in your room that he regretted ever signing up. “And now I do security work.” your eyes light up with interest.
“Wow. Like a bodyguard? That’s really cool, Steve.” you punch his arm lightly, the way you used to when he was six inches shorter than you, and ten pounds lighter, like the years hadn’t separated you at all. “I told you you’d have a cool job one day.” your mirth sparks his own, and he laughs with you.
“What about you?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.
“Well, you know I still paint,” you said, lifting up your hands. He could still see the paint staining the cuticles of your nails and the pads of your fingers. “But I’ve got a day-job at the Met, so not too shabby.” you reply, dusting off your shoulder jokingly as you giggle. “Sometimes they even let me see the art before it goes out to the exhibits.”
“And you said my job was cool.” his chest feels full to bursting, and he’s so happy he almost doesn’t remember how hollow he’s been without you. “I can’t believe it’s been eight years.” he wants to touch your hand, wants to feel your soft, warm skin under his palm, but he knows it’s too soon. It isn’t for him—he’s been thinking about this day for eight years—but it is for you. His hand twitches with the effort of not touching you, and you smile at him obliviously.
“Ditto. It feels like just last week I watched you get on that bus.” your coffee is long cold by now, but Steve can see you’re not thinking about that, you’re thinking about him, and it’s perfect because that’s all he wants. He grins at you, and makes a show of digging his wallet out of his jeans, holding up a finger. He opens it, and slides out the faded polaroid he’s kept there all these years. You gasp. “No way. You do not still have that.”
“Oh, I still have it.” he hands it to you, and watches your eyes get just a little glossy as your fingers trace the image gingerly. He’s seen the picture so many times, he doesn’t have to look at it to see it perfectly in his mind’s eye.
It’s you and Steve, in a cheesy photo booth at Coney Island, your cheeks blown out like a goldfish, and your eyes crossed as you make bunny ears behind Steve’s head. He hadn’t been ready for the picture, and the flash had caught him staring adoringly at you, his lips slightly parted. It was the same day he’d left—you’d dragged him on that long subway ride down to the beach, saying he needed good memories to take with him.
It’s his favorite picture.
You hand it back, your voice thick with the tears he knows you won’t shed. “I can’t believe you kept that.” you wipe at your eyes, before laughing. “That’s a shit picture of me.”
“It’s the best picture of you.”
You look as though you’re going to say something else, when your eyes stray to the clock behind his head. “Crap. I gotta go, I shouldn’t have stayed this long,” you lament, slapping your palm to your forehead. Steve wants you to stay, wants to spend all day with you like this, but he knows he can’t, not yet. He’s been patient so long—he can wait just a little longer. He watches you dig your phone out of your pocket. “Give me your number so we can hang out again?” you ask, and he nods, tapping it in and saving it. You call his phone, waiting for it to ring and then ending it. “There, now you have mine too.”
You smile as you get up from the table, and Steve’s chest aches. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“It’ll be just like old times,” you say, waving at him as you head for the door. It won’t be, though.
He won’t let it.
Steve loves the choked gasp of fear they always give when they wake to find themselves not at home. It’s always the same—people are so predictable, he knows that now. Paul peers up at him with the same terror that Marilyn did a month ago, and Steve relishes it.
He deserves to be afraid.
“I’m sorry you had to wake up like this,” Steve replies nonchalantly, because he really isn’t. “But I’m afraid this really couldn’t wait any longer. It’s already been years, so I figured it was time for you to pay the piper.” Paul was easy to track down, not like Marilyn, who moved three states over to continue her foster-mother racket. He’s stayed in exactly the same place, like he was just waiting for Steve to find him.
He says something, but it’s muffled by the gag. “Speak up.” Steve replies, tugging it down.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asks hoarsely, and Steve grins.
“That’s a good question, Paul. I want you to think.” he says, watching as the older man flinches uncomfortably as hot steam rattles the pipe he’s bound to. “I want you to think about what you did ten years ago.” his eyes widen, panicked.
“I didn’t do anything! I’m a good man, a good father—” Steve brings his heel down roughly on Paul’s knee, pressing hard until he hears a satisfying crack. Paul screams, his cries dying down to whimpers as Steve kneels in front of him. He’s brought props this time, purchased especially for Paul. He watches Paul’s eyes widen impossibly more and his chin begin to tremble as he removes the curling iron from its place on the table. “What—”
“Good men don’t do what you did, Paul.” he twirls the curling wand between his fingers. “Good men don’t do that to little girls.” he reaches behind Paul to plug in the iron, and then places it in his lap. “Good men don’t force themselves on teenage girls in the bathrooms of their own homes, Paul.”
“She wanted it—” Steve knows he’ll regret his lapse in control later, but he can’t stop his fist from connecting with Paul’s jaw, and he wonders how many bones he’ll break before he gets to the real punishment.
“She still has that scar.” Steve snarls, his hand tangling in Paul’s greasy hair as he forces him to look up at him. “Still fucking has it. Because you wouldn’t even let her unplug the goddamn thing.” Paul shifts uncomfortably, trying to dislodge the heating iron in his lap, but if Steve is good at anything it’s knots, and his struggles prove fruitless. Steam rises from his clothes, and then the smell of burnt cloth begins to permeate the room.
“Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything—” his pleas devolve into screams as Steve stands up, dusting his knees off. “PLEASE!” Steve ignores him as he heads for the stairs.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Let’s see if you’re more honest then.”
“Steve!” your voice soothing to his soul, like cool water on a hot day. He turns, schooling his expression into one of surprise. He turns, a smile already on his face. Seeing you in your work clothes makes his throat a little dry. You still looked like the young woman he remembered when you were wearing your casual clothes; shorts, a t-shirt—but in your form fitting pencil skirt, your blouse with just one button undone, and your hair swept into a knot on your head… It was making him think unsavory thoughts.
Like whether you would cry if he ripped the buttons on your blouse to palm the perfect tits he knew were underneath. Whether you’ll scream his name or sob it—he wants you to scream it. “You told me you worked at the museum, so I figured I should come take a look.” he replies with a bashful smile.
“Checking in on me, eh? Think I need a security detail?” you joke, and he nods.
“Of course. The pretty ones always do.” your eyes widen a bit at the compliment, and he watches you bite your lip the way you do when you’re embarrassed. “I was thinking maybe we could do some catching up when you got off?”
“Oh totally! I’m actually done here in like thirty minutes or so, if you don’t mind waiting…?” he watches you glance back at the info-desk worriedly, as though you’ll be penalized for leaving your post.
“Of course.” He’s so excited to see you, the time passes without him even feeling it. “Dinner?” Steve asks when he meets you back in the main lobby at closing time. “You must be hungry.”
“Starving, honestly.” you admit, holding your belly. “I didn’t get a lunch break today and I’m pretty sure my stomach has turned itself inside out.” Steve grins. “What about you?”
“Famished.” Most of the restaurants near the museum are fancy, with at least an hour wait for a table, something he already knows. “Why don’t we just hang out at my place? We could order takeout.” he suggests, knowing you still feel safe enough with him to go. The thought makes his chest clench, because it’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted. Because he’s the only person you’re ever really safe with, the only one who can protect you.
“Okay, why not. Where d’you stay nowadays? I’m assuming you’re not staying in the ass end of Ridgeway anymore.” you say, laughing. It’s a joke, but it’s also a way of gathering information. He knows you want to know if he’s living close to the old neighborhood still, so you can steel yourself against the memories. Steve wishes he could take that pain from you—but it’s the one thing he can’t save you from.
So he just punishes the people that gave you the memories instead.
“No, no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m in Bed-Stuy now.” he makes a show of checking his watch for the time. “There’s a good Thai place, and if we call now, it should be ready by the time we get there.” you grin at him, disbelief written plainly on your features. You can’t believe he still remembers your favorites.
“God, how do you still know me so well?” you ask, jiggling his arm playfully with your elbow as the both of you head for the train station.
“I never forgot you.” he says, watching your face contort as you try to reign in the surprise. He knows you don’t want to remember, but that you can’t forget either.
“I didn’t forget you, Steve.” you say softly, grabbing his hand. “You were the one who showed me I could… that I could leave.” he wants to shout that you should have waited for him, should have trusted that he would come back for you, that he was going to—but he doesn’t. He swallows the anger and the betrayal because he knows it isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stayed in that hellhole, not without him there to protect you.
You’re back now, and that’s what’s important. He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “I know you didn’t.”
The train is crowded, which he doesn’t mind, because it forces you to stand close to him, letting him inhale the scent of your skin, which is different and still oh-so-familiar. He’s reminded of all the train rides he’s taken with you prior to this moment, how they led him, inexorably to the now, where he’s standing in front of you, so close to finally having you the way he needs. The way he deserves.
They way you both deserve.
He was right, the food is ready by the time you arrive, and he insists on carrying it, ignoring your protests. His heart pounds as he leads you up the stairs. You’re trailing behind him, looking up at the large brownstone with no small amount of awe.
“You… rent?” you ask tentatively, and he shakes his head.
“One good thing about the army, I at least got paid enough not to have to worry about housing when I got back.” he knows you’re too sensitive, too fragile to know just what he did while he was gone—all the blood on his hands—but he’d do it again, and gladly. Because he needed to do it, needed to learn how to take a man apart with his hands so he could do it to protect you. He doesn’t mind, because it’s for you. So that you can be safe.
You kick your shoes off in the entryway, and Steve heads for the kitchen, putting the food down. You poke your head into the kitchen. “Bathroom?”
“Down the hall, it’s the second…no, third door on your right.” Steve replies. It’s like a dream—you’re finally here, in his home. You’re finally back where you belong, and he’s…happy. For the first time in a long time. He’s known the pleasure of the hunt, the satisfaction of doing the right thing, but he hasn’t been happy. Not like this.
“Thanks. Smells amazing!” you reply when you return. You’ve opened up your blouse to reveal the tank top underneath, and he quickly admires the ripe, round curve of your breasts through it. God, he wants to touch—he won’t, he knows better, he can wait, he’s nothing if not patient—but he wants to. “Can I help with anything?”
“You can sit right there,” Steve replies, pointing to the seat across from his. “And you can watch me work.” he winks at you, and you laugh. I’ll never get tired of that sound. You curl and uncurl a lock of your hair around your finger. Steve dishes out the food, laying out the appetizers between you so you can share. “How’s work at the museum?”
“Good! I mean, it’s pretty boring, but good. I gave a couple of tours today, so that was fun, but the best part is honestly getting home to paint.” you reply. You sound like you’re admitting something, and there’s a flash of guilt in your eyes. Steve’s not sure why you feel it—you’re an artist, not a tour guide. You shrug, clacking your chopsticks together. “At least I make enough to live, you know. Inside the city.”
Steve is content to just… let you talk. He prods when it’s necessary, but you’re fine on your own. He’s already followed you back to your Alphabet City studio, sat on the fire escape while you slept and changed and painted.
He even knows what your face looks like when you cum.
In fact, that’s what he’s thinking about as you tell him about college. When he asks if you want some wine, he’s thinking about the way your toes curl and you keen like you’re crying. You bite your lip—the same as you do when you’re soaking that stupid plastic cock, a poor imitation if he’s ever seen one—and then nod.
“Why the hell not?”
He goes for the glasses, making sure to fill both of them up equally. You don’t know he can’t get drunk, you don’t know what they did to him to make him so big and strong for you, but that’s okay. You’ll feel safer if he drinks too, he knows that. So he does, pouring himself a refill every time he offers you one.
“And—hic—what about you?” you ask, covering your mouth cutely as you hiccough. “I’ve been rambling forever. Did you… did you like the army?” you ask, cocking your head sweetly at him from across the dinner table. Your eyes stray to the dog tags at his neck, and he pulls them out for you to see.
“It was hell at first,” he says, leaning in as though he’s making an admission of his own. “And… honestly, I’m surprised they even let me in. Maybe somebody saw how bad I wanted to protect the people I cared about.” he looks pointedly at you. You look away bashfully, but he knows his point is made.
“Is that why you went?” you ask a small smirk on your face as you waggle a finger at him. “Really?”
“I saw… I saw some horrible things while I was away.” Steve replies—and this, at least, is true. He volunteered for the experiments, volunteered for the missions, and he’s seen the worst in people. There are monsters, but the worst ones, he’s found, look just like everyone else. They smile, they go to work, they pay their taxes. “You have no idea.”
And then they go home and do unspeakable things.
The best thing he ever did was go into the army—because they gave him the power to fight them.
“I think you’re really brave, Steve.” you say after a moment, and he sighs, shaking his head. “No, you are.”
“More wine?” he asks, knowing your head has to be positively buzzing after the entire bottle. You shake your head, sighing.
“I probably shouldn’t. I’ve already had too much, and I still have to take the train,” you lament mournfully. Steve stops the slow grin from spreading across his face. “And I have to work tomorrow.” he makes a show of checking his watch, eyes widening.
“It’s already pretty late,” he says, shaking his head. “You could just stay here, I have a washer. I promise, no one will know the difference.” he winks at you, and you laugh. “Besides, I haven’t given you the tour yet.” you’re too drunk to question why he isn’t slurring, why his movements are so steady and sure as he clears the table. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you take the train all the way uptown by yourself.”
“I guess… I guess I could stay. It’s not like anyone’s waiting on me.” you shrug. “Lead the way.” Steve knows you won’t make it through even half of the house before you’re too drowsy to continue. He’s counting on it.
“Follow me.” you make it through the first floor easily, but by the time he’s leading you upstairs, your movements are sluggish, and even sloppier than before. You almost knock into the bannister, but Steve catches you. “Maybe we can do this another time, when we haven’t had a whole bottle of wine,” he chuckles, and you grin at him sheepishly.
“Usually I have a higher tolerance,” you mutter, leaning on him heavily. “Ugh, sorry.” he shakes his head at you, clucking his tongue.
“Don’t be. Let me get you a shirt to sleep in.” the thought of you wearing his clothes is enough to make his cock strain against his pants. “Let’s get you into bed.” he leads you not toward the guest bedroom, but his own, something he’s surprised you notice when he settles you on the edge of the bed.
“Steve, s’this your room? I don’t wanna put you out of your bed,” you whine, and he chuckles. You won’t.
“Shh, doll. I don’t have sheets on the other bed. This is fine.”
He tosses you an old t-shirt, and heads into the bathroom while you change. It’s only the illusion of privacy, but he watches with rapt attention through a crack in the door as you strip off your work clothes with clumsy fingers. He’s going to map every inch of your creamy skin with his fingers and tongue, going to know your body better than you know it.
So fuckin’ perfect.
It’s easier to stage the body than Steve thought it would be—Paul’s wife left him years before, and the sad little apartment he rents above the bodega on their old street is as good a place as any. Paul can’t just go missing, not like Marilyn. He’s an example, a gift.
And he has to make sure you see it.
He deposits Paul on the bathroom floor, dropping his body like a sack of grain. He leaves through the fire escape, and waits. That’s the hardest part, waiting. Steve is patient, he knows how to wait, but that doesn’t ease the agony, not until he flicks on the news almost a month later, grinning as his handiwork is finally recognized.
“The victim is an elderly man, Paul Mazzano, fifty eight, who was pronounced dead at the scene. Here, I have detective Ford to share some details.” The newscaster points the microphone towards a disgruntled looking cop with a handlebar mustache. Behind him, Steve watches people parade in and out of the apartment building, as onlookers murmur just off-frame.
“Uh, yes. Well. Neighbors reported a, um, a smell. And when the landlord investigated, he found Mr. Mazzano in the bathroom.” Steve knows they won’t describe the scene, not really. They won’t say that they found him draped over the sink, a hot curling iron pressed to his chest. “We have several leads on a suspect, but as of right now no one’s been taken into custody.”
They have no leads, of course, but he knows they can’t say that. He turns off the television, almost giddy. He doesn’t have to wait much longer for you to hear the news yourself, and when you call him, sniffling, he’s ready.
“S-Steve? I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know who else to call.” The two of you had been spending a fair amount of time together, and he’s pleased the fruits of his labor have paid off—it’s him you’ve called, not one of your other friends.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” he asks, knowing full well you’re not. He hears you take a deep breath.
“Somebody killed Paul.” your voice shakes as you speak. “And God, I don’t… I can’t… I don’t want to be alone. Can I come over?”
“Of course. Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks, and you sniffle.
“N-no. It’s alright, I’ll take the train.”
You only knock once before he’s at the door, tugging you into his arms as you sob. For a moment, Steve worries that you’re actually grieving as he helps you into the house. You’re still clinging to him when he seats both of you on the couch.
“It’s okay to be upset,” he says gently, stroking circles on your back as you cry. You look up at him with red-rimmed, watery eyes, and shake your head.
“I’m not sad,” you reply, roughly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m…I’m angry. I’m angry someone got there first. Jesus, isn’t that fucked up?” you laugh tonelessly as even more tears threaten to fall, welling up as you look up at him. “I wish it had been me.” Steve’s never felt closer to you than in this moment.
“It’s not fucked up.” he never would have let you, doesn’t want you to live with the blood on your hands the way he does, but it makes something hungry unfurl in him to hear you say it. “He’s a piece of shit who deserved to die for what he did to you, and it’s not fucked up to want justice.”
“You know what’s fucked up?” you hiccup. “I never told anybody. I never said a goddamn thing. I should have. And I never did.” you’re sobbing again, and Steve holds you tightly, pulling you into his lap. You curl against him, pressing your face into his chest as you cry yourself dry. You’re so small and vulnerable in his arms, Steve almost wishes he could bring Paul back and do it all over again, just for making you suffer.
“Well, now he can’t hurt anyone else.” Steve replies firmly. “He’s gone.” you lay there, sniffling against his chest until your breathing evens. “You can stay here today. I don’t think you should be alone,” he says, and you chuckle.
“Alone’s my middle name,” you joke, wiping at your runny nose and puffy eyes. “God, I bet I look awful.” You’re trying to lighten the mood, to distract from the real, heavy feelings he knows you’re shouldering. He wishes again that he could take this from you, that he could hold it for you the way he holds the weight of the justice he knows no one other than him can dispense.
“You look beautiful. Like you always do.” Steve replies, making sure to let his hand linger on your thigh. You’re vulnerable right now, easy to manipulate. He doesn’t feel bad about it, no—you need him, you just don’t know how much. You mumble in response, shaking your head.
“I look like I got stung in the face by a bee. Probably several.” you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, and before he can preach patience to himself again, he grabs it, his eyes hard. Your breath hitches at the contact.
“You don’t know how perfect you are,” he says tightly, like he’s trying to force you to understand it. “How good.” you’re practically straddling his lap now, your expression anxious and unsure.
“Good people don’t celebrate someone’s death,” you mutter, shaking your head.
“Then don’t be good.” Steve replies, and your eyes flash up to his. Your lip trembles. “Good people watched him hurt you. Good people ignored you, let you slip through the cracks.” he brings a hand to your cheek, and your eyes widen a little at the gesture. “Don’t be good.” he repeats it as he brushes a thumb across your bottom lip. Your tongue follows the motion, and you pull back suddenly, as if he’d struck you instead.
He’s worried he’s gone too far as you scramble off of his lap, your pulse thundering. You glance up at him with worried eyes, and he sees it for just an instant—desire. “Sorry, I just, um—bathroom.” you say lamely, shuffling awkwardly out of the living room and leaving him alone. You’re alone and adrift with only Steve to anchor you, and he knows you’re fighting hard against letting him be more than a friend. But you’d come to him for comfort when the news broke about Paul, you let him hold your hand—you’d slept in his bed.
You just need another push in the right direction.
Steve waits patiently for you to return, and when you do, your eyes are still red and puffy, but your face is clean and dry. “Sorry for barging in on you like this,” you say, scuffing your foot against the floor. “Shitty way to spend your day, listening to me blubber about the past.”
“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” he replies, dismissing you with a wave. You’ve always been overly concerned with others to the point of neglecting yourself, and Steve just wants you to feel as valued as you make everyone else feel. “Did you call out of work today?” he asks, feigning curiosity. You won’t be going, not in the state you’re in, but Steve knows it’s easier to convince than to command.
“N-no, not yet.” you reply sheepishly, rubbing your puffy eyes as you sit back down next to him, careful to put an extra few inches of space between you. Steve closes it by widening his legs, scooting closer under the guise of being interested in what you have to say. “I wasn’t… I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t, right? It would be stupid to call out because some guy who was shitty to me died.”
Steve feels the rage flare up inside him at your callous dismissal of your own trauma. He knows it’s what you’ve learned to do, to shrink yourself, to minimize. He won’t allow it. “Shitty to you? He raped you.” Steve knows you avoid using that word like the plague, and you reel back violently as he says it. Tears gather again in your already wet eyes, and your lip trembles. He clenches his fists against his thigh and sinks his teeth into his lip. “And I couldn’t do anything.”
He remembers what it was like to just… watch as all of the people in your life failed you over and over. Ignoring the signs, ignoring the bruises, ignoring everything, pretending it wasn’t happening. Steve remembers you climbing up his fire escape, still shaking, the burn mark fresh on your flesh.
He’s never forgotten it.
“It’s not your fault.” you place a tentative hand on his shoulder, and then rest your head against him instead. Steve’s heart is threatening to pound out of his chest. “We… we were just kids, you know?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” he apologizes, shaking his head. “I just can’t… I can’t stand you being upset that he’s dead. Feeling bad that… you don’t feel bad.” he looks down at you, his gaze softening. “You’re too sweet for your own good.”
“Guess that means I should call out, then, huh?” you ask, and Steve chuckles.
“Yeah, I think so.” he knows you’re hurting now, that the scab on the wound of your childhood is open and bleeding. He hates that he had to do it, to make you see that he was your safety, your security, but you’re here now, so he knows it’s worked. “You hungry?” he asks, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Why do you always take such good care of me, Steve?” you look up at him, doe eyed. “It’s… it’s like you never left.”
“Somebody’s got to, doll.” he drags his hand affectionately down your arm, reveling in the feel of your skin under his palm. “Somebody’s got to.”
He makes sure you call your boss to let him know you won’t be coming in, frowning at you sternly when you promise to make the hours up. You shouldn’t even be working at the museum, Steve thinks scathingly. It’s your work that should be gracing the walls. He watches you stow your phone before stretching across the couch, the hemline on your little shorts riding up to expose more of your smooth skin.
Steve’s so close to having you, so close to finally crossing the line between friends and more than friends, and he’s acutely aware of it as you recline next to him. “Maybe it’s dumb,” you say, looking up from the television to fix him with a nervous smile. “But I… I feel better being here.” you sound like you’re admitting something to him, like you’re confessing. “I always felt… safe with you. Even when we were little.”
Steve chuckles. “Even when you had to fight my bullies for me?” he asks, remembering trying to defend the two of you with nothing more than his skinny arms, his will, and a trash-can lid. You laugh too.
“Looks like you can beat up your own bullies now, though.” you patted his leg. “I don’t think you need me anymore.”
You have no idea, sweetheart. “Why wouldn’t I need you?” he asks, watching your eyes widen at his bluntness. You gape at him embarrassedly.
“I, well, I just meant—”
“I always needed you.” your whole body tenses at his words. The legs you’d platonically thrown over his own twitch as he places a heavy hand on your knee. “Even when I wasn’t here, I needed you.”
“I thought about you every day over there, you know?” he says softly, focusing intently on the patterns his fingers are drawing on your skin. Neither of you are paying attention to the soft droning of the television anymore.
“You… you did?”
“Every day.” he repeats, his blue eyes resting heavily on yours. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “I told you I was coming back for you.” a choked sound leaves your throat, and you try to withdraw your legs, but Steve holds them there, his eyes on yours.
“I… I didn’t…” you drag your hands down your face. “I didn’t think you really would.” you admit, hugging yourself as you look away. Anger makes him see red for a moment, and he snarls.
“Steve, I was seventeen. I didn’t… no one had ever kept a promise to me before. And I didn’t—fuck, this is hard. I didn’t think I was worth keeping. I didn’t want you to come back for me because you deserved more than to come back to… this.” you gesture at yourself. “I’m all fucked up, Steve.” you give him a watery smile.
“I wanted to come back to you.” he doesn’t remember pulling you into his lap, but you’re there, your breath puffing across his cheeks as he cups your face. “All I fuckin’ wanted was to come back to you.”
Your mouth is softer than he thought it would be, your lips more yielding; Steve is positively drowning in you—and he doesn’t want to come up for air. He drinks the tentative sigh you release into his mouth, his hands traveling feverishly up and down your sides. You pull away, gasping.
“Steve, Steve w-we should stop—” he’s not listening, leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your temple as he strokes your trembling thighs. “I—oh—!” his fingers skirt underneath the loose hem of your t-shirt, stroking the skin of your belly. The scent of you is addictive—he can smell the laundry detergent on your clothes, the lotion on your skin, but underneath it, his enhanced senses can pick up your true scent.
He runs his nose along your throat. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, doll.” he can’t resist the urge to run his tongue along the same path, and your little hands fist in his shirt, tugging on it. “Still want me to stop?” he attaches his lips to your pulse point, his teeth worrying the flesh. Steve sits back to admire his handiwork, the purple and yellow bruise blooms like a flower on your skin.
“I…no,” you admit in a small voice, and that’s all it takes for him to drag your mouth back down to his. It feels like he’s dreaming—he’s dreamed this before, after all, so many times—but this is real, you’re really here and God he’s not fucking letting you go. He groans against your mouth at the first tentative grind of your hips.
“Waited so long,” he pants against your mouth, one hand finding it’s way to your back to undo your bra as the other steadies you on his lap. You’re mewling as he finds your nipple with his calloused fingers, twisting it. “Always loved you, you know that sweetheart?” Steve’s already hard, his cock throbbing as he thinks of all the ways he finally gets to have you.
It’s a heady thought that makes him sink his teeth into the soft, supple skin at your collarbone, and you whine for him. It’s so delicious that he has to do it again. “Ow! That hurts, Steve!” you whimper, and he chuckles against your throat.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Got carried away.” it’s too much for now, he knows that, but eventually, Steve knows you’ll let him mark every inch of you. You’ll beg him for it. “God, just want you so bad.” he grips your hips harder, guiding you over the bulge in his pants. You moan softly at the pressure, and he looks up at you through his lashes. Your lips are parted, your eyes lidded. “Feel good?”
“Good. You deserve to feel good.” his thumb finds the button on your shorts. “I want you to feel better, sweetheart. You’ll let me, right?” he asks, his thumbs drawing heavy circles on her hips. He can’t stop—indulgence after indulgence; you’re hell on his self-control. It’s strange, now that he has you, the desire is almost worse, because now he has to keep you, he can’t go back to watching. Can’t.
You look a little unsure, so Steve helps you along, slipping your t-shirt up to take your nipple into his mouth. You let out a strangled moan, and nod. “Y-yes, Steve.” the words have barely left your mouth when he pushes your back down to the cushions, pulling hungrily at your shorts. He remembers the sounds you made when he watched you, and he hopes you’ll make them now.
Maybe even better ones.
He exhales a sharp breath at the sight of the white lacy—racy—scrap of fabric adorning your hips, his nostrils flaring. All the times he’s dreamed of this moment, wished for it, he never pictured you wearing white. It’s fucking perfect. It’s in that moment that Steve knows he’s going to ruin you. Ruin you for anyone other than him. He tears frantically at the lace, and the elastic snaps against your skin. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says hurriedly before attaching his mouth to your drenched folds.
He knows he’s not going to see it—maybe ever—but this is as close as he’s likely to get. You whimper and shake above him, your hips undulating against his face as he laps at your core. Your thighs are trembling, soft sounds falling from your lips as he circles your clit with his tongue. He’s relentless, his fingers circling the tight, clenching entrance of your cunt longingly. Steve knows you didn’t wait for him—but you’re so tight and soft inside that he can almost pretend you did.
“Dreamed about this,” he murmurs against your thigh as he thrusts a thick finger into you. You hiss, your hips bucking.
He curls his finger inside your pussy and a loud, broken moan tears from your throat. “Every fucking night.” Steve adds a second finger to the first, scissoring you slowly open. “They tried to bring women in for us, but fuck all I could think about was you.” a wet gush answers his words, and Steve’s other hand finds it’s way back up to your breasts, testing their weight and marveling at their softness. “How I was gonna ask you to be my girl when I got home, how I was gonna take care of you.” You’re bucking and moaning, and Steve steadies your hip with his hand, looking up at your face from between your thighs. “How I was gonna save you.”
He licks his lips. “But you didn’t need me to save you, did you?”
“Steve, Steve please, fuck, oh—“
“Not like you need me now.” Steve stretches you around his fingers, laving his tongue against your clit with a long, wet lick, and then you’re coming apart. You soak his chin and the couch cushions beneath you, that wail that he knows so well escapes your throat as you shudder against him. He stares at you in awe, drunk on the taste of you as he watches you shaking from the pleasure he’s given you. “Say it. Say you need me.” your eyes are bleary and wet from your orgasm when they meet his, and his hands tighten on your hips. “Say it.”
“I-I need you, Steve,” you don’t sound sure, but that’s alright—he’s got you now, and he has time to make sure you know exactly what you need. The words make him groan, tearing at the button on his jeans as he eagerly frees his cock. He’s taking advantage of your grief, he knows it and he’s planned it that way, but you’re moaning and writhing underneath him just like he’s always wanted, so it’s more than worth it.
He’s not like the others, he’s not going to leave you, not now, not ever. Steve rips his shirt over his head, a growl escaping him at the sight of the slick mess at the apex of your thighs. Your scent is bearing down on him with the intensity of a speeding semi, and he has to have you, he can’t stop, not even if you wanted him to. He settles over you, caging your head in with his arms as he stares down into your eyes. Steve drags his lips across your own as the head of his cock slides wetly through the folds of your cunt.
“Ste-eve,” you whine, panting against his mouth. “Fuck, I need, I need—”
“I know, baby.” he sheathes himself inside of you in one glorious thrust, the wet noise of his entry ringing in his ears. He groans loudly, watching as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. You’re so hot and wet and tight, he can’t not move. He knows he should give you time to adjust, time to get used to the sheer size of him, but his hips are pushing against you before he can grab for the reigns of his self control. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ me so good,” he pants, pulling out until your cunt is sucking hungrily at the head of his cock before slamming all the way back in.
Every time he bottoms out inside you, a hoarse sob falls from your lips, and he presses his forehead to yours, breath puffing across your sweaty face. “Look at me.” your eyes flick open, and he growls as they meet his. “Good girl.” he knows he worked you open with his fingers, but you’re still squeezing him so fucking tight, wetness seeping out of you and soaking his thighs with every thrust. “My good girl.”
Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he lays into you. Your words have failed you, though Steve occasionally hears a please or even better, his own name among your pleasure addled babble. He rocks his hips into yours, peppering your face with lusty kisses.
“God, Steve, please, gonna cum, fuck!” you’re crying again, tears leaking down your hot cheeks. He licks their salty trails and groans, burying his face against your throat. “Fuck, fuck, fu-uck—”
“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me.” your thighs dig into his sides as a keening cry leaves you, your back bowing up off of the couch cushions and pressing the softness of your breasts into his chest. You’re squeezing him so tight he almost can’t move, his cock trapped by the velvety wet walls of your cunt. He presses your thigh to your chest, opening you up deeper even as the aftershocks of cumming again roll through your body.
“Steve, Steve, Steve—” his name is on your lips like a prayer, and as his cock bottoms out inside you, he gasps.
“Taking me so good, sweetheart,” he leans back, mesmerized by the sight of your slick, puffy folds being spread open by the thick length of his cock. “Fuck, like this sweet pussy was made to fit my cock.” Steve knows he’s going to cum soon, and just the thought of finally filling you up is almost enough to make him bust as soon as it surfaces. He reaches between your bodies, his rough fingers rolling your clit between them.
“Ah! Fuck! Steve, Steve I can’t,” you’re sobbing hysterically, shaking your head and dragging your fingers down the sweaty, muscular planes of his chest. “I can’t again!” the sloppy, wet noise of your cunt is like music to him, and he groans. He knows you can, though, knows you can take it, knows you can give him one more before he lets himself follow you into sweet, blissful oblivion.
His touch is relentless. “Shh, pretty girl. One more. One more time, you can do it. It’s okay.” he’s not even really paying attention to the assurances that leave his lips as his head lolls back. God, he’d kill a million men just to do this.
Just to have you.
You scream as you cum again, and Steve feels his balls constrict as he falls over the edge immediately after. The slick evidence of your pleasure coats his cock and his thighs, and Steve holds you still as he empties himself into your pussy. He doesn’t release his hold on your hips until his cock stops jerking inside you, finally spent. You’re boneless as he pulls away from you, one leg tossed over the back of the couch, toes twitching. The sight of his cum dribbling down from the puffy, abused hole of your cunt makes his cock throb with the desire to repeat the activity.
Steve admires his handiwork, the bite marks littering your shoulders and throat, your messy hair, and the dazed, dreamy look in your eyes as you float slowly back to yourself. He kisses you again, and you wrap weak, trembling arms around his shoulders. He’s content to lay there with you reveling in the feel of your heartbeat under his ear. He’s reluctant to let you up when you wiggle impatiently underneath him, but he does, allowing you to scamper to the bathroom.
When you return, Steve sweeps you into his arms, carrying you up to the bedroom, where he deposits you, giggling, onto the silken sheets. “I’m not going to ask where you learned that,” you say, cuddling into his chest when he lays down beside you. His fingers trace shapes on your hips and he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“It’s me who should be asking that question,” he replies, grinning at you. His eyes flash as thoughts from earlier return to plague him. Not her first. He wasn’t angry about it then, but thinking of anyone seeing you the way he’s just seen you… it makes him want to rectify the situation as best he can. He can’t fault you, of course, it’s not your fault, but… “There aren’t any boyfriends I’ve got to worry about looking for me, right?” he jokes, though he knows there’s not anyone who could give him trouble, not really.
You scoff. “Please. The last relationship I had was like three years ago.” you wave off his concerns, and place a tentative kiss on the corner of his mouth. Steve returns it eagerly, but when he pulls away, there’s a darkness in his eyes that he can tell makes you nervous.
“Got a name for me, sweetheart?”
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Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)
Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, obnoxious flirting, mention of tax fraud, money launderig, etc. you know. the usual
Word count: 5.8k
A/N: oh hi. no i didnt disappear for two months what? anyway. for a story to have a conclusion, there should be a plot. and since there is no plot, just have some good vibes and idiots <3
shoutout to my sparkle anon for the can opener slander <3
also to my love currently in another continent on video call with me as i post this. i love you. thank you for all the non-decisions decisions and sitting with me for 8 hours and hearing me complain. this is for you mwah. now send chips ahoy
if you want more of them, check out Harmless Mini Drabbles to catch up on what we’ve done so far!
okay now for the last time!!
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
It was a fine day.
A good day, even, to watch your lair descend into complete chaos after your plan to take over the tri-state area with an army of clones fails.
Not to mention the unperformed musical number.
It smacks Bucky in the face right as he enters-- an ocean of teal shades and a chorus of his name squawked at him like the seagulls from Finding Nemo. If he wasn’t so damn used to it, he would have maybe had a faint blush at the occasional “you’re pretty” thrown in there.
In greeting, he presses his lips into a thin line. A rather pathetic excuse for a smile, if you could even call it that.
“Well, hello. What an unexpected surprise.” One of the voices is agreeably louder than the others, and so he diverts his eyes to the circular platform raised from the floor. “And by unexpected I mean completely expected.”
“Y/N.” He ignores the multitude of ‘yeah?’s to zero in on you in the centre.
He can tell it’s the original-- not because of the ultramarine tuxedo you have on, accessorised with a sparkly dance cane and definitely more feathers than should ever be on something that’s not a bird-- but because of the additional top hat. No one else in the crowd had one.
“Clone army? You serious?”
“You can’t blame me, Bucky.” You throw him a wide-toothed grin, eyes still hidden behind the masquerade mask you’ve got covering half your face. “I gave you the chance to destroy the blueprint and you never took it, so now we have to deal with it.”
“Deal with what?”
“Us taking over the tri-state idea,” you say, bringing your foot down loudly on the metal platform.
Scarily in sync and in a manner that leaves him speculating how long you had to practise this, your doppelgangers do the same before falling into the first position of a dance number.
He winces. Hands in the air, no one else moves.
“He said he was gonna get ribbons to tie around everyone’s wrist so we can differentiate between the orignal and the copies.”
Bucky stares at you.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tie one around your wrist?” he asks slowly.
You blink at him, arms lowering. “He was excited so I gave him twenty dollars, leave me alone.”
“You’re the only one with a hat,” Bucky continues emphasizing.
“You’re the only one with a hat,” you mock, voice high pitched and muffled. “Stop focusing on the technicalities, you killjoy.”
“There is not a single person in this lair who thinks.”
“And that includes you.”
Rightfully, he walked straight into that one. If he tried hard enough, he could place the blame for the profound loss of his critical thinking ability on hanging out with you.
“You don’t deserve our performance.” You sigh dramatically.
“Thank God,” he deadpans.
All of a sudden it’s his one, lone metallic middle finger against an army of white-gloved middle fingers challenging him.
“Can you please finish with… whatever this is.” He checks his watch. “We got somewhere to be.”
“A hot date?” You lean forward on your palms, bodyweight precariously balanced on the cane.
“I do, actually,” everyone echoes back at him. He wonders if they’re only programmed to hit him with insults and pick up lines.
A smile slips past his otherwise well-maintained, time tested facade of annoyance. “Get it over with.”
“Alright, everyone. Just as we practised.” You straighten out your spine, arm holding the cane high in the air with your head tilted to the sky. “One, two, three--”
“Attack,” your clones say in unison.
“What?” You look down quickly. “No, not that. The other one.”
They look up at you. “Unclear chain of commands.”
“Not Battle Plan #3, execute Dance Routine #2.”
They look at each other. Bucky, too, watches them look at each other.
“Unclear chain of commands.” They tilt their head up at you.
“What the hell is unclear about-”
“Executing Battle Plan #3.”
“For fuck’s sake,” you curse, crouching to leap down from the platform. “Not Battle Plan #3.”
“Confirmation received. Battle Plan #3 in motion.”
“I said not-” You land gracefully on the ground, already in a defensive stance.
Hot, he thinks. Not a good time to let you know, however.
“Abort Battle Plan #3.”
“Plan set in action.” They march eerily into straight lines, easily at least two hundred of them populating the lair. “Clownproof Protocol activated.”
“Oh, my God, you idiots-- deactivate Clownproof Protocol.”
But they’ve shifted positions already. Backs stiff as a cardboard and eyes a nice, bright red that doesn’t go well at all with the shade of blue they’re dressed in.
“No,” their voice, robotic and gravelly, is a sharp contrast from before.
“Hmm,” he notes, unsurprised and unimpressed. “Your clones are malfunctioning, sweetheart.”
“I can see that.” You grit your teeth, spinning around to watch them as they reach behind their backs.
“Should do something about it.”
“Ya think?” you shout when they swiftly brandish their weapons.
“I do, yeah.”
Long cylinders tubes of foam and small tubes of translucent material.
He doesn’t have to spend too long racking his brains on what they as they hold up the smaller sticks. A beat passes before a crack sound reverberates through the lair, neon colours of blue, green, pink, and yellow bright in your palms.
The lair goes dark.
There’s a long silence before--
“Are you kidding me?”
Bucky doesn’t wait for the collective, loud battle cry to finish before he calmly makes his way to the corner of the room to stand.
“Your plan was to take over the tri-state area using pool noodles and glow sticks?” he snorts, vaguely making out your silhouette through the flashes of pink and purple on your face.
“This was for the fucking dance number,” you seethe, top hat giving away your location like a lighthouse. “Everyone stop it. I swear to God if you even breathe at the espresso machine, I’ll--”
Bucky checks his phone. Two texts from Steve that he leaves on read and a video from Clint on the group chat that he doesn’t even open.
He can hear the chaos upholding in front of him. Pool noodles fly across the crowd, glowsticks thrown up in the air and down before getting kicked around the floor. More of a fucking rave than an actual plan gone wrong.
“We got an hour left.” He locks his phone and slips it back in his pockets. “D’you think you’ll be done by then?”
“You can help, y’know.” You duck under a pool noodle being flung at you.
"I'm not gonna fight you, Y/N.”
"Bucky, baby, these are my evil clones.”
"I'm not gonna hit your clone," he argues back from his place in front of the wall. “Make them not look like you or something. Maybe then I’ll help.”
“That’s very sweet, and you’re adorable.” You jump to land a dropkick against your carbon copy, whipping around to glare at him. “But I hate you.”
It’s almost on instinct that the exact opposite nearly slips out of him, but he bites it back. Considering that he hadn’t ever said it to you before, saying it in the middle of a clone battle with yourself didn’t seem like the most opportune moment. He’s been holding onto it for weeks, a little more time wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“I know,” he says instead, crossing his arms over his chest again. “Pay attention. You’re behind you.”
You swing around, kicking the feet out from under a clone. The sharp clang of metal on the tiles of your floor is reassuring.
The lair door swings open. All activity comes to a halt when the darkness temporarily lifts.
Someone stands at the doorway, light casting a halo around his broad figure.
“Hey boss,” your new assistant says cheerfully. “And boss, and boss, and boss, and boss--”
“Hey Nico,” you cut in from the middle. “Hit the reverse button on the clone machine, please.”
And the glowsticks resume flying through the air.
“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes, veering through the crowd with soft ‘excuse me’ and ‘coming through’s. The little cloth bag he carries when he goes shopping finds itself tied to his belt, for safekeeping in case things get too ugly.
Nico was ridiculously tall, easily towering over all the clones. His shirt is about two sizes too small and the seashell necklace he kept around his neck because it reminded him of his home and his mom looked like tiny beads in comparison.
Despite Bucky’s initial cynicism, the guy seemed to fit in rather well at the lair. He was clearly just as fascinated as you were with the wacky tech ideas, doing his part by taking on all the heavy lifting which previously was managed by you and your several levitation rays.
“I couldn’t find enough colours for two hundred people so I just picked up some coffee for us and Christmas lights,” he informs loudly, letting out a small ‘oof’ is courtesy when one of you thump his chest with a pool noodle.
Not to forget, Bucky also appreciated how Nico’s spring cleaning got rid of years’ worth of junk from the lair, the new windows he had you blow into the walls to allow in more sunlight because he believed it helped productivity and the fact that the furniture always smelled of lavender.
“That’s great, buddy.” You struggle against one of them in a swordfight and Bucky briefly considers stepping in until you deftly disarm them, flipping them over your shoulder before springing up. “Did you get the Tekton set?”
“No, they were all out.” He takes a large leap to the raised stage at the end of the hall, the floor vibrating where he lands momentarily. “But I got some new screwdrivers because I broke them last week.”
“Broke them? I thought you lost them.” You throw him a glance in the middle of shoving a clone aside.
“No, that was the previous previous set. I broke the ones we got after that.”
And the guy apparently had an aversion to screwdrivers, it looked like.
“How did you break vibranium sc-”
“Wrap it up, Y/N, we gotta go.” Bucky reminds over all the noise, back still very much pressed against the wall.
“Oh, hey Sergeant Barnes!” Nico calls out, ducking to avoid a glowstick thrown at him. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Would you want some coffee?” he asks politely.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I only brought two cups but you can have mine. Or maybe if we mix it together we can form one mega drink--”
“Nico, the switch,” you intervene.
“Sorry, boss.” He hurriedly turns back to the machine, gently picking one of your clones up and setting them aside like they were made of nothing. Maybe he could be an Avenger.
“It’s okay.” You let out a noise of irritation when someone thunks you on the head with a glowstick. “Any day now.”
“Um-” Nico’s eyes dart over the control panel. “Which one’s the button again?”
“The big red one that says ‘reverse switch’, probably.”
“That’s-” he pauses. “That’s not here.”
“What d’you mean that’s not there?” Your arms hold back the attack of a noodle. “Check the emergency panel.”
“Okay.” He momentarily disappears behind the gigantic box until his voice comes back muffled. “It says we need a password.”
Bucky sends a text to Steve that they might be late.
“What the fuck is th- okay, fuck that. Just hit any switch that’s not green.”
“Gotcha.” He waddles back to the front, shaking his fingers out. “Is yellow okay?”
“Any colour, Nico,” you whine.
“You got it, boss.” He slams his palm down on the button.
Bucky can feel the giant wave that runs through the lair, the hair on his arm standing straight.
Mechanical groans and the noises his laptop makes when it powers down soon follow as the red eyes return back to normal. Instead of just falling over, which he’s sure would haunt his nightmares for days, every clone just plops themselves down on the ground, crossing their legs and sitting as he remembers he did in middle school.
“Yay.” You lean against the railing for support, breathing heavily.
“You did it, boss.” Nico gives you a large thumbs up. “It all went according to plan.”
“Sure it did.” You nod. “Definitely. That was the plan.”
Bucky scoffs out a laugh, pushing himself off the wall and making his way to you. He makes sure to flip the switch on his way to you, bringing light back into the lair.
“Why-” you hold up a finger, still trying to catch your breath “-why did we put a password on the emergency panel?”
“Because, uh-” Nico gestures towards Bucky in what felt like an apology.
Bucky looks back at him strangely.
“It was to stop him,” he adds. “No offence, Sergeant B.”
“None taken,” Bucky reassures because it was literally his job.
“Fine, whatever.” You ignore the whole exchange, dragging yourself to behind the machine. “What’s the password?”
“I dunno.” Nico scratches the back of his head. “Did you try ‘password’?”
Your head pops around to stare at him unblinkingly. “Our password is ‘password’?”
“No, wait.” He snaps his fingers in a moment of realisation. “I think maybe it’s one two three.”
Bucky nods along, mouth pursed inward. It seemed pretty on-brand.
“It’s not working.” You glance up at Nico.
“One two three four.”
He can hear the chime of the keypad as you punch in the numbers, mumbling to yourself.
“You’ve gotta be shi- why did that work?” You throw your hands up when there’s a woosh of air following a small click. “Who decided that?”
Nico shrugs. “We didn’t. It just came with the system.”
“You guys don’t change the default password?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “Even I do that and I’m six hundred years o-”
“Okay,” you interrupt, pulling off the panel and letting it fall to the floor with a clang. “No more password-based stuff, Nico, make a note of that.”
“Noted.” He pulls out a tiny little book, scribbling in it with the pencil attached before flipping it closed.
A second later the machine whirs to life, blue light emanating from it. The sounds of a generator overpower what he’s sure is Bye Bye Bye by *NSync playing through the speakers.
Each of the clones gets up, dust their blue suits off before obediently lining up in a queue. He can hear them shoot compliments at each other, either for the wrinkled suit or the glowsticks in their pockets.
“See you later.” You give them a small wave. “Or not.”
“Bye,” Nico says to the first person who walks through the door and disappears. “See you. Nice meeting you. See you around. Bye--”
With the determination of a person too polite to be alive, he makes sure to bid farewell to every person who walks through the machine.
Your eyebrows upturn at him but you say nothing.
“Hey,” Bucky says, stealing your attention. “Did you have fun?”
“Loads.” You wipe the sweat off your brow, ditching your post to come stand in front of him. “You ever been in a battle against yourself? Should try it sometime.”
“No, only one of us can be the designated idiot at a time.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You good?”
“It’s your turn next week.” You let out an exhale before giving him a bright smile. “All good.”
“Told Steve we’re gonna be late.”
“Oh, good. I need a shower.” You scrunch up your nose, picking at your suit. “Maybe a nap. How about we don’t go?”
“Sure, if you’re the one to break the news.”
“Coward.” You poke at his chest. “Fine, but we’re taking the bike.”
“Why would we need to take the bike if you’re gonna cancel?”
“Because-” you open your mouth to begin, only to be cut off by a sound of utter distress from across the platform.
From the side, you see Nico standing over his espresso machine that lay in pieces on the floor.
You look at Bucky. He already knows what you’re gonna say.
He shakes his head. “Just go.”
“It’ll only take twenty minutes.” You flash him a smile. “You’re my favourite person in this room. Maybe even this street.”
“Yeah, yeah.” It nearly escapes him again, the words hanging at the top of his tongue. Shouldn’t be this easy to say, should it? “Go on. He looks like he’s about to cry.”
You blow him a kiss before stalking towards Nico, placing a hand on his shoulder. The smile he gives you doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you gently dismiss his insistence that it’s okay before bending down to assess the damage.
Bucky lets out an exhale before pulling out his phone to hit play on the video Clint sent at least two days ago.
“You did what?”
Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop being dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?” you scoff. “You bought a house.”
“I was gone for twenty fucking seconds and you bought a house without telling me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was necessary--”
“Not necessary? We’re together and you’re-”
“Guys,” T interrupts. “It’s just Monopoly.”
Steve nods from his place on the couch.
“T, he bought a house without telling me.” You turn to her immediately, voice shrill in complain.
“It’s a fucking board game.” Bucky leans back. “It’s your fault you left.”
“To get your thirsty ass some apple juice, you loser.”
“Did I a-”
“I don’t even buy apple juice. Where did you get that?” T points to the glass in front of you, half full.
“I have resources.” You cryptically count the fake currency in your hands, glancing at the board in front of you for your properties.
“Are they allowed to team up?” Steve’s voice is low when he asks his girlfriend.
“No.” T narrows her eyes at you slipping Bucky a wad of cash, an unnaturally high sum.
“She just gave him cash.”
Bucky silently takes it, looking his best friend right in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” You clear your throat, getting up from your place and pretend to dust yourself off. “I’m going to the kitchen for some orange juice--”
“I don’t have orange juice.”
“Does anyone want some?” You place your hands on your hips. When you get a round of declinations in return, you nod. “Alrighty. Be right back.”
“No more chips, we need to get dinner,” T calls out. “You won’t find any, but still.”
“Yes, ma’am.” You throw her a salute before marching on to your quest.
Bucky counts the money he has left. It’s a few seconds of silence as it dawns on him that he has more money than he realised initially. The obscene amount he had procured made no sense, even if he counted the amount you’ve been slipping him all evening.
“I’ll be back.” He pushes himself off the couch, shoving the bills into his pocket for security while he investigated.
In hushed tones from what he left behind, he hears, “They’re strategizing. It’s a team meeting.”
The reply, however, comes back at a normal volume. “It’s literally just a board game, what is wrong with you people?”
“You’re doing what she told you not to, aren’t you?” Bucky finds you amidst a kitchen full of half-open shelves.
“I’m definitely not looking for chips.” Your head was tilted up as you scoured T’s cabinets for her extra stash you know she kept hidden. “Would never do that.”
“Sure you’re not.” He leans his weight against the counter, watching you blindly reach about the space. “Check behind the cereal box.”
“Check inside the cereal box.”
“Oooh,” you exclaim, pulling the box out and flipping open the cardboard lid. “Only an evil genius would know that. What are you not telling me, Barnes?”
“I live with like, thirty people. You learn to hide things.” He watches you pull out a brand new packet of nachos stealthily. “Are you actually mad at me?”
“Fuck no,” you respond immediately. “I’m just gonna use my public meltdown to our advantage. Throw ‘em off their rhythm, they’ll never see us coming.”
Which reminds him, “We’re not on the same team, I don’t know why you keep giving me money.”
“You’re my sugar ba-”
“Stop,” he interrupts.
You grin at him, tearing open the packet gently. “I’m embezzling funds and stashing them at your bank. Some of the notes are from my game back home.”
“You brought your own currency?”
“Sure did,” you sing. “You’re my fall-man. You’re going to take the blame-”
”No, get your illegal money out of my bank, what the fuck?”
“Go to jail-”
“And then I’m going to bust you out of there and then we’ll live on an island or something.” You shake the bag gently, well out of her earshot, shuffling the chips toward you.
“Go team, I’m so proud of us.” You pop a nacho in your mouth and smile at him widely.
He shakes his head, reaching into the bag you hold out for him. “Not a team.”
“Hold on now, what happened to Team Dumbass? Bracelet Bitches my beloved?”
“It died when you tried to get me sent to jail for money laundering and tax fraud.”
“If that’s all it takes to break us apart then it wasn’t that strong in the first place.” You sigh, placing a hand on his chest before retracting it quickly to shove it into the bag again.
But it has been. Strong, he means, for months now. He would never be able to say it out loud but he’s pretty sure it’s the most content, happy even, he’s been in nearly a hundred years. Also, it’s the most absurd mix of distress and fun he’s ever chosen to be subjected to.
“Steve thinks we’re strategizing in here.” He hums.
“I already have a strategy.” You stand close enough beside him to have your elbows touching. You’ve found that likes some sort of physical contact, no matter how small it may be.
“S’ppose it involves me.”
“Obviously. Maybe if you didn’t betray me then I’d tell you what it was.”
He scoffs. “It was one house that I bought with my own non-illegal currency.”
“Without telling me,” you reiterate. “And all your currency is illegal, I’ve been swiping it out the whole evening.”
His eyebrows cinch together at this new piece of information but he doesn’t pursue it further.
Instead, he takes another chip. Counts the number of tiles between the countertops on both sides of the room. Revels in the feeling of your skin grazing against his metal arm.
He hears you reach into the bag, snapping his mind out of the little trip it was taking.
“Hypothetically, in real life,” Bucky begins, breaking the momentary silence, “if I ever did buy a house-”
The smile drops from your face instantly. “Did you actually-”
“No,” he adds quickly. “Hypothetically. In the future. Not now.”
You eye him skeptically, all other movements put on halt for that brief period.
“I didn’t buy a fucking house, I swear.”
You press back a smile at his degree of seriousness, feeling relief flood into your system. “Go on.”
“You’d be open to that?” Bucky looks at you out the corner of his eye.
“Sure.” You shrug casually and he lets out a short breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “But I got some hypothetical conditions.”
“Course you do,” he mumbles.
“Number one,” you announce, holding your hand up with a chip pinched together between your fingers, “No can openers.”
“Okay, hypothetical plan cancelled,” he says immediately.
“No can openers, I’m serious.” Your laugh is short, teasing.
“It’s the first thing we’d hypothetically get.” He rolls his eyes. "You call me over every time you need me to open one."
"Because those pieces of shit are hard. And I just call you over to see your face."
“And your arms. They look great while you do it.”
Okay, moving on.
“Second--” You do it before he can “--Jake.”
“What about him?”
“Hypothetically, he’s gonna be happy that I moved out and I can’t have that.”
Bucky quirks an eyebrow.
“Let’s fake my death.”
A little too dramatic, he thinks.
“Give him something to be sad about.” You grin. If he knows you, then he knows there are at least three plans already formulating in your head.
“He won’t be,” he reminds.
“You’re right, he won’t.” The smile vanishes slowly, narrowed eyes taking its place. “Fine, then fuck Jake. He can starve after he realises I’m the one who restocks his stupid yoghurt.”
Bucky’s pretty sure Jake knows. It’s also why your roommate buys your favourite pasta sauce even though just the mere sight of it makes him want to, in his words, projectile vomit.
But remembering Jake brings up another detail.
“What about Alpine?”
“Alpine 2.0.” Your answer comes back startlingly fast. “I’ll clone her.”
“We’ve already seen what happens to your clones.”
“Just because a few of them went rogue-”
“We’re not cloning Alpine.”
“Fine.” You huff. “I’m pretty sure Jake’s more attached to A.N.K.L.E.S. now anyway.”
“The murder Roomba?” Bucky picks up nacho. Dinner wouldn’t be an issue for him, his metabolism was much higher than the average human’s.
“It’s not a fucking Roomba, it’s a droid and its name is A.N.K.L.E.S.”
Bucky scorns. “Since when?”
“Since forever. The A stands for ABBA and the rest I don’t know yet.” You pop a chip into your mouth. “Either way, I don’t think he’d care much.”
“Okay, so hypothetically we get Alpine.” Bucky chews slowly, thoughtfully. “She gets a room.”
“Alpine gets two rooms. One for the day and one for the night.”
“The cat doesn’t need two rooms.”
“She deserves two rooms.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You feed her enough to need two rooms.”
“Shut up, she’s a growing cat,” he murmurs. He just pinned a new recipe to try out for her on his Pinterest board.
“Alpine can pay rent if she wants two rooms.”
“Jerk. Don’t subject my cat to capitalism.” You take a pause. “Cat-pitalism.
He stares at you. “Hypothetical plan cancelled.”
“Third,” you continue regardless, “I’m gonna fill the entire place with traps and fake doors and shit, it’s gonna be so cool.”
He gets vivid flashbacks to pen swords and almost-mushroom clouds. His nose twitches.
Bucky pushes himself off the counter’s edge to get some water. “You get one room to invent and none of it ever leaves that space.”
“How do I take it to lair then?”
“Figure it out.”
“What if you sneak into the room and steal the plan and ruin my inator?”
He had an all-access pass to the lair and it had never happened before. There was no reason to believe he was going to start now.
Still, he kisses your cheek on his way past you. “Figure it out.”
“Okay, well then hypothetically I’m gonna build a portal in one of the rooms.”
“I will burn your hypothetical portal to the ground.”
“You can’t do that, I have a hypothetical force shield.”
“Your force shield has a hypothetical battery that I’m gonna remove.”
“That was one time.”
“One room to invent on the weekends and you use your teleporting shit to get it to the lair.” Bucky’s been here enough for dinner parties and game nights to know where T keeps her all her dishes.
“Okay, new hypothetical plan,” you say as he holds his glass out under the tap. “I’m gonna build a lair in our garage.”
“Garage?” In this economy? Fuck no.
“Fine, dungeon, then.” Your eyes shine. “We’re gonna stay in a castle.”
He shuts the tap off. “You’re gonna stay there alone.”
You continue excitedly, “A big, dark castle and you will never see me again because there’s gonna be so many rooms.”
“Great. Let me know when you’re moving,” he says dryly. “Gotta move all your stuff out of the Tower.”
“Yeah, lemme call a moving van for my fucking toothbrush.”
“Your other stuff.” The water disappears in a few strong gulps. The glass, he decides, can be the alibi he needs for being there, just in case T comes at you for stealing from her stash. If he was going to jail for money laundering, you could go for theft.
“What other stuff?” You squint.
“Y’know…” he trails off when he realises you very much don’t know, setting the glass down. “Your inators and stuff.”
Your head tilts inquisitively. “Thought those go to S.H.I.E.L.D..”
"Well, yeah. They’re supposed to." Bucky shoves his hands in his pocket. "I don’t know, just had a feeling you'd want 'em back one day."
“Wait, so you kept them?” You fight the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Since when?”
“Freeze gun, I think.”
“Wasn’t that-- wait--” Your eyebrows knit together before your jaw drops. “Wasn’t that the first time we met?”
“Don’t remember.” Yes, he does. Yes, it was.
”You’ve had a crush on me since our first meeting?”
“Oh my God, you’ve had a crush on me since our first meeting.”
He drags his palm across his face. “They’re getting recycled first thing tomorrow.”
“Not before I see them first.” You jump up with a renewed interest in this conversation. “Where even are they? The storage? On a ship?”
“I’ve been to your room, I’ve never seen my inators around.”
“You’ve seen the shelf,” he argues, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You mean that fucking drawer in the corner?” You cross your arms too, in retaliation. “The one you’ve stuck together with tape?”
“Why do you think it’s like that? I ran out of fuckin’ space, it’s too full.”
“I didn’t know it had my inators, I thought it was just like that.”
“You thought it’s barely hanging together because it was just like that?”
“Like owner, like cabinet.” You laugh when he rolls his eyes at you. “I’m kidding. Here, have a chip.”
“No,” he says as he takes the one you’re offering. “Hypothetical plan cancelled.”
“Okay,” you move on. “So in our castle, there’s gotta be at least one hypothetical room for all our friends.”
“Right, so that’s zero rooms for you then,” Bucky notes.
“We’re literally in my best friend’s kitchen right now.”
“Ask her if she feels the same.”
“T,” you call out and he gives a short exhale in disbelief. “Are you my best friend?”
Her voice comes back loud and clear. “No.”
“See? She loves me.” You turn to Bucky.
“You’re missing a few steps there.”
“No, I think I got all of them.” You nod. “T, Jake, Alpine and her three rooms.”
“Oh, so Alpine gets three rooms now.”
He’d disagree but Alpine really was the royalty in this house. It was only time till she took over the entire house. The Tower had been claimed months ago anyway.
“Fine. But then hypothetically, if we’re doing this then you need to do it properly.” Bucky pauses. “Castle’s gotta be all-black.”
You reel back. “It certainly does not.”
“Black walls, black furniture--”
“Pink walls. Blue furniture.”
“...black cushions. Black curtains--”
“Yellow cushions. Purple curtains.”
“No garlic, no mirrors--” he continues to list out.
“We’re not vampires, Bucky. The castle has to look like a Barbie dreamhouse or I’m not staying.”
“I guess it’s just me and Alpine then.”
“You’re going to steal my child and stay in a castle that I made without me.”
Bucky’s lips press inward. “Yeah, sounds ‘bout right.”
“Bitch. I’ll leave all my inators in every room. They will be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you’ll see at night.”
“...black kitchen. Black floor--” he continues in revenge.
“Alpine’s going to get four rooms. Morning, afternoon, evening, night.”
“Black doors. Black bed. Black can-opener--”
“Black wardrobe. Black--”
“I will evict yo--” You stop abruptly. “Why are we arguing about this?”
It’s not like you ever needed a solid reason before.
“Let’s just build a treehouse and stay there,” you propose instead.
“Deal.” He holds his hand out for a handshake, which you grab firmly.
“You guys done in there?” Steve calls out. “Neither of us wanna check if you’re fine, so please just get out.”
Bucky rolls his eyes, dropping your hand.
You gesture to the bag of chips. “D’you think I should take this out th-”
“Good call.” You stash it back in the cabinet for later. Not in the cereal box, since it was your bag now.
You can tell game night’s gonna go on for longer, given that your plan to bankrupt Steve so hard he’d never be able to play the game again without tearing up had still not been put into action.
“Get your money out of my bank.”
“We’ll see.” You grin, cupping his cheeks and giving him a quick kiss before taking a step past him. Only, he tugs you back for one more, just a little longer than the last. It’s nice that it still leaves him feeling things in his stomach he refuses to put a name to.
You hum as you pull away with a small smile. “Wait three minutes before showing up so people don’t think we came together.”
Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck even are you talking about?”
“Actually, you know what? I think it’s time we let them know we’re-” you drop your volume “-official.”
He stares at you. “We’ve been together for months.”
“Shhh, they’ll hear you.”
“There’s nothing to hide.”
“Yeah, only ‘cause we’ll tell them.” You roll your eyes.
“They already fucking kn-” he shuts his mouth. “I’m not gonna do this again. Stay here if you want, I’m leaving.”
“You’re just gonna ditch me? Traitor.” You change stances immediately.
“You just s--” For the love of God. “--you’re insufferable.”
You stifle a laugh. “Go on, say it.”
"Say what?" he asks wearily.
"Say, 'God I hate you', or something like that."
He should say it. It's tradition, and you're waiting there, arms crossed across your chest. There's a mock glare on your face but a twinkle in your eye.
"I love you," he says instead.
It’s a second before your face pulls into the biggest smile he’s seen.
if you liked this series, please do consider supporting my ko-fi <3
ahh it's officially done!! i'd love to hear your favourite parts or characters or anything you wanna talk about, it's always so fun
thank you for all the memes, the playlists, the hundreds of asks, the ideas, the artwork, things that reminded you of this series, your miss villain headcanons, people who contributed towards the clone discourse, tried to start a tiktok revolution, lurked around on my blog and in general, just your love for this ridiculous fic. i am so grateful.
team dumbass/bracelet bitches ftw
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Helmut Zemo x F!Reader
Summary: you’re cold and Zemo offers you his coat
Word Count: 1k~
Warnings: minor tfatws spoilers ep3 (edit: now this is a series, I will add a warning for eventual smut)
A/N: look I’m confused too 😂 but I’ve found myself a tad obsessed with Zemo the last couple of weeks, and this just kinda happened. I don’t know if there’ll be a big audience for this, but if anyone has any Zemo requests, send them on in and I’d be excited to give them a go! Also, since Sokovian isn’t a real language, I went with a tiny bit of google translated Latvian as a substitute!
Edit: the response to this was pretty big (THANK YOU!), so I’ve turned this into a series! You can find the next part here!
Sam and Bucky had asked you to keep an eye on Zemo while they went back inside to grab some weapons before you guys left for the docks. You were missing the warmth of the party now you were outside. The night air was biting at your skin as you stood outside Sharon’s place. The skimpy dress she’d told you to wear to fit in with the crowd was fine while you were inside, but now you were out in the night, it wasn’t so great.
You tried to muscle through it, but the occasional shiver wracked through your body, prompting you to quietly hiss at the cold.
Evidently, Zemo noticed.
“Would you like my coat?” He offered, starting to shrug the coat off his shoulders
“No, thank you, Zemo.” You shook your head and held a hand up before crossing it over your chest in an attempt to conserve some warmth.
“Please, call me Helmut.” He drawled, and you looked at him in disbelief for a split second before composing yourself.
“I think I’ll stick with Zemo.” You pursed your lips and looked away.
You were having some conflicted feelings about Zemo recently. As far as you were concerned, he was a bit of an asshole. After all, this was the same man who tore your friends apart only a few years back.
But here he was, flying you guys around in a private jet, acting like you’re all best friends. He’d taken a particular liking to you, which concerned but intrigued you at the same time.
You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you were falling for him. Jesus, the awful things he put your friends through should be enough to turn you off him completely. And yet...
For starters, he was an attractive guy. You couldn’t deny that. You’d caught yourself staring at his hair several times. You wanted to run your fingers through it, tug on it... something. And the little bit of scruff he had been sporting too? You’d thought about that a bit too much.
And his accent... it had an effect on you, for sure. He could read a phone directory to you and you’d probably hang onto every number. You especially liked when he spoke Sokovian. You had no idea what he ever said, but you had noticed he’d use the occasional word when talking to you, or referring to you to someone else. You’d have to ask him about those at some point.
And for a dangerous criminal, he sure danced like a dork at Sharon’s place. You watched him from the bar as he was seemingly in a world of his own on the dance floor. At one point he caught your attention and beckoned you to join him, but you simply raised your glass at him and stayed put, smirking as he carried on.
While you were lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice Zemo shuck off his coat, and the next thing you knew, you felt the soft fur of the collar around your neck. You desperately wanted to protest but the coat was so warm, both in itself and because Zemo had been wearing it just moments before. The smell of his cologne lingered in it too, and you tried your best to ignore it.
“...thank you.” You murmur as you slip your arms into the sleeves and wrap the coat around you properly.
“It is my pleasure, mīļā.” He flashes a smile at you and you turn away, hoping he doesn’t catch your shy smile and the blush creeping up your face.
When Sam and Bucky finally return, they both narrow their eyes at Zemo when they see you’re wearing his coat.
“The lady was cold, I did what any gentleman would do.” He smirked as you all started walking down the street.
“Gentleman... sure.” Sam didn’t look convinced, and you chuckled at the look he gave Zemo.
You walked down the street and Sharon pulled up in a car, gesturing for you all to get in. Sam was closest to the passenger door so he just got in the front of the car, leaving you to squeeze in the back with Bucky and Zemo.
You rolled your eyes at the way Zemo’s face brightened up at the prospect of being so close to you in the car, but you found yourself hiding a small smile too. You edged yourself a little closer to Bucky though, and once he realised how close you and Zemo were, he shuffled himself as close to his door as he could, giving you some room to move.
The journey to the docks took a fair while, but it dragged on tortuously with Zemo sat so close to you. You started to get hot in his coat quite quickly, but there was no room to move in the car for you to take it off, so you just had to stay in it. You weren’t complaining too much though, because you were still quite enjoying the comfort of the coat.
When you arrived at the docks, Zemo hopped out of the car quickly, turning around to offer you his hand, and as much as you didn’t want to accept it, you didn’t want to trip over in your heels so you took his hand and let him help you out of the car.
“Thank you, Helmut.” Your eyes widened as his first name escaped your mouth, and he smirked in response. You felt your cheeks heat up, and you were just glad the others seemingly didn’t notice your slip up.
“You’re more than welcome, mana mīlestība.” He shut the car door with one hand, but kept a hold of you with his other hand, and it took you a second to realise and let go.
A deep chuckle rose from his throat and he winked before walking to catch up with the others. You took a deep breath and followed everyone, cursing yourself for letting Hel- Zemo get under your skin.
What was wrong with you? Where did these feelings come from? What were you going to do about them?
You’d have to worry about that later though, because shit hit the fan at the docks very quickly...
mīļā - sweetheart
mana mīlestība - my love
If anybody has any Zemo fic ideas, I’m all ears!
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Omg what about innocent!reader asking Peter to teach her some stuff cause she knows he has a lot of experience
Not So Innocent Anymore
A/N: I literally love that the only fics I have for Peter are smut haha that’s amazing. Thank you so much for this request, love! It was a very hot idea lol.
I hope you all enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated!
Pairing: Older! Peter Parker x fem! Reader
Warnings: 18+, oral sex, dirty talk, cursing
Just ask him, Y/N. What’s the worst that could happen? You have the best orgasm of your life?
You mentally fight yourself as you ring the doorbell to your boyfriend’s apartment. It’s Friday night, meaning date night for the two of you, the one day a week that Peter promises is dedicated to you and you alone. Unless of course, there’s an actual emergency. Then, he’s back in the spider suit.
Hopefully there’s not an emergency during this conversation. What an embarrassment that would be.
The door swings open, revealing your favorite person. Peter leans against the door frame, a smirk on his face. “Well hello there, gorgeous.”
Nervous, you look down at your foot that’s lightly kicking into the floor. “Hey, handsome.” Your voice comes out shaky and quiet, and you want to swing your foot around to kick yourself in the ass.
You’ve got this, Y/N. You’re a strong, confident woman. No time to shy away now.
Peter picks up on your nervous tick. “Everything okay?”
Looking back up, you muster the biggest smile you can. “Everything’s great. Can I come in?”
Moving out of the doorway, he gestures for you to walk inside. “Come on in, sweetheart.”
When you’re inside, you head over to the kitchen, placing your items on the counter before turning to face Peter once again. “Can you help me with oral sex?”
Well, that was subtle.
The look on Peter’s face makes you want to curl in on yourself. He’s definitely confused, probably even mortified. What the fuck are you doing?
Stalking towards you, you watch as his eyes appear to darken. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”
Okay, this… was not the reaction you were expecting.
Once he’s in front of you, his hand reaches out towards your chest, a single finger tracing down in between your breasts. “Why the sudden interest in oral sex?”
Gasping, you look down to watch as his finger makes its way towards the top of your jeans. “I want to experience it with you, but I’m worried I won’t be any good at it.”
His finger is working on your zipper at this point. “Oh sweetheart, everything you do is amazing.” He pulls your pants down your legs. “But, if you want me to guide you, I can do that.”
His hand moves to undo his own zipper, and his pants and boxers are off in a single sweep.
You gulp as you notice his thick length, leaning against his stomach as precum leaks from the top.
“The fucking things you do to me, sweetheart.”
His sultry voice hits you straight in your core and you decide to sit down on your knees, your face eye level with his dick.
“Is this okay?” You ask as you grip his length in your hand, slowly sliding it up and down.
Peter tilts his head back, letting out a loud moan. “Yes.”
When he looks back down at you, his jaw is clenched in pleasure. “Wanna start your lesson now, sweetheart?”
You clench your thighs together. “Yes, please.”
“Come a little closer then.”
You listen to Peter’s demand, sliding forward until your mouth is only inches from his length.
“So, what you wanna do, sweetheart, is take what you can into your mouth and suck. You can use your hands on the rest of me, if you want too.”
You stare at his dick for a second before closing your eyes and taking him in your mouth, going as far as your reflex will allow you. Your hand wraps around what your mouth doesn’t take.
Above you, Peter groans out your name, his hands going into your hair and tugging at your strands.
“Fuck, Y/N. Just like that.”
His words encourage you to pick up speed, your head bobbing up and down faster. His dick fills up your mouth and you feel his precum slide down your throat. You moan around him and he twitches from the vibration.
“Keep doing that, sweetheart, and I won’t last. Almost there already.”
You continue your movements, your hand still pumping the base of him and after a few more seconds, his hands tighten in your hair as his cum shoots into your mouth.
“Y/N,” he groans as his orgasm rides out.
Once he calms down, you slide your mouth off of him and look up into his eyes as you swallow his cum.
“How was it?” You ask, your voice hoarse from being closed around him.
You can see a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead when he looks at you. “You were fucking great, sweetheart.” He slides his arms under yours, pulling you up to your feet.
Leaning in, he places his mouth on yours, biting down on your lower lip. “Time for me to return the favor.”
Fuck. It’s going to be a long night.
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What You Need
Bucky x Reader
Word Count: ~3810
Warnings: Edging, orgasm denial, age gap (not an illegal one), bratty reader, dirty talk. I won’t say daddy kink but she calls him daddy during sex? And he’s a total dilf? And... yeah, okay, bit of daddy kink. Bucky is a businessman/single dad, reader is his nanny, it’s all sorts of inappropriate. He’s like “gah this is wrong” and she convinces him to stop caring, but I wouldn’t really call it dubious consent. He consents pretty fucking enthusiastically once he gets over the moral dilemma. This is absolute shameless self-indulgent filth.
A/N: for @sweeterthanthis and her “Quote Me On It” challenge, except it’s over a month late, because I have had zero creative energy lately. Better late than never, I hope! My quote was “How about you take a sugar-frosted fuck off the end of my dick?” from Blade: Trinity.
As a reminder, I don’t do tag lists any more! Follow @there-must-be-a-lock-fic and turn on notifications if you want fic alerts.
When you check on her again, Becca is still sound asleep, whistling slightly on each exhale through the gap in her front teeth. You close the door carefully and tiptoe down the stairs, past the floor that contains the office and playroom, down to the main floor of the immaculate Barnes brownstone.
You already cleaned up the kitchen — it was a mess after your cookie-baking venture this afternoon — but Becca’s sippy cup half-full of juice is still waiting on the counter. You pick it up and pour it down the front of your shirt without hesitating.
It’s not like you can take the subway all the way back to Manhattan with your tank top all wet and sticky, right?
You put the cup in the sink and head down to the garden level to the laundry room. When you strip off the dirty tank top and put it in the machine, you’re left in just super-short cutoffs and a bra. You grab one of Bucky’s button-downs from the laundry basket.
You have to wear something, after all.
It’s one of his casual shirts, faded plaid, worn thin and soft, and you can’t help but sniff it, breathing in fancy cologne and a barely-there whiff of sweat.
This better fucking work. You’re about ready to blow a fuse.
You know you’re not imagining the way he looks at you. You figured it was wishful thinking, at first, but as the summer went on, it got harder and harder to ignore the chemistry between you and your boss. Bucky flirts as easy as breathing — you’d swear he’s never met a person he couldn’t charm — but it’s a playful sort of charm, usually: over-the-top flattery, tongue-in-cheek compliments delivered with a wink, rakish but never rude. He just likes seeing people smile.
It’s different with you, though. When he’s at home, when his guard is down, he lets his gaze linger on you just a little too long, watches you a little too intensely, stands a little too close… his eyes go hot and heavy-lidded, and there’s something dark and hungry in his smile. It feels dangerous, when he looks at you.
He wants you. You know he does.
But James Buchanan Barnes is nothing if not a goddamn gentleman. You know he would never make a move, and you haven’t wanted to jeopardize the best summer job you’ve ever had by making a move of your own. After tonight, though, there’s nothing to stop him. It’s officially your last night as Rebecca Barnes’s nanny.
You check yourself out in the guest room mirror. The shirt is long enough that your cutoffs barely show under the hem; if you tug them up slightly, it looks like you’re not wearing anything underneath. You’ve buttoned it enough that it’s not exactly indecent, but when you lean forward, you can clearly see the thin white lace of your bra.
You’re on the stairs back to the main level when you hear the door open. Right on time.
When you step into the entryway, Bucky is shucking his fancy suit jacket, leaving it crumpled on the table. He loosens his tie, tugging at the black silk so he can open the first button of his crisp white shirt, and you have a crazy urge — not for the first time — to lick the hollow of his neck. His cheeks are flushed, ever so slightly, and there’s a sort of soft, careless quality to his movements like he’s had a couple drinks this evening.
Even from the other side of the hallway, you can see the moment he notices you. He does a blatant double take, blinking like he’s not sure he can trust his eyes, and then he swallows hard.
“That’s my shirt,” he says softly.
“This is super embarrassing,” you say, all coy and sweet, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “I spilled juice all over myself, I totally made a mess. I’m so sorry, it was right there and it was the only thing I could think to put on while I wash my shirt. Is this okay?”
He raises an eyebrow, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging slowly at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, low and knowing. “This is okay.”
“Thanks,” you say, and you were aiming for confident but your voice comes out breathy and flustered.
Bucky runs a hand through his hair — messing up the neat combed-back look he goes for when he has to put on his business face — eyes still fixed on you. “Gonna have a drink. You want one?”
Neither of you mention the fact that there’s another year, technically, before you’re old enough to drink legally. There’s a fluttery, swooping sort of sensation in your stomach as you follow him into the living room.
He goes right to the bar cart in the corner while you take a seat on the couch, and he pours you each a glass of something amber-colored. When he passes it to you, you see him hesitate for just a fraction of a second before settling next to you, slouching back, legs sprawled. It’s not a big couch; his arm, draped over the back of it, is tantalizingly close to your shoulder when you curl up, angled toward him.
He raises his glass in a toast, and you clink yours against it gently.
The alcohol burns on the way down, but you barely notice it; you’re too busy staring at the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He still has his tie loosened over his unbuttoned collar, and the exposed hollow of his throat seems startling, framed by silky black and crisp white.
It takes a second before you realize he’s staring too; his gaze is fixed on your mouth. When you lick a drop of whiskey from your lower lip, his eyes track the movement.
For a moment you’re sure he’s about to lean in and kiss you.
Then he seems to catch himself, blinking suddenly. He lets out a slow sigh and sinks back against the couch, raking a hand through his already-messy hair.
“We can’t do this,” he says, staring down into his glass.
You blink, startled. “I have no idea—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts hoarsely. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t try to pull the innocent act with me.”
His bluntness catches you off-guard; you pause, cheeks hot, and take another sip of whiskey to hide your discomfort before setting your jaw stubbornly.
Apparently you’re talking about this.
“Why?” you ask.
He rolls his eyes and gives you a wry half-smile. “Do I really need to state the obvious? C’mon, sweetheart. You’re smarter than that.”
“You’re not my boss any more.”
“Doesn’t make it right. You’re too young for me, doll.”
“I’m old enough to know what I want,” you retort.
“Not sure you are,” he says, not unkindly, but your temper flares at the hint of condescension in his words.
“I’m old enough,” you repeat, trying not to sound petulant. “I want this. I want you. Are you honestly telling me you don’t want me?”
“Of course I —” he starts, but he cuts himself off, shaking his head.
Your heart is racing. “You do. I know you do.”
He gives you a sarcastic quirk of a smile. “Like the great Western philosopher Mick Jagger once said: you can’t always get what you want.”
“Don’t.” His tone is sharp and sure, and part of you knows you should let it go, give up, but the rest of you just hears a challenge. Before you can say anything else, though, he asks, “What did you and Becca do today?”
“We made cookies,” you say sulkily. “Wait, hang on.”
You set your glass down on the coffee table and hop up, hyper-aware of Bucky’s eyes following you as you go into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, just waits while you grab his cookie from the platter on the counter and come back in.
“Just for you, daddy,” you say sweetly.
Bucky’s reaction is unmistakable; he inhales sharply, eyes glittering with something dark and feral.
You give him an innocent smile and hold out the cookie. He looks at it and notices the messy For Daddy spelled out in wobbly icing letters.
For a second he just gapes. Then he lets out a little huff of a sigh, shaking his head as he takes the cookie.
You sit down next to him, closer this time. He doesn’t move away.
“Jesus, that’s sweet,” he mutters, chewing the first bite. His tongue flicks out to catch a stray sprinkle.
The things he does with his mouth should be illegal.
“It’s basically sugar-frosted sugar,” you reply. “Good, right?”
“Perfect.” He takes another bite and then holds it out to you.
You grab his wrist, grinning, holding eye contact as you lift his hand to your lips and take a delicate nip right from his fingers.
“What part of no don’t you understand?” he says, but his voice is fond.
You shrug, wondering if you look as smug as you feel. He’s fighting a smile as he tugs his wrist away, like he can’t decide whether to laugh or scold you for your brazenness.
“Missed a spot,” you tell him, as he swallows the last bite, and you reach out before he can react, swiping frosting from the corner of his mouth with a fingertip. You lick it off, deliberately slow, looking at him through your lashes.
His chest rises with a shivery, unsteady inhale. Without a word, he lifts his hand, rubbing his thumb across the pillow of your lower lip.
You let your mouth fall open, and he slides his finger in, pressing the pad of it down on your tongue. When you close your lips around it and suck, you can taste a lingering sweetness, followed by a hint of salty skin.
He lets his hand fall, but he doesn’t move to put any distance between your bodies.
“God fuckin’ dammit,” he growls. “This is wrong.”
“I don’t give a sugar-frosted fuck,” you say flippantly. “Told you. I want you.”
Bucky’s lip curls in a sneer. His expression goes wild and intense, almost predatory.
“You’re a goddamn spoiled brat, aren’t you?” he snarls.
There’s an edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before.
For a split second, you’re terrified you mis-stepped — pushed too hard — crossed a line... your chest feels too tight for your pounding heart.
Then Bucky is cupping your cheeks, hands sliding back and tangling in your hair, letting out a wordless sound of frustration as he pulls you in.
It takes a second for your brain to catch up. You can barely process the sensations: stubble scraping your chin, teeth sinking into your lower lip, fingers tugging your hair hard enough to sting. The kiss is fierce and almost violent with its urgency.
Your head spins, and you’re still reeling with shock when he hauls you closer, into his lap. You groan at the heat of his body against yours, the smell of his cologne, the slick slide of his tongue as it curls into your mouth. You’re lost in it, moving on pure animal instinct, dizzy with lust.
You’ve imagined this so many times, but the reality is so much better than any fantasy.
Bucky runs his hands up your bare thighs and then under your — his — shirt, thumbing your nipples through your bra, and you moan helplessly.
He fumbles with buttons until he can get his mouth on you, sucking and nibbling at the hard peak and through the thin lace. He leaves a wet patch when he pulls away, and in the absence of his warm mouth, the air feels shockingly cool on your tingling skin, making you hiss and wriggle in his lap.
“Get these off,” he says, popping the button of your cutoffs.
You slide clumsily off his lap, standing so you can shimmy out of your shorts, and Bucky watches you, eyes dark. His swollen lips curl up in a slow smile as you push your panties down and let them fall to the floor. You open the last button of his shirt, and you’re about to shrug it off when he grabs your wrist.
“Leave that on,” he says, in a low, authoritative voice that leaves no room for argument. “Let me taste you.”
He pulls you forward so that you’re up on your knees on the couch and he simultaneously slouches, sliding down until his head is tilted back against the back of the couch and his face is level with your pelvis. Your breath catches.
He grabs your ass with both hands, tugging you toward his mouth, and nuzzles against your center, burying his face between your legs like he can’t get close enough. The first drag of his tongue is slow and lingering, and he groans low in his throat like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.
You’re hesitant at first, self-conscious as he explores, figuring out what you like. He takes his time, caressing you with the flat of his tongue and then flicking your clit with the very tip of it, trying different things until he finds the spot that makes you whimper. When he goes for it again, targeting that spot with relentless accuracy, your legs start to shake, and you brace yourself with a white-knuckled grip on the back of the couch.
It doesn’t take long before you’re shuddering, rolling and twisting your hips into the wet-hot pressure of his mouth. You half-collapse forward, down on your elbows while you bite the heel of your hand in an effort to keep quiet.
Bucky makes a rough, wordless sound that vibrates through you, and then he’s gripping your hips, forcing you down and away while you squirm. It takes a conscious effort to open your eyes and focus on him, and even more of an effort to bite back your pathetic whine.
“Fuck, why’d you stop?” you gasp.
“Did you want to come, sweetheart?” he teases, and before you can answer, he pulls you down for a kiss, sitting you down so that you’re straddling him.
You rock your hips instinctively as he nibbles his way down the side of your neck. You can feel the thick shape of his hard cock through his dress pants, and you grind down with a frustrated whimper, trying to get some friction.
He works a hand between your legs and curls two thick fingers into you, crooking them, pumping them in and out, kissing you slowly as he works you up again. When he rubs them back and forth slightly, teasing your g-spot, you can hear the wet obscene sound it makes.
“Listen to that,” he murmurs. “Dirty girl. Is there something you want?”
He does it again, kissing you, letting out a low moan against your lips as you clench around his fingers. You can hear the filthy, undeniable proof of how badly you want him.
Your cheeks burn and your voice cracks when you say, “Yes.”
“Up,” he orders, and he smacks your ass lightly as he pushes you back. You almost fall, stumbling on wobbly legs, but he stands and steadies you. Then he clamps a hand around the back of your neck, pushing you toward the stairs with gentle but firm pressure. It’s a possessive touch, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
For a second you think he’s going to guide you upstairs, but he urges you down instead, and you realize he’s heading for the guest room.
“Want to hear all the pretty noises you make while I take you apart,” he mutters, answering the question you didn’t ask out loud, and your belly twists with immediate arousal at the words even before you remember Becca sleeping upstairs.
Your hands are shaking, and your skin is on fire, and as you walk, you can’t help but wonder if this is a fever dream.
Bucky presses you against the wall for a dirty, bruising kiss, and then he lifts you, carrying you through the door, turning the lights on as he goes. He half-tosses you onto the bed, like you’re nothing more than a rag doll.
“Stay,” he orders, when you start to squirm up toward the headboard. “Stay right there. Spread those legs and show me where you need me.”
Your feet are still dangling over the end of the bed, so you plant them flat on the mattress, bending your knees, exposing yourself. Your cheeks burn as you do it, but Bucky grins, smug and sure, stripping his tie and shirt off to reveal skin and muscle that make your mouth water. Then he unbuttons his slacks and pushes them down, along with his boxer briefs. When he straightens up again, you get a good look at his cock, the thick length of it flushed red.
He sidles closer, standing at the foot of the bed and looming over you, stroking himself a few times. He lets out a low chuckle, and you realize you must be staring.
“Is that what you want?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you breathe.
Without warning, so fast it startles you, he grabs your ankles and yanks you down the bed. You let out an undignified sort of squeak, disoriented, and before you can recover he’s got your ass to the edge of the bed, his arms hooked under your knees, leaving you wide-open and exposed.
“I don’t give a sugar-frosted fuck what you want,” he says, low and sweet like a purr.
It takes a second for you to recognize your own words, and you gape at him.
“Wait — what?”
“I’m gonna teach you a lesson, baby,” he says softly, pressing your left knee back and out with one hand, pinning you. With the other hand, he rubs the head of his cock against your entrance and then slides it up your center, hot slick pressure teasing your clit as he continues, “It’s like I told you: you can’t always get what you want.”
You whimper, looking up at him as he smiles.
The first inch is the most incredible stretch, a perfect pleasure-pain you’ve never felt before, and the wave of friction rolls out through your whole body, making you arch your back and tilt your hips up for more. He works himself in a little deeper before thrusting a few times, just a couple inches. He’s fucking you with less than half of his length but it’s already overwhelming, iron-hard and searing inside of you.
He presses deeper, dragging against something inside that sends a jolt of heat up your spine, and you moan, twisting and grabbing helplessly at the duvet. He presses the heel of his hand down on your lower belly, right over that spot, increasing the pressure as your eyes roll back in your head.
“There, huh?” he asks, with a wolfish grin.
Then he moves, fucking you with quick jabbing thrusts, and you have to cover your own mouth to stifle your desperate shout. It’s so fucking good but it’s so fucking much, this bright electric sensation rocketing through you with every movement, winding you up…
Bucky slows just as you feel the first teasing wave of your orgasm tightening in your core. You let out a sob, writhing under him, desperate, pulled back from the edge again.
“Look at me,” he orders, rocking into you at a torturously slow pace.
He’s staring down at the place where his cock splits you open, and he’s flushed, the muscled expanse of his chest sheened with sweat. He looks almost as wrecked as you feel, but his eyes are flinty and intent.
Unlike you, he’s in complete control here.
“Did that feel good?”
You’re too close to be coherent; all you can manage is a few choked-off vowel sounds.
“Try that again,” he says, with a smirk.
“Yes,” you groan. “Fuck, yes, please. I want —”
“Not yet.” He pulls out without warning, and you whimper. “On your knees.”
Before you can process the command, he’s manhandling you, flipping you onto your stomach, gripping your hips to get you in position. He grinds against you, wet cock sliding along the crack of your ass, and smacks the side of your thigh, making you twitch and groan.
He holds you in place while he lines up again, but you arch your back helplessly when you feel the slick pressure again, trying to urge him on.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you really do want it, don’t you?” Bucky growls. “Look at you tryin’ to fuck yourself on my cock.”
“Please,” you manage.
He thrusts into you with one smooth movement, hips snapping forward, filling you all at once, making your eyes roll back and your arms give out. You collapse forward with a shout, face-down on the duvet, and he doesn’t give you a second to adjust; he slides out slow, a long steady drag, and slams back in, so deep it feels like he might split you open.
Bucky grabs you around your waist and tugs you upright, holding you against his chest, his arm like an iron band around your ribs.
“Had enough?” he teases, right up against your ear. He rolls his hips slowly, tiny circles that press against some incredible sweet spot inside you.
“Please, daddy,” you whisper.
You can feel his reaction to that, the way his chest heaves as he sucks in a breath, the way his cock throbs inside you, and you half-sob as you squeeze around him.
“Did you learn your lesson, princess?” he says raggedly, hips working in little figure-eights like he can’t help himself.
“Yes,” you gasp. “Promise. Fuck, please, I need —”
“Don’t worry, babygirl, gonna give you exactly what you need,” Bucky says, his voice gorgeously strained and raw.
He slides a hand down between your legs, rocking forward again as he pushes the heel of his hand against your clit. The intensity of the combined sensations is blinding — exquisite fullness and blunt friction all at once — molten heat surging in your core —
“I’ve got you,” Bucky growls. “Come for daddy.”
It builds hard and fast, tension coiling up, winding you tighter, stripping away every rational thought and every scrap of shame until all you can do is let it crest and break.
Everything goes white when the first wave crashes through you. You’re distantly aware of Bucky half-shouting your name, grinding in deep as he comes, cock twitching inside you, so close you can barely tell his orgasm from your own; it’s just one slick pulsing rush after another as you shudder through it together.
“Spoiled rotten,” he murmurs, kissing the round of your shoulder as you both try to catch your breath.
You don’t bother to deny it.
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Warnings: Smut, fluff, swearing, public sex, choking, strap-on (Nat receiving), mommy kink, let me know if I miss any.
Word Count: 1,530
A/N: I’ve seriously lost my touch with the warnings but to be fair I’m drunk while doing this so we can hope for the best. But I did promise that I would write tonight so I’m keeping it. I can’t promise that this will be that good though lol.
Pairing: Bottom Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
"I would’ve thought the big bad black widow would be better at pool." Tony stuck his tongue out at Natasha as she scratched.
“Oh shove it up your ass, Stark or you’ll wake up without a tongue tomorrow.” She rolled her eyes jokingly.
It was a night free of any troubles or crimes for once and everyone decided it would be nice to soak it in with some quality team bonding. It’s not every day the world decides to behave itself.
“(Y/L/N), you’re up,” Steve called over to you, breaking your conversation with a certain Sokovian witch.
You made your way over to the group and grabbed the stick. Carefully lining it up, you hit two of the stripes in. Bucky cheered from behind you and you smiled at him and handed the stick to Wanda.
“One more to go, Maximoff.” You encouraged her.
She carefully aimed it and then hit it perfectly, causing the rest of your team to burst into cheers and the opposing team to roll their eyes with smiles on their faces. You felt a pair of eyes staring at you intensely. As you raised an eyebrow at the redhead, she blushed and looked away, vanishing behind the wall of tall men. You fell into a short conversation with Bucky and you could tell that Natasha was staring at you again.
“What’s up with her?” Bucky asked, noticing how Natasha was staring at you like a piece of meat. The two of you are dating and she hasn’t said a word to you all night, you thought she was mad at you, but by the way she’s eying you, it seems that might not be the case.
“She’s been staring at me all night,” You chuckled, glancing over at her briefly and smiling warmly.
“Well, thank you for the enjoyable night everyone, but I’m calling it. Don’t want to be the embodiment of the walking dead tomorrow when I go for my run.” Steve announced, a few people cringing at his pop culture reference.
“Grandpopsicle, I’m afraid you’ve been hanging around Peter too much,” You called after him as he left the room. He chuckled and shook his head. Everyone else finished up their drinks and left gradually, leaving you and Natasha alone. While she was distracted by whatever was on her phone, you snuck up behind her and wrapped your arms around her waist, nuzzling your face into her neck. You always loved the way she smelled, it wasn’t anything too harsh or strong, can’t make it easy for enemies to track you just by your scent.
“Hi detka,” She smiled and leaned her head against yours.
“What’s going on? You were quiet tonight, I was worried.” You asked, enjoying the affection she was showing you. Everyone knows that she wasn’t the most open person in the world, but she was able to find it in herself to let her walls down around you.
“Nothing, it’s stupid…” She mumbled, you could tell she was embarrassed.
“I doubt that, what is it?” You lifted your head to look into her eyes, amused that she would be embarrassed to tell you something, you could tell by the way she was smiling shyly and the way her cheeks were the slightest tint pink that it wasn’t even that bad.
“I just… I don’t know how to play pool. Like I know all of the rules and everything I just…” She trailed off, bringing her hands up to hide her face.
A chuckle left you as you pulled her into your arms, “Well then I guess we should fix that, hm?”
She shrugged and looked over at the pool table. She let out a noise in surprise as you tugged her over to the table.
“Well first, show me how you have been doing it and we can adjust from there.” You hand her the stick and she nods.
Complying, she sets the ball up and lines the tip of the stick up with the ball and hits it. Stepping behind her, you reach around and help her adjust her grip on the pool stick, “You need to loosen up a little bit, relax. And when you hit it, hit it like this,” You move her to help her hit it and it goes in perfectly. She was too distracted by the object poking against her ass to be able to pay attention to what you were showing her. A shade of red flushed her neck and her cheeks as she realized what it was.
“Natasha?” You pull her out of her daze, not missing the way her face was red. You smirked at her, noticing how the black in her eyes had expanded.
“Uhm… yeah, yeah, okay.” She shakes herself out of it, trying to mask her flustered state. She turned around and did pretty much the same thing she did the first time as she didn’t hear a word you said to her before. You step behind her again and show her again, pulling her against you a little further, at this point just wanting to see how long before she would break. You could play this game all night. Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt it closer, “Fuck…” She said under her breath.
“What was that?” You asked innocently.
Her only response was turning around and pulling your lips against her’s fervently. You bit down on her bottom lip, drawing a moan out of her. The shorter woman’s hands travelled down to the button of your pants, quickly undoing them and pushing them down. Before she knew it, she was being lifted on top of the green felted table and her hands were pinned above her head. You practically tore her clothes off, desperately wanting to feel her soft skin under your fingertips. To feel her body react to your touch so perfectly. Her back arched as you trailed a mixture of soft and hard kisses down her body, leading to where she’s been craving you all night. You teased her along the apex of her thighs, drawing whimpers and whines from her.
“Please…” The woman moaned.
“Please what?” You asked though you knew exactly what it is she wanted.
“Fuck me with your mouth…” She panted, “Please, mommy.”
You adored the way that she liked to act all in charge everywhere else but in the bedroom, she was like putty in your hands. Wasting no time, you licked a stripe up her soaking cunt, sending a shiver up her body. You groaned and focused closely on her clit before moving slowly down to her dripping hole. You must have hit the perfect spot somewhere in your ministrations because her hands flew down to grasp your hair hard as a silent scream left her followed by panting and loud moans.
“Fuck, right there, please- God…” She rambled on.
Right before she reached her high, you pulled away. She pulled you down by the shirt and slammed your back against the table, quickly straddling you.
“God you’re so fucking desperate,” You said between breaths, surprised by her sudden movement. She bit her lip as she lined the toy attached to your hips with herself. You groaned at the sight of the former assassin sinking down onto it with her mouth hung open and her eyes screwed shut. Natasha reached down and grabbed your hand, placing it on her throat, signalling you to squeeze. You jutted your hips up into her, meeting her as she pushed herself down onto your cock again. She screamed out as you hit that spot right inside of her. Mesmerized by the way her tits bounced with every bounce on your cock, you didn’t notice the signs of her getting close to her release. You pulled out and picked her up, and turning her over, pushing her arms against her back with her ass up in the air as she was bent over the table. If it was even possible, she got even wetter from all of this. She gasped as you suddenly rammed the strap on back into her dripping pussy. Your speed wouldn’t let up, which quickly lead her to an aggressive orgasm washing over her. It was a mix of everything, your grunts from behind her, the feeling of you pinning her and railing her against the pool table, all of it. She came with a loud scream, her walls squeezing tight around the silicone toy. You kept your movements going, letting her ride out her high.
“Fuck…” She groaned as she finally came down, whimpering as she felt you pull out. She turned around and pulled you by your shirt, crashing her lips into yours again, wrapping her legs around your waist, just wanting to feel you. You smiled against the kiss, just loving this woman so much. You pulled away as you remembered breathing was a thing. You chuckled, “What do you say we take this up to the bedroom, yeah?” You gently brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. Natasha nodded frantically, quickly picking her things up and dragging you to the elevators. This was going to be a long night…
Taglist: @imnotasuperhero @rooskaya-yelena @aaron-despair @natasha-danvers @dynnealberto @natasharomanoffswife
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a sunflower in the shadows
part 1 | part 2
a/n: thank you so much for 200 followers! I am planning on making this fic a series and I am very excited about it so I hope you all enjoy!
warnings: discussion of past child abuse (vague), mentions of injuries (stab wounds)
pairing: natasha romanoff x reader
summary: when the famous black widow defects to S.H.I.E.L.D, the reader sees the light in her. little do they know they will fall more and more in love with the redhead everyday.
words: 3.4k | natasha x reader masterlist | navigation post
Your phone was ringing. It was 3 in the morning and your phone was ringing, which could only mean one thing. Fury needed you for a mission. You groaned and answered your phone, surprised when you heard Clint’s voice and not Fury’s. “Clint, what the hell?”
“Y/N I have a problem, Fury’s going to kill me.” You groaned thinking about what kind of trouble he got himself into this time. “What did you do?”
“I may or may not be taking the Black Widow back to S.H.I.E.L.D right now…” You took a moment to process what your friend just said. His mission was simple, eliminate the target, but no of course he did his own thing. “What the hell do you mean you're bringing her in?”
“You have to trust me, I’m doing the right thing.” If you trusted anyone, it was him. After all, he was your first friend at S.H.I.E.L.D. “Okay, okay I trust you, what do you need me to do?”
“Meet me at headquarters in 20?”
“Fine.” You got up and quickly threw on something slightly more presentable. God, you couldn’t believe you were about to back him up with this. You remember just last week Fury was going on and on about how this girl needed to be taken out ASAP. It took them a whole week until they could even get a potential location on this girl. From what you read about her she was dangerous, a master of manipulation, skilled in all trades. How does Clint know she isn’t going to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D and kill everyone at headquarters? You have no idea. But for some reason, you trust his judgment.
When you arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D, you waited for Clint in the parking lot. When his car finally pulled up, you watched as a small redheaded girl hopped out of the car with him. This couldn’t be the famous Black Widow you thought. She looked far too young to be the most dangerous assassin in the world. But you knew better than to underestimate anyone, so you kept your guard up. “This is Natalia,” Clint nudged the redhead to shake your hand. You extended your hand to her, but she wouldn’t even look you in the eyes. She seemed afraid, which confused you. Maybe it was an act? But you knew how to see through people and this? This did not seem like an act. You retracted your hand and introduced yourself, “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you,” you tried to sound friendly. The girl still refused to meet your gaze or even respond. Clint shrugged at you, not knowing why she refused to speak.
“Can I talk to you alone for a second?” you asked as you pulled Clint aside. “You need to tell me exactly what happened on this mission Barton?”
“I traced her down to what seemed like an abandoned run-down old house, the place looked like it was on the brink of falling apart. I went inside and I was ready to just complete the mission and go home but she was injured when I found her.” you glanced over at the girl to check for any signs of injury, “she doesn’t look injured?”
“She has a stab wound on her stomach, I wrapped it but she didn’t make any indication that she was in pain the entire time I’ve been with her. Y/N she didn’t even fight back, she was just going to let me kill her and it-it didn’t sit right with me.” Clint was a father of two, soon to be three so you knew he had a big heart. But even you were suspicious of the situation, why would she just readily accept death like that?
You approached the redhead once again and went to place a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from your touch. You and Clint exchanged a worried glance before telling the girl to follow you inside. “Fury isn’t going to be happy,” you whispered on the way to his office, “yeah I know.”
Despite it being almost 4 in the morning, you knew Fury would still be here, he always was. You didn’t even knock when you entered the room with Barton and the girl beside you. Fury immediately stood up, ready to yell at you, but you didn’t let him start. “Look I know you're probably pissed, but I’m not going to stand here and let you kill this girl.”
“Have you two lost your minds?” Fury practically screamed back.
“Fury she didn’t even try to fight me, she was just going to let me kill her. Isn’t that a little suspicious?” Clint said, trying to defend his decision. “She is a master manipulator, did you stop and think about the possibility that this is what she wanted? For you to bring her here?” You had thought about it and you knew that was not what was going on here. “Sir I know when I’m being played and I can guarantee that that is not what's going on here.” Fury was raging with anger and you could practically feel Natalia shaking from across the room. “I’ll take her home with me, she will be 100% my responsibility, I swear nothings going to happen, sir.”
Fury laughed and he never laughed. “That's cute Agent Y/L/N. You know what, fine, you wanna take her in, be my guest. But if anything happens, if anything goes south, that's on you. Are you really willing to bet your career, the lives of everyone here, and your own life on her?” He was not expecting you to drop it but you replied, “Yes.” Fury was so flabbergasted, he motioned for you all to exit his office so you quickly left.
“That could have gone worse,” Clint said, “you didn’t have to offer to take her in, you don’t have to put everything on the line for her, I never asked you to do that.”
“I know, but I see something in her. I know you didn’t ask me to, but I want to. I can’t explain it, but I-” Clint cut you off, “I trust you, if you say you see something in her, then I trust that you do.” And with that being said you took the redhead to your apartment.
Natalia was quiet the entire car ride to your apartment, she just stared out the window. You didn’t even try to make conversation, knowing she didn’t seem up to talking. You only spoke to announce that you arrived at your apartment. The redhead followed behind you, not beside you which gave you an eerie feeling. When you opened the door to your apartment she would not enter until you explicitly stated she could. Once again that icky feeling bubbles in your stomach.
You motioned for her to follow you to the guest bedroom, “Let me grab you some clothes, tomorrow we can go shopping and get you your own stuff.” When you returned to the room, you tossed Natalia one of your sweatshirts and a pair of your sweatpants. “I bet it's been a long day, you hungry?” The redhead finally met your eyes, but still didn’t respond. “You alright?” You asked, trying to get a response out of the girl. “Yes, sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, you did nothing wrong. Come on, let's eat.” You headed to the kitchen and started whipping up some noodles, “You want red sauce or pesto?” You asked which earned you a confused look from the girl, “I don’t know, I’ve never had either.”
“Oh, well then let's do red sauce, it's a classic.” The girl sat down at the table and you watched out of the corner of your eye as she twiddled with the end of her dutch braids. “I love your braids, I could never do them that good,” you watched as a small smile grew on the girl's face. “Thank you, someone taught me a long time ago.” You mentally patted yourself on the back since you finally got her to smile as you finished the noodles.
You placed a bowl of noodles in front of the girl as she quietly thanked you, “so I am assuming you have a lot of questions?” You knew she didn’t want to have this conversation just as much as you didn’t, but it was best to get it out of the way. “I’m just confused as to why I’m still alive.”
“Let me make one thing extremely clear, no one is going to kill you, you are safe here with us.”
“So then why am I here?” The girl looked confused. “I want to help you, that's why I want to give you a second chance at living a life. I don’t know anything about you, but from my observations, I’m going to guess you haven't done much living.”
“I’ve been training since I was four, I’m not sure what else there is to life.” Your eyes widened at the realization, you needed to call Fury. You two finished your dinners, you let Natalia head off to bed. Once you knew she was in her room for the night, you called Fury. “What do you want Y/N?” he said clearly, still pissed off about earlier. “I was right Nick, something was going on.”
“Care to elaborate, Agent?”
“She told me she started training when she was four years old.” Silence filled the space before you heard Fury deeply exhale. “Take today off, show her around the city, do whatever you need to do. Then tomorrow, I want you both in my office at 7 am sharp, do I make myself clear?”
The next morning, you woke up early, hoping you would wake before the redhead. This was unsuccessful as you found the girl sitting on the couch. “Morning, here are some clothes for today, once you're ready we can head out?” she nodded and grabbed the clothes from you, and went to change.
It only took her like five minutes to get ready and re-braid her hair, which you found impressive, “You’re fast, alright let's go.” You decided you wanted to bring her to your favorite coffee shop so she could try pastries and get some much-needed coffee. When you headed into the coffee shop you asked her how she liked her coffee and she replied that she only ever drank black coffee. “I’ll just try whatever you're getting if that's ok,” you nodded and told her to find you a table. Once you got the food and drinks you headed to the table and placed them in front of the girl, “it's an iced vanilla latte and there's banana bread in the bag.” You watched as Natalia tried the coffee and food and were delighted when a small smile appeared on her face, “you like it?” she nodded with a smile.
Once you finished up breakfast, you brought the girl to the mall with you. You headed into multiple stores trying to help the girl pick some clothes for herself, but making her own choices was proving difficult to her. “Sorry I/ve never done this before.”
“It's okay, you don't have to apologize, we can take our time, we got all day.” Slowly Natalia started to pick out some things. Plain tee shirts, plain long sleeves, some socks, a few jackets, leggings, jeans, and other undergarments started making their way into your cart. Then you went to get some other essentials like shampoo, conditioner, lotion, etc. Once again the girl had no idea what to get or why there was more than one brand of these things. You combed your fingers through her soft hair to attempt to feel how the texture was so you could pick good products for her hair.
After hours and hours of shopping, you finally got everything you needed. You decided to take Natalia to your favorite park so you two could just walk around and relax a bit. As you two walked through the park, you noticed the girl was fascinated by all the colorful flowers. “Pretty aren't they?”
“Yeah, I’ve never really stared at them long enough to notice.” You reach down to pick a little white flower from the ground and go to place it in the girl's braid. “It's beautiful,” you said smiling.
The next morning you were up bright and early, not as early as Natalia, but still. You knew you needed to be exactly on time for your meeting with Fury. You told the redhead you two were going to meet with Fury today and her guard immediately was up. “Hey, it's okay, nothing bad is going to happen, I think he just wanted to discuss your potential future with S.H.I.E.L.D.”
When you two arrived, Fury was already waiting for you in the main lobby. He walked you two to his office where you saw Barton was already sitting. “Okay, we have two options here. One she trains here with you two and maybe she can work for S.H.I.E.L.D if and when she proves we can trust me. Or two, you two can work with her and the state to assimilate her to life while she is a longer a spy. It's up to her.”
“I want to work,” you were surprised she actually answered him. “Alright then it's settled, you two are in charge of her. She is to only train with you two and no weapons got it?”
“Got it,” you were about to exit his office before he stopped you, “but before any of that, Natalia you need to tell us where and who trained you.”
The four of you sat in Fury's office for what felt like hours as Natalia spilled all the secrets of a place called the red room. You had heard about it before, there was once an agent named Dottie that defected to S.H.I.E.L.D from them. Her story was heartbreaking. She had no memories of a family, she had no memories of anything besides fighting. When she said she was the only survivor of the twenty-eight girls in her class, you thought you were going to be sick.
“Ok I think I’ve heard enough,” Fury said, sounding like he too was going to be sick. The three of you hurried out of Fury’s office and you all headed to the training room.
“I should change my name if I am staying here,” Natalia said which caused you and Clint to turn around to face her. “Yeah that’s a good idea, you have a name you like?”
“Natasha Romanoff, the American version of my name works.”
“I love it,” you replied, earning you another smile from the girl, “can I call you Nat?”
“Sure,” she shrugged. Once you arrived at the training room you laid out the ground rules for training, “I know how you trained and sparred is different, that's how we train so let me just clarify, sparring is just for practice, we aren't killing or injuring anyone. First Nat sparred with Clint and you were blown away with just how good she was. When you sparred with her you kept up with her at the start, but she completely got you off guard. “You're really good.”
1 month later
After you and Nat’s walk in the park, you started bringing flowers all the time since it made Nat smile. And God did you love to see her smile. Nat was adjusting to S.H.I.E.L.D well and Fury was starting to trust her more and more. You even saw Fury having lunch with Nat one day which made your heart happy. Maybe he would take her in as a daughter as he did with you.
“Tsvetok,” you also started calling Nat flower in Russian as a nickname, “Fury wants us to come in.” She nodded and grabbed her coat as you two hurried to his office. It was almost midnight, so you aren't sure why you are being called in. When you arrived Fury had a small file on his desk, “I have a trial mission for you two.” You were overjoyed, he was finally letting you take Nat into the field. “It's just a recon mission, but it is time sensitive so you need to leave now.”
Overjoyed with excitement you jumped up and hugged Fury, “thank you for this.” Fury sighed, but hugged you back, “alright alright get out of here,” you laughed as you excitedly dragged Nat to the jet.
“You seem very excited about this,” Nat said in a teasing manner, “I’ve been dying to take you into the field.” You threw a S.H.I.E.L.D uniform at her, telling her you would get one made for her soon, and boarded the jet. You made your way to the passenger seat and Nat sat beside you as she carefully read the file. “Don’t worry, this mission is easy, we just need to upload the information onto the hard drive.”
The mission ended up going flawlessly, proving to Fury just how helpful and good Nat was. After this mission, he granted Nat access to weaponry and officially declared her a S.H.I.E.L.D agent.
To celebrate you took Natasha to her favorite diner and surprised her with the most beautiful flower arrangement she had ever seen, “Y/N these are beautiful, thank you,” she brought them up to her face to smell them and smile. “Beautiful just like you.”
2 months later
Nat had been going on more and more missions with you and officially became your new mission partner since Clint was preparing to retire to spend more time with his kids. Nat even got to go on solo missions now and you were just so proud of her. She was still adjusting to life, decisions were still hard to make, but you walked her through it all. You were her rock.
You were currently on your first solo mission in a while, but luckily you finished early. You had been gone for a few days and just wanted to go back to see Nat, you even skipped going to medical just to see her.
When you walked through the door you were met with Natasha practically running to give you a hug. You were so glad she was becoming more of a hugger because you adored hugs. She always gave the best ones. “Tsvetok, I missed you.”
“Ya skuchal po tebe bol'she (I missed you more).”
Quickly her happy expression faded into worry when she saw blood seeping through your shirt, you looked down realizing the fast stitching you did on the jet probably wasn’t tight enough and your wound burst open. Natasha ran to get a first aid kit and got you sat on the couch. “What happened?” She asked as she got to stitching you up properly. “Nothing just got stabbed a little,” you laughed. “A little? This doesn’t look little!”
“Oh relax I’m fine, plus I’ve got the best person in the world to take care of me.” Natasha finished patching you up with her gentle soft hands that you loved so much. When you first met the redhead you never expected to fall in love with her. But you have been living together for months now and you knew you were madly in love with her. You just couldn’t tell her, you were too scared that she wouldn’t feel the same.
“Nat I got you something,” you reached into your bag and pulled out a sunflower, “it's sort of crushed now, but it reminded me of you.”
“How?” the redhead laughed. “You are this light in the darkness, even on the darkest days you stand tall and find the sun.” Natasha stared into your eyes and the whole world faded away. She nervously grabbed your face and pulled you into a kiss, then pulled back and started muttering “I'm sorrys.”
“Don’t apologize,” you grabbed her chin so she looked at you, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you leaned in to kiss her again and this time she didn’t pull away. She was forever going to be your sunflower. Your light in the dark.
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Come Back Home (Bucky x reader)
Come back home
Bucky x reader
Word count: 3,061
Summary: You were getting worse and were afraid to hurt Bucky, but unable to hide it. Instead of talking it out, you ran away. Embarrassed and afraid, you avoid the calls and voicemails from the man you left. But one night, you can’t help but listen to them, and you need to hear his voice.
Warnings: depression, reader blames herself, Bucky blames himself, anxiety attack, lots of tears, lots of fluff and comfort
I actually got this idea from @thelifeof.jana on TikTok, she posts different scenarios with comfort characters and I wanted to make it into a fic.
Tags: @buckfics @buckys2thicc @abitgryffindorky @stucky-on-spiderman @thatfangirl42 @thundering-barnes
A/N: It’s nearly finals week and it is CRUNCH TIME so I’ve been writing when I can, I apologize for the sporadic-ness of it. Thanks for sticking with me!
A/N 2: I left a few things to interpretation, such as a nightmare. Insert what you want, I know everyone has different experiences and I wanted this to be as relatable to as many people as I could. I also left out when y/n gives an address because 1) I don’t know New York and 2) It’s likely somebody’s address in real life so...interpretation.
Your phone began ringing, piercing the otherwise silent house and startling you
You stared at the phone, taking a deep breath.
You picked it up and turned it over, closing your eyes and letting a breath out.
Don’t answer it.
You looked at the screen again, seeing the name of your favorite person.
Please, I wanna hear his voice.
Letting a breath out, you put the phone down and sat on the floor next to your bed, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Then you were left in the silence once again.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, waiting a few more seconds for the next noise. Sure enough, your phone made a sound, notifying you of yet another voicemail.
Another addition to your library of ignored messages.
You picked up your phone, clicking to see the messages you never listened to.
25 unheard messages. All of them from Bucky.
Your finger hovered over them for a moment, allowing yourself to ponder listening to them. But you sighed, closing your phone and placing it back on the nightstand. You couldn’t listen to them. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to resist calling him back. And you couldn’t take that risk.
You’d spent this much time without him. Once you heard his voice you’d be spilling everything to him. Just like you used to. Which is why you left in the first place.
Bucky was special to you. He always had been. Despite all the trauma he’d gone through, he was still kind and gentle. He had been the one to pull you out of the dark place you were in at the time. He was always there to talk to you, listen to you, or help you take care of yourself when you just couldn’t anymore. He’d sat through many of your panic attacks and calm you down if you had a nightmare, just as you would for him. He would drop anything for you, you always came first.
And that was the problem.
He did too much for you, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. This man had already gone through so much pain and suffering and was finally getting better. He was going out more and the nightmares happened much less often. You were grateful for the love he gave you, and you loved him more than anything.
Which is why you couldn’t bring him down anymore. So, one day when he was out on a mission, you had packed up your few positions and left him a note.
I just wanted you to know that I love you so much, but I have to go now. I’m sorry.
You had to keep it brief. If you said anything more you knew you’d say too much, and it would only make leaving harder. And if he knew you were leaving because you were hurting too much, he wouldn’t stop until he found you.
Not that he wasn’t looking for you know.
You had rented out a room in the cheapest hotel your could find in somewhere-New-York-City. It was small, it wasn’t the cleanest, but it was fine. You didn’t care, it was functional. Within hours of leaving, your phone started ringing. Not that you answered. You couldn’t, not when you would start crying once you heard his voice.
You got many texts and calls that night.
Where are you? Y/n are you okay??
Tell me where you are, we can talk this out, please.
You couldn’t bring yourself to read more than that. You silenced his messages and let the calls go to voicemail, never able to bring yourself to reject a call, instead letting it ring all the way until he got the same voicemail message every time.
Hi, it’s y/n. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, have a nice day!
The same fake cheery message every time, giving an empty promise.
What you didn’t know was that on the other end of the line, Bucky was shattering a bit more with each voicemail he left.
He couldn’t understand what could have happened. Why you had left all of a sudden. He knew you had some bad days, and the first time he had read it he was terrified that you had done something. He usually was able to see when things were getting bad again but he couldn’t think of what he could have missed. When he saw that you had read his texts that night, seeing the word read appear after a few of them, he told himself that you were okay.
Because he didn’t know what he was going to do if you weren’t.
What you didn’t know was that you had helped Bucky just as much if not more so than he had helped you. His nightmares happened less often because you were there with him every night. He was more outgoing because you had dragged him out to those first few bars and parties. He felt happier because he was helping you, and you made him feel safe and wanted.
And then you left.
He couldn’t sleep most nights, worried about you. Most of the nights he did sleep, he dreamt about you and everything that could have happened. He called you every day, multiple times, needing desperately to hear your voice. He withdrew again, only going on one mission when the team absolutely needed him. It was his only sense of purpose anymore, but it meant nothing compared to what you had meant to him
But you didn’t know that. Because you hadn’t opened any of his messages yet.
It was late now, and Bucky was discouraged. It had been over a week since you had left, and his texts had gone unread ever since a the first night you left. It wasn’t a long time. But it was still too long. He decided to try your phone once more.
Bucky closed his eyes, begging you would pick up, silently knowing you wouldn’t.
“Hi, it’s y/n. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, have a nice day!”
Sighing, he got ready to leave a voicemail. After the beep he said, broken.
“Please y/n. Come back home.”
You sighed as yet another round of rings echoed through your apartment, hearing the notification soon after, notifying you of yet another new voicemail.
You looked at the time. 11:03 P.M.
You sighed, knowing you should get some sleep. But no matter how tired you were, you knew that once you closed your eyes, you would have nightmares again. And no one would be here this time.
You couldn’t deny it, you weren’t doing well. Your appetite had diminished and you relied heavily on caffeine to supplement the sleep you refused to get. Not that it helped your appetite in any way.
You would go through the motions, make it to work (most days) and get through the day just to...get through the day. You weren’t living really. Just surviving. You knew it was getting bad again, some nights so dark you weren’t sure if you would see the light the next day. Yet you couldn’t let yourself call him. You didn’t want to hurt him.
But you didn’t know that you had already hurt him more by leaving than you ever could’ve by staying.
You sighed, knowing that eventually, you were going to need to sleep. Might as well try to. You didn’t know if for sure you would have a nightmare, so may as well try?
That turned out to be wishful thinking.
Major wishful thinking.
You woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and looking around the room frantically. When you realized it was just a dream, you put your face in your hands and felt tears immediately prick your eyes.
When was this going to stop?
You felt your chest contract as you realized the truth. It wasn’t. Not like this at least.
Just over a week and you were already at your breaking point.
You looked at the time. 2:47 AM.
You couldn’t call him now.
You opened your phone and found Bucky’s contact, finger hovering over the name once again. At the last second, you clicked your voicemail inbox instead, scrolling back down to the first one on the night you left.
Your breath hitched as you heard his voice, fresh tears pricking your eyes. Not just from his voice and how much you had missed it, but also the absolute panic in his voice.
“Where are you? Are you okay? Why- why did you leave? Please, answer the phone, I need to know you’re okay.”
You clicked on another one from a few hours later.
“Y/n, please, I saw you read the first few texts I sent. Please answer the phone. We can talk this out, whatever it is just - please call me.”
Tears were falling from your eyes, and you didn’t have it in your power or even the desire to stop them. You flicked to another one that was sent a few days later, this one was longer.
“Please y/n,” it started, his voice soft and cracking with emotion. “Where are you? Just - just tell me where you are, please. I need you. These past few days it’s like I hear your voice and then there’s nothing. I miss you so much. I’m nothing without you please....please just come back home. I don’t care what you did or think you did or why you left. I love you. And I could never stop loving you. I can come get you, we can talk this out. Please. I can’t do this without you. I - I’m falling apart.”
You were now sobbing as you flicked over to your text messages and clicked on Bucky’s name, seeing texts upon texts from him.
One of the more recent one’s caught your attention.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
Never, never in your heart did you ever think Bucky would think that he had done something to drive you away. Your heart broke, realizing he could be blaming himself for your leaving. It was never his fault. It could never be his fault.
With shaking hands, you pressed the phone icon below his name, bringing the phone to your ear as you listened to it ring.
You tried to control your breathing through the tears, falling apart after a few seconds of thinking you had it together.
Please pick up, I need to hear your voice.
I’m sorry this is all my fault.
Please, I -
Your breath hitched and your eyes flew open. Your words got caught in your mouth, having no idea what to say. Bucky, on the other side of the line, hadn’t even looked at the caller ID. He hadn’t fully fallen asleep yet, but the tiredness was evidence in his voice.
“Hello?” he said again
“I’m sorry,” you choked out.
Bucky’s eyes flew open and he pulled away his phone, seeing your name across the screen. All exhaustion was gone from his body, and he heard you trying to control your breathing on the other side of the line.
“I’m so sorry…” you said again, breaking out into sobs.
“Y/n, can you tell me what’s wrong? Where are you?” he said, panicked and getting out of bed, pulling on a shirt and shoes.
“I’m sorry, Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you said again, not being able to say much else.
“Y/n, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re okay. But I need you to tell me where you are, can you do that for me?”
He waited for a moment while you tried to pull yourself together enough to repeat the address of the hotel.
As you did, Bucky was already out the door and in the car, starting it and putting you on speaker, driving as fast as he could to the hotel and ignoring all traffic signals. It was the middle of the night, and you were not okay.
“I’ll be there soon, angel, can you keep talking to me?
“I’m sorry Bucky…”
“It’s okay y/n. You’re okay. We’re okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
His words didn’t reach your ears, your breathing getting harder to control and your tears fell faster. You had fucked up, this was your fault. Why did you call him, now he knows where you are and you were going to burden him with all your shit again.
He could hear your breathing become labored as he sped further towards your location. He tried talking to you more but he soon realized that he wouldn’t be of much use until he was in front of you. His heart was breaking and he was hoping nothing was seriously wrong.
But you wouldn’t have called him like this if nothing was wrong.
Clenching his jaw, he scanned the street signs for yours, knowing the city well enough to know he was close.
When he pulled up to the street, he couldn’t help but wince at how dingy this place was. It was run down and the smell was putrid. He was so sad that this was where you had run off to. He took his phone, saying how he was here but it fell upon deaf ears. You weren’t calm enough to hear his voice from the phone you had dropped when you had moved to cover your face instead.
Bucky took the stairs 3 at a time, getting to your room in record time. He pounded on the door, trying the knob even though he knew it would be locked. Calling out your name and getting no response, he decided to break the door in. It was barely hanging on its hinges anyway.
“Y/n? Y/n where are you?” he called out, met only with the sounds of your labored breathing. He followed it to your room, where you had curled yourself into a ball against the headboard, hands covering your face as you struggled to breathe.
He walked over to your side, reaching out his hand but thinking better at the last moment. He needed to make sure you knew that he was there, he didn’t want to scare you.
“Y/n?” he starts softly.
You lifted your head and looked around yourself wildly, startled when you saw the figure of a man standing in front of you, trying to push him away. He grabbed your arms and you tried to break free
How did he get in here?
What does he want with me?
Your eyes settle on his. Light blue eyes, staring right back into yours. You knew them, you were safe with them. Your own eyes, red and blotchy flash with realization and you let out a sob.
He took you into his arms as sobs wracked your body, rubbing an arm up and down your back in efforts to calm your shaking form. He was repeating comforting words over and over again. You clung to his shirt as you kept apologizing over and over again, not knowing what else to say - or even how to say it.
“I’m so sorry…”
“Shh, y/n, it’s okay.”
“I’m here. I got you.”
You tried to focus on his heartbeat, steady and strong, as you tried to take deep breaths. Eventually your tears slowed down as you still clung to him, tears drying on your face as you were able to deepen your breathing to match his. His hand still rubbed up and down your back as the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes.
You took a shaky breath. “I - I’m so sorry Bucky.”
Bucky took a deep breath and held her a little more tightly. He could still feel her heart racing. What could she possibly have to be sorry for?
“What happened y/n?”
You felt tears prick your eyes again. Sadness, shame, embarrassment and made you feel sick to your stomach. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before you were able to speak.
“I - I don’t know.”
“Please y/n. Tell me why you left.”
“I just… I was… “ you swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “It was getting bad again,” you said, voice barely audible.
Bucky clenched his jaw, angry at himself that he didn’t see it. “Why didn’t you tell me? I told you you could talk to me about anything.”
You screwed your eyes shut. “That was the problem…”
Bucky pulled you back to look at you. “What?”
Your eyes darted everywhere but Bucky’s face. You didn’t want to see the pained expression you knew he’d have right now. You took a deep breath.
“I just… you were doing so well. And I - I just felt so bad for bringing you down all the time. You would drop anything for me, and you were always there and you were always perfect but I wasn’t.” you finally looked at him. “And I left because I realized I was never going to be.” You shook your head slightly. “I didn’t want to put you through that when you were doing so well.”
You looked away, unable to look at Bucky’s sad eyes any longer. Bucky broke the silence after a few moments. “You were the only reason I was better.”
Now it was your turn to look at him confused. “What?”
“You brought me out to places when all I wanted was to hide. The nightmares stopped because you were there to make me feel safe. Every time I helped you, I was helping me too,” he said, voice cracking. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You weren’t too much for me, you never could be.”
When you still looked unsure, he moved his hand to cup your cheek. “It’s okay to let people help you, y/n.”
Tears pooled in your eyes once again. That had been what you had said to him when he began closing himself off, be it an intense nightmare or being triggered. Back when things were bad. Like they were for you now.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“It’s okay.” he whispered, hugging you again. “Let’s go home.”
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Practice Makes Perfect
Summary: Bucky's having trouble in the dating department after such a long time. As a friend, you decide to give him a hand and show him what a good date looks like. Y'know, for teaching purposes.
A/N: Here's a oneshot for those who don't follow the blog for the connected story. This one is post-TFaTWS btw!
"What's with the long face?"
Bucky comes into the common room glum as always and without once looking up when he answers your question. Instead, he goes straight for the liquor cabinet and pours himself a glass of whiskey. You and Sam share a long glance knowing full well how much of a bullshit answer that is.
"You ain't brooding for nothing." The pointed glare Sam gets is enough to get a chortle out of you. He exchanges the boring conversation for downing the glass faster than a glass of water instead.
"Sam's right," you say, hiding behind the couch in case he thinks of shooting that glare your way. "You look like you got dumped or something."
Time freezes for a very long second as your words fill the room and linger.
Bucky glares at you this time, nostrils flaring a bit as he serves himself another glass and downs it. Then nothing but silence. But his silence and what you see in those steel-blue eyes is enough to give it away.
Almost instantly, your jaw drops.
"Seriously?" Sam's just as baffled but the small smirk he shows makes it clear that he finds your mutual friend's inability to nail a solid date more than a little amusing. "Was it the redhead?"
"I'm not talking about it," Bucky immediately puts out there, grabbing the glass decanter by its neck intent on taking it with him.
"No, it can't be." You smack Sam on the shoulder to get his attention. "The redhead was last month. He was going out with the brunette, remember? The one with the pretty eyes?"
Sam snaps his fingers, lightbulb practically lighting up above his head. "Oh yeah. The one with the weird obsession with Billy Joel!"
"Hey! Billy Joel's an icon. Don't stain his legacy because some girl took it to another level," you retort.
"If you guys are done..." Shutting up, you and Sam eye the grumpy grampa that's staring you both down as you went down the list of his past suitors. "I'll be in my room. Don't bother me."
"You got it," Sam responds with a chuckle.
As you watch him leave, however, something about how he's so dejected bothers you. Things like these have bothered him before but never to this level. He'll usually yap away after some prodding from you two but that he's so reserved after this one leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
"Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't."
Sam's quick to interject when he sees you pondering. You're never this quiet. And when you are, it's mostly never good. You haven't known Sam for as long as you have Bucky but he's turned out to be a great friend to the both of you. Especially after all this Flag Smasher's business. And with him as the new Captain America, you've had your hands full helping him out where you can. Now that Bucky's getting a better hang of his past and wants to move forward, your work's only doubled.
Sadly you may have neglected one more than the other. And Grandpop Buck over here looks like he needs some serious help now.
"There's no guns involved, promise." You point out as you climb over the back of the couch and saunter over in the direction of Bucky's room. "Or violence. So you've got nothing to worry about."
"That it's you doing whatever you're doing is what worries me."
"C'mon, I'm just gonna go cheer grandpop up."
Sam shakes his head. "Not a good idea."
"You know why."
Your lips purse instantly. Yeah, you do know. Sam knows, too. And apparently, the only one that doesn't know about how you feel is the person in question. But that's not here nor there. You made peace with your one-sided love a long time ago. Bucky needed to deal with his past his own way and you respected that. He wanted to integrate back into somewhat normal life and you respected that. All of those things, you let pass as they should, as he saw fit, even when they didn't involve you.
Wringing your thumbs as a distraction, you breathe out a nervous chuckle back at him.
"That's in the past, Sam. All I wanna do is help a friend out."
It's clear Sam doesn't believe you, but he trusts you enough to do the right thing. So he dismisses you with a wave of his hand and a weary grimace.
With that, you skip away towards grumpy ole grandpa's room and knock a couple of times before opening the door. He doesn't seem mad that you came in uninvited; you both have long gone past the point where you know how the other is. And while Bucky sticks to himself more often than not, you're the bubbly ray of sunshine that bursts in uninvited when you least expect it.
"I thought I made myself clear."
Okay, maybe he's a tiny bit mad.
"You did," you say cautiously as you close the door quietly behind you. He's on his chair near the window basking in the sunlight that comes through, glass in one hand and decanter in the other. Seeing the bed free, you walk up to it and sit cross-legged upon the disturbed comforter.
"But it really sounded like you needed some company."
"What about 'don't bother me' could've possibly given you that idea?"
"It wasn't exactly what you said."
You grimace at how cheesy that sounded. At least it isn't as corny as the real reason as to why you felt like he needed company. What he felt often went unsaid unless heavily prodded. You had learned over time that when Bucky's feeling down, he won't say much if anything at all, but one will be able to see it quite easily if they know where to look for it.
And those steel-blue eyes are the biggest snitch you've ever seen.
Bucky huffs, clearly not buying your shtick but it's not really something you need him to buy. It's the truth—your truth—and there's nothing that can deter you from it. Regrettably, he doesn't seem to see it that way.
"I'm not in the mood for your pep talks," he instantly retorts, taking a long swig of the decanter and forgetting the glass altogether.
Instantly, you shut your mouth at his words. He's really in a sour mood. Anybody would be with the kind of record he's had with girls. Quite a wringer when his past record was that of a lady killer. Then again that was shy of 70 years ago and, well, things changed.
Not to mention that so has he.
"You know, maybe you just need a crash course."
Bucky heaves the longest sigh you've heard today, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose as he exhales through it with eyes scrunched tightly closed.
"No, wait. Hear me out, Buck. Maybe the whole losing streak you've been on isn't so much a 'you' thing as it is an 'it's-no-longer-the-40s' thing. Lots of things have changed since our time."
He scoffs and speaks before taking another swig. "No kidding."
Tired of his self-deprecation, you jump off of his bed and snatch the glass decanter from his metal hand. Frowning down at him doesn't do much even when you try mimicking that sourpuss scowl of his. It doesn't even faze him. Instead, all Bucky does is lean forward in an attempt to retrieve the stolen bottle but you're steadfast at keeping it out of arms reach unless he gets up. Something you're also keeping him from doing by pushing him down onto his chair with your other hand.
"Now, listen to me here, Barnes. Enough of this pity party. If you want to get out there and find someone, you're gonna have to put in the effort."
"Don't you think I do?" he points out, furious.
"I'm not talking about using what you did 70 years ago, buddy. I'm talking about learning a new set of skills and using them."
"Oh, yeah?" His voice rose a bit, obviously incredulous about what you're insinuating. "And who's going to teach me? You?"
It's incredible how quickly his brow rises with utter disbelief and even more so how he lets out a quick laugh. One that dies within the second when he sees you're not backing off.
“Do you trust me?” you ask.
"What's that gotta do with this?" he fires back.
Getting annoyed fast, you slap his arm to get him back on the topic. "Answer the question."
His brow scrunched down, eyes narrow on the arm you just hit, before turning to you. You refuse to back down though and instead play his game, staring him down without blinking. It takes a whole thirty seconds before you've got him rolling his eyes and shaking his head out of frustration. Seeing him backing down, you ask again.
"Do you trust me?"
“You know I do.”
Your expression takes a full 180 turn at that as you smile brightly at him with a playful glint in your eye. “Then you can trust me to take you on the best practice date you'll ever have.”
"Practice—no. Absolutely not."
"C'mon, Bucky!" You stomp your foot down wanting to make a point that seems to be getting away from him. "I've been out here longer than you have. I've gotten used to being out here and I've gotten myself a date or two."
He shakes his head while wagging his finger back at you. "One-night stands don't count."
"I've had more than just one-night stands, thank you very much." Waving dismissively back at him, you pout, "And don't change the subject. The point is, I know what I'm doing. I know what girls want nowadays. And with a quick faux outing, I can let you in on all the juicy little secrets that'll have any girl wrapped around your finger."
"Just because I trust you with my back in a fight, it doesn't mean I trust you with giving me dating advice!"
"Just this once, Bucky! I'm asking you to trust me this once on this specific thing. Can you give me the benefit of the doubt? For the sake of our friendship."
Bucky immediately scowls back at you when you say that. "Don't you play that card with me."
"Then give this a chance. And if it doesn't work..." With a quick glance at the decanter in your hands, you purse your lips before passing it back. "You can drown yourself in liquor even when we both know it does jack shit to either of us, and I'll drop the subject for good."
You're selling a hot bargain with that last chip and you both know it. It's obvious by the way his steel-blue eyes focus on the decanter you flaunt in front of him that he's at least taking the time to consider it.
Maybe for half a second but it's still better than outright being rejected.
And then another full second afterward is when he groans into his hand before snatching the decanter from your small grip.
"Fine, but when this doesn't work you leave me alone, got it?"
"Yes!" Spinning on your heels, you skip away to the door and grin back at him. "I promise you won't regret it! I'm gonna teach you all you'll need and you're gonna have the ladies flocking to you in no time!"
Slamming the door behind you, you're making your way to your room when you run into Sam in the hallway.
"How'd it go?" he asks as he passes you, drink of his own in hand as he heads to his room.
"I have a date with Bucky!"
The spit-take is instant. Thank god your reflexes are fast. Forgetting about something, you run back to Bucky's room and open the door without knocking to only poke your head in.
"Meet me at the pier in two hours, okay?"
"We're doing this right now?" he shouts back.
"Of course, we are!" you reciprocate, leaving just as quickly as you came.
Skipping through the hallway once more, you're confused to find Sam choking still and come behind him to pat his back.
"Don't croak on me, old man."
"You—don't—no!" He's slapping away at you, a rather hilarious thing when he's obviously still baffled with what you dropped at him. "What do you mean date!?"
"Oh, did I say date?" you ask with a mischievous glint in your eye and a half-grin that belies your innocent tone. "I meant practice date. I'm gonna teach grampa how to get the ladies tonight!"
Gleefully, you smack the back of Sam's back a little too forcefully and have him hacking up a storm yet again. Grimacing, you chuckle nervously back at him and with a quick 'sorry' and scurry out of the hallway into your room.
Eagerly, you take full advantage of the two hours you gave yourself to get ready and scour every inch of your wardrobe. This is much too exhilarating to not go full out and you fully intend on making this the best practice date Bucky will ever wish for.
Two hours later, you found yourself waiting by the entrance of the nearby pier just as the sun began setting along the horizon. Decked out in your best summer dress, you stand around watching all types of people passing you by and heading towards the same place you plan on visiting.
Bucky wasn't the kind of guy to leave you waiting long, thank god, and you turn to him giddily while balancing on the small heels of your sandals when he calls out to you. Fake date or not, at least he came which is already a win in your book.
"Punctual as always, sergeant," you cajole as you turn to point out towards the pier where the crowd had been going. "Shall we?"
"This is your idea of a good date?" he asks with a mocking scoff.
Pouting, you smack his arm, hurting yourself a bit in the process when it's the metal one that you hit by accident.
"Fairgrounds and amusement parks are always a safe bet for a first date, soldier. Big crowds make someone feel less intimidated when out as a pair."
"I'd believe that if I didn't know you've been wanting to come here since it opened a couple of weeks ago."
You clear your throat along with the suspicion he has and instead grab him by the arm to drag him along. Bucky's reluctant at first saying you're a handful when excited and need to calm down a bit, but it's not something you can control at this point.
After some walking around and much sightseeing, you end at the fair games where a bunch of kids and teens are going around spending their parents' money to attempt unwinnable games.
It's then however that you suddenly force Bucky to stop in his tracks and drag him along to a game yourself. It's one of those usually rigged ones with the milk bottles stacked into a pyramid. But that's not what caught your attention.
The massive stuffed otter that's half your size did.
"Five bucks, ladies and gents! 5 bucks for two balls! Topple the bottles and you get a big one!"
"Aren't these rigged?" Bucky whispers close to your ear but you're much too busy fishing through your wallet and handing the attendant a crumpled 5 dollar bill to pay him any mind. "Really?"
"Did you see the otter?" you hiss back, gesturing at said plush toy with the softballs the guy gave you in hand already. "It's massive and I want it."
Bucky rolls his eyes but the hint of a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips all the same. He stands back languidly, leaning on one foot as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.
"Alright, go for it then. Just don't break anything."
"No promises," you mumble under your breath. You take a moment to aim and throw but strikeout when the softball lands short of the bottles. Shock strikes you instantly, but you brush it off and try again...only to fall short yet again, striking to the side instead of hitting bottles this time.
Now you know you didn't imagine it.
"The ball moved midair."
The attendant doesn't mind you and is instead busy picking up your missed balls. "Better luck next time, lady."
Scowling, you pay up another five, deadset on that otter, and this time take the time to do it properly. Holding back your strength is something you've gotten used to after this long, so gauging it just right to get through whatever's getting it to stray away takes a moment.
And it veers off in a way that tells you it's impossible for something else not to be happening.
Just as you're about to throw the second softball, another hand takes it from yours. Glancing over your shoulder, Bucky holds it in his left weighing the ball before leaning into your ear.
"It's a magnet."
He nods before gesturing towards the booth. "Must be hiding around the bottles. There's metal in these and whatever magnet there is keeps the balls from hitting them."
"The kids won prices," you remind him.
"Must be turning it on for the older crowd then." This time when he tries it, you can tell he's not using that much force but his aim is much better than yours. Despite that, the ball still veers away from its target almost at the last second.
"Tough luck. Want another try, miss?"
You want to punch the guy in his ugly mug so bad, but you know better. Not everything can be solved with violence. It'd surely make you feel a ton better though. Dejected, you turn to tell Bucky that you're better off leaving it be. Before you can though, Bucky's already handing another five-dollar bill to the guy who gives him another pair of softballs.
Clinging to his arm to buy some time, you hiss back at him. "What are you doing?"
"Getting you that otter."
He gives you a boyish smirk, tossing up one of the balls in the air before playfully throwing it at the bottles. With the force he puts behind it, whatever's pulling the balls doesn't do as well of a job of veering its trajectory. The softball actually tags the edge of the milk containers.
And that was with you hanging onto his dominant arm. Releasing it instantly, Bucky takes the second softball and throws it with more than enough force to not only topple all three in no time flat but bust a hole through the board behind the bottles as well.
Your cheers erupt as you clap giddily to his triumph while Bucky graciously thanks the attendant for the stuffed animal and comes to hand it to you.
"There you go," he says with a more than satisfied grin.
"That was awesome, Buck! Thank you!" Accepting the toy into your arms, you squeeze it tightly, loving how soft and squishy it is. Giggling, you tuck the otter under one arm and take him away yet again to enjoy the rest of the fair.
Your time together eases after that as you two readily enjoy the outing. You almost forget why you're here.
The small sting you feel in your chest, however, doesn't let you forget that easily.
Despite what you said before about this being nothing but practice to help out a friend, you honestly can't help but imagine this as an actual date. Honestly, it's what little solace you'll get knowing that someone like him would never look at you in that sort of way.
It's torture and bliss all wrapped in one. And regrettably, the more you spend time with him and the more you're forced to talk about how he should be with other girls when he takes them out, the more it digs deeper into your chest and leaves it hollow.
You hate to admit it but Sam was right to warn you.
Sure, you may be another tough super soldier that Hydra created and that the Avengers liberated, but the world didn't always go your way just because you're tough enough to take a punch or give it. Where this is hitting you is somewhere you can't protect with a good punch.
What's worse is that you would never even try defending yourself against Bucky.
Besides, the only reason this is starting to hurt is because of how much fun you're having, and imagining him enjoying his time with someone else just as much isn't making it any better.
Better call it quits now while I'm still okay.
"It's getting late."
The evening had turned dark a while ago, but you both had stuck around as the crowds grew, even sneaking away under the pier near the shore to enjoy some quiet time. You'd long abandoned your sandals, carrying them in your hands as your stuffed otter laid pressed between your arms and stomach.
The water that brushes against your bare feet is chilly but you don't mind it. It's helping clear out your mind of this fairytale of a night.
"Yeah, we should probably head back already."
Nodding at Bucky's suggestion, you bend over and put your sandals back on only to be met by warmth around your shoulders when you stand back up straight. His leather jacket feels huge over your small frame but it envelopes you wholly in the heat of his body as the musky scent so uniquely his reaches your nose.
"Come on," he says while offering his arm. "We can get some pizza on the way back and watch a movie. How's that sound?"
It pains you to see that look in his eyes. The same look that you know means nothing to him but the world to you.
Smiling back, you nod and take his offer. You'll take what you can while you can get it. In the end, you can say with certainty that it was the best date you've ever had.
Because it was as real to you as it was fake to him.
The next morning, you're sitting on the common room couch snuggling the stuffed otter in your arms and scrolling through news channels while Sam bickers by the kitchen for you to just make up your mind with one and stick with it.
"Chill, Cap. I'm not stopping at the news."
"Why not just search the guide then?" he asks, peeved.
"The what?" Before he can bicker some more about how you could possibly not know about it, you both watch as Bucky jogs out of the hallway leading to the rooms with a skip to his step.
"Are you in a good mood?" you ask unable to believe what your eyes are seeing.
He grabs an apple from the array of fruits set aside in the fridge, leaving his phone unattended on the countertop when it suddenly lights up and rings with a message. Sam appears to only get a quick glimpse but it's enough to have him smirking to himself and playfully shoving at Bucky with his arm.
"Man, is that what I think it is? Did you call her?"
Your heart sinks at the chuckle Bucky lets out before snatching his phone away from the countertop.
"Texted her," he clarified. He takes a quick bite of the apple and you mistake the loud crunch for something else breaking as your chest tightens. "Asked her out to lunch and she said yes."
"That's great to hear. Don't screw it up now."
Bucky scoffs as he rounds the kitchen countertop and heads into the common room towards the front door.
"Doubt I can after the lesson I got." As he passes you by, you freeze at the way his hand lands on your shoulder with a small squeeze. "I'll see you guys later."
The door shuts so definitively after him that you can't do much else aside from sink your face against the soft fur of your stuffed toy. Behind you, you hear Sam groan and some shuffling as he makes his way behind the couch and lays his hand on your head.
"I'm sorry, kid."
You shake your head against the soft fur, knowing all that's doing is wiping tears you don't want him or anybody to see.
Sam heaves a long sigh before patting your shoulder. "I'm going to go help Sarah do some errands around town. You should tag along. It'll help get your mind out of it."
Nodding, you rush into your room without letting him see you and hurriedly change. As you take your phone to leave, you stare at the stuffed otter that's now laying on your bed. Carefully, you pick it up and look into its beady eyes for a moment. As tears start to prick at your eyes again, you startle as a knock comes on your door.
Through it, Sam calls your name as he says, "You ready?"
Hurriedly, you do what you mean to do before opening the door to find Sam waiting on the other side for you. Wearing a bright smile, you bounce on your feet and salute him.
"Ready to go, Captain!"
Sam chuckles and gestures away towards the common room with a nod of his head. "Alright then. Let's go."
Before you close the door behind your room, you take one last peek inside, watching from afar how the stuffed animal's tail barely juts out from the door of your closed closet. Without much more of a glance, you close the door behind you and follow after Sam.
Strange how now of all times you're thankful that your memory never recovered as well as Bucky's did. Stranger still that you find comforting the fact that anything not recurrent in your day-to-day life ceases to exist in your memory before long.
Out of sight, out of mind.
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Around Your Neck
Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, choking, metal arm kink, fingering, semi-public sex, slight hand and finger kink - 18+, minors DNI.
Summary: Something sparks in you when you watch Bucky wrap his hand -- the metal hand -- around Zemo’s throat.
A/N: I was gonna wait to publish this tomorrow but ya know what?? im too excited about it. it’s pretty well received on ao3 so i hope y’all enjoy! probably not the best smut ever written but i had fun writing it. this is a result of some late night imagination.
Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3
It happened fast. You were sitting on the plane, watching the trio bicker, when the next thing you knew, Bucky’s hand was around Zemo’s throat. To make matters more intense, it was the metal one. While hidden under that glove and coat, just the thought of it, the realization hit…
While fully aware of the intensity and seriousness of the situation, you practically groaned at the action. You didn’t know what it was, but seeing that contrast of metal and skin, and the flex of his arm... You couldn’t help it as you let out a breathy gasp.
Bucky backed away then but not before giving you a side glance. You could tell he was fighting back a teasing smirk as he eyed you and your sudden tense state. To outsiders it may have seemed like you were scared by your boyfriend’s reaction, even Zemo looked a bit concerned, but you and Bucky knew. Knew the pillow talk and drunk confessions you’d made about the arm.
Your thighs clenched as you watched Bucky return to his seat. He still wore that hard expression, somehow turning you on even more. It was suddenly getting hot, you felt, squirming a bit in your sweater.
Why did you allow yourself in this position? When Bucky enlisted your help, citing your past as an agent, you had originally dismissed it. You’d never really worked with your boyfriend, having already been out of the scene before he came into your life. But those pleading eyes and soft touches won you over no matter what.
Little did you know, though, it’d lead to you being on the private jet of a terrorist, ridiculously turned on by your boyfriend’s metal arm.
You fumbled for your bottle of water, taking a big gulp.
“Everything okay, doll?” Bucky asked as he broke off the conversation with the other two men. All of them faced you, waiting for a reply.
You nodded, placing your water bottle down. You turned directly to Bucky and met his furious eyes. “Just feeling a bit hot.”
He raised his brows as you felt the other men stare with confusion. The relationship wasn’t a secret by any means but the tone you two spoke with was certainly one reserved for other times.
"I think there’s a bathroom towards the back," Bucky nodded, motioning towards the end of the plane with his metal arm. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Zemo odd in confirmation. "If you need to cool down."
His simple movements sent a million little fires within you. The wetness between your thighs was getting harder to ignore, harder to play cool in front of the other men.
Biting your lip, you nodded. "Thank you, Bucky." You said his name with such slow ease, it was lighting something more in him, too. That’s when it really clicked.
You watched him as you rose from your seat. He glanced down, pretending to check something, trying to act as cool and collected as possible. For a former assassin, you thought, he wasn’t doing very well. He definitely knew. He got the little hint in your nod, in your tone. You figured he’d give it at most five minutes.
You made it to the airplane bathroom and squeezed your way in. Way smaller than you anticipated and you tried to figure how your super-soldier boyfriend was going to fit in here but he’d make it in. His arousal wouldn’t let him out of this.
You stood in front of the mirror, faux fixing your make-up and splashing water to kill time when the knock on the door came. Bucky hadn’t even given it a full minute before he was hot on your heels.
You couldn’t help but giggle at his urgency as you unlocked the door.
"You know they totally know what’s going on in here," you whispered as Bucky just barely fit himself inside the tiny bathroom. In one full motion, he locked the door then picked you up by the waist, setting you on the makeshift bathroom counter. You let out another giggle of surprise by his smoothness.
His arms were around your waist, pulling himself into your body, so eager and urgent. The gloves were long gone you realizes as you gasped at the feeling of the metal arm teasingly making its way under your sweater. His grip on you were tight.
"Do you think I care if they know?" Bucky mumbled as he began attacking your neck with kisses. He nipped and licked at your skin making you let out little squeals. Oh yeah, there was no way no one knew what was happening here but you didn’t have it in your heart to care anymore. You were practically dripping in your jeans and it was like Bucky could tell.
In an attempt to move closer, his thigh came up to your core, pressing, rubbing. You moved with it, letting the motions ease some of the burning in you.
Bucky continued the assault on your neck as you let out a desperate moan. "Could we please at least hurry so it’s not as weird when we go back out there?"
Your boyfriend chuckled, almost darkly, as he removed his lips from your neck. He began working up until his lips were finally on yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, now taking your chance to pull him in. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your eagerness as he once again nudged your core with his thigh. The moans you gave out at that… Bucky felt captivated and you could feel it in his kiss.
Reluctantly disconnecting, he mumbled, "I don’t think I want to hurry anything, doll." He gave another peck. "Might want to stay here and spend hours between those thighs."
"Bucky-," you gasped.
"But that’s not what you’re here for, right?" He chuckled, his metal arm on your bare back. It came around to your side slowly, inching upward to your lace-covered breasts. "It’s the arm that got you all bothered."
You groaned as he then began to drag the hand back down your side, dipping just a finger below the waist of your jeans. The coolness barely skimmed over your hip but you were thrilled. It was a riveting contrast to the warmth that had been building over you since Bucky decided to choke someone right in front of you.
"It just looked g-good," you were getting breathy trying to formulate words. But everything was escaping you. As you tried formulating coherent sentences, Bucky began popping the buttons of your jeans then slowly tugging down the zipper. You gulped at the actions.
"Yeah?" Bucky chuckled, halting his actions. "How do you think my hand would look wrapped around your neck?"
Your brain starting spinning. You hated and loved when you got in this drunk state for him and he apparently was amused too as he gave you no time to answer. Bucky backed off a bit, as far as he really could, removing his touch entirely. You leaned back on the counter, brows furrowed in confusion.
"Turn around," he demanded.
The lightbulb went off in your head at his words. With a coy smirk, you hopped down from the counter and turned, your ass just brushing over his front. He was already ridiculously hard and apparently not amused with your sudden teasing. Without warning, Bucky grabbed your hips and forced you around completely. He made you plant your hands on the counter, giving you a clear view of yourself in the small airplane bathroom mirror. It surely wasn’t a full-fledge mirror but gave you just enough to see your neck, which you could already imagine how it was going to look with Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around it.
Apparently abandoning his threat of taking his time, Bucky pulled down your jeans and panties in one swift, sudden motion. You gasped at the action, feeling the material practically burn your thighs as it went.
Bucky was over any more teasing and talk as his metal hand promptly came up to your neck. It wrapped around, just tight enough to make you groan at the pressure. It felt so heavy and secure. Like it belonged there. You swore you got wetter at the sight.
Your eyes caught Bucky’s in the mirror. His didn’t hid how aroused, intrigued, he was at the sight before him. His eyes never left yours as his other hand made its way down your body, slipping right to your core where it found the bundle of nerves begging for attention. He gave it some attention before moving to dip a finger in you. Bucky groaned in your ear at the wetness that met his skin.
He pumped the one finger in and out slowly but surely as he whispered in your ear, "So wet." Another pump. "Looking so pretty, doll."
Your eyes started drifting close at the sensations Bucky was working over your body. Between the tightness on your neck to the pumping finger to your clit that brushed a bit over the counter, you were losing it.
Bucky, apparently, didn’t like you getting too comfortable. Without any warning, he pulled his finger out and undid his pants. Before you could register anything happening around you, he plunged his cock into you, lunging you forward on the counter. Your eyes snapped open. You were greeted by your boyfriend’s intense expression once again.
You barely registered the sight of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were wide and that metal hand was not letting up on your neck. You could barely choke out any moans but it all felt so good, so right.
Satisfied that he had your attention, Bucky began thrusting in and out of you, pushing you more into the counter now, your arms barely holding up. He slipped in and out of you with such ease it was almost embarrassing. The only sounds prevalent for a bit in the room were the squelching between your thighs and the light grunts Bucky let out.
"How’s that?" Bucky asked between thrusts. Your legs were going to give out if he even began to talk. And as if he knew that fact, he continued. "Is this what you wanted, doll? My hand wrapped around your neck while I pounded into this sweet, tight pussy?"
You could only let out a weak moan in response which pleased him greatly. So much so, the thrusting picked up and the hand got tighter. Shocking you, your legs began to tremble. Bucky must’ve sensed it as his other hand came to grasp your waist tightly.
"I got you, doll," he whispered in your ear, placing a sweet kiss on your cheek. The contrast between that and his not-so-sweet motions nearly had you climaxing right then and there. "Got you so drunk on this cock you can barely stand, huh?"
You gave a breath moan, "B-Bucky-,"
He continued pounding as he spoke, seeming like the world’s greatest multitasker. Well, you figured, those assassins gotta be fast on their feet.
"What’s wrong?" Bucky mocked. "You close?"
You nodded profusely, watching your boyfriend in the mirror as he turned back towards it, your eyes meeting. He looked so blown out, in a primal state, as he kept working in and out of you.
Slowly, Bucky’s hand left your waist and sneaked down to your clit. He gave it a quick press that made you yelp. Bucky chuckled, amused by your responsiveness. It didn’t make him falter as he pressed again, this time running tight circles on your clit. The pressure and motion were making you lose your mind.
Bucky must’ve greatly enjoyed the sight as his metal hand got slightly tighter. You couldn’t do it — didn’t know how you managed it until now — but your eyes fluttered shut as your orgasm built and built and built—
He sped up the motions on your clit, accompanied by even more powerful thrusts. Your arms gave out, overwhelmed, sending you forward on the counter. Bucky went with, pressing his body fully into yours. His hand never left your throat. His thrusts never hesitating.
"That’s it, doll," he whispered and you could practically hear the cocky smile on his lips. "Cum for me."
And you did. It took nothing else. Your orgasm rushed through you, sending sparks and waves across your body. Bucky never once let up as he simultaneously chased his own while working you through yours.
"Bucky…" you mumbled as your legs shook, your orgasm rushing warmth throughout your body.
His motions and thrusting weren’t letting up, sending you into an overstimulated state. You clenched on his cock at the sensation. Bucky couldn’t hold back anymore. With a tight grip still on you and a desperate moan on his lips, he came inside, soaking your walls, letting it drip to your thighs.
His movements got weak and sloppy as he worked through his orgasm. You couldn’t even handle it anymore and pushed his hand from your clit, earning an amused chuckle from your boyfriend.
He gave one more quick thrust before pulling out of you, watching as his seed slowly leaked out of your swollen hole. He had half the nerve to get on his knees to clean you up but figured that was the last thing you wanted in your overwhelmed, dazed state.
Instead, he was a good boyfriend and began cleaning you up with some hand towels from a rack. You shivered as the fabric came into contact with your thighs. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky who pressed a soft kiss to your skin.
Once cleaned, you finally found your balance again. You pulled up your panties and jeans then looked back into the mirror. You saw Bucky working to readjust himself in his jeans but what really caught your attention was the redness. Your neck had the faintest yet noticeable glow of red from his hand. You gasped, lightly running your hands over it.
Bucky whipped his head towards you, suddenly noticing the redness left on your skin from his grip. His heart nearly stopped until he saw the pure delight, satisfaction, in your eyes.
"Was that okay?" Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You two watched each other in the mirror, this time in a much softer, sweeter position than before.
You nodded, "It was wonderful."
Bucky grinned and placed a kiss upon your lips. You melted into it, half wanting to go another round. But Bucky forced you two to disconnect.
"We should get back out there," he said.
You frowned. "What happened to spending hours between my thighs?"
"You little minx," Bucky groaned, his hands coming up to tickle your sides. You let out a squeal.
"We really have to face them, huh?"
Bucky went to answer but was cut off by Sam suddenly yelling from the other side of the bathroom door.
"Yes, you do!" He called out, anger and annoyance dripping from his words.
You two met each other’s stare as if hoping for one to suggest a way out of this mess but coming up empty, you just gave a sigh and pushed out of Bucky’s arms. Shamefully, you unlocked the door and opened it, trying to prepare mentally for how you were ever going to face Sam again.
"Sorry, Sam," you mumbled, slipping your way around him back to your seat, avoiding his gaze all cost. Bucky followed behind, seemingly unfazed by the situation.
"On a plane? Really?" Sam asked in disbelief. "While people are sitting right here?" You gave a quick glance to Zemo who truthfully didn’t look bothered by the situation. Your stomach turned at the idea of what else was taking place on this plane.
"Maybe you’re just jealous," Bucky finally spoke as he got comfortable again in his seat. Sam still stood in the aisle, hands on his hips, shocked by Bucky’s suggestion.
Bucky shrugged. "I got to bang my very hot girlfriend on a plane. I think you’re jealous."
You groaned at his words, trying to hide your face in your hands. You could hear Bucky’s light chuckles, practically dismissing the situation, which did not please Sam.
"Who thinks it’s okay to bang their girlfriend when other people are right on the other side of the door?" Sam asked.
"Look, Sam," Bucky turned his head towards him, that teasing grin playing at his lips. "When it’s game time, it’s game time."
His words earned a chorus of disgusted groans and protest from the entire group. Your face was hot, probably entirely flushed, as red as your neck if you had to guess. You tried reprimanding Bucky for his ridiculous innuendos — something he didn’t quite understand as he tried defending his statement to the group. No one was buying it.
"Alright," you finally said, halting the conversation. "That’s enough. Can we please no longer talk about this? I think we get it, we got a bit carried away."
Zemo, however, didn’t think it was enough. He decided to add his two cents to the conversation by asking, "And what exactly inspired you to get carried away?"
Zemo didn’t even try to hide it as his eyes glanced down to Bucky’s metal arm. Sam observed, his eyes suddenly getting wide as he put two and two together, causing him to share even more disgust towards you two. Bucky took it all, laughing like it was the greatest joke of all time. You, on the other hand, hid your face once more, praying your seat would just swallow you whole. It sent them into another bicker of conversation.
No one was ever going to let you live it down.
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paiting: Bucky Barnes x Reader
summary: Your newest kink throws you—and Bucky—for a loop.
warnings: fluff, smut, ball worship, suckin’ on those nuts
A/N: OKAY TAKE TWO, BECAUSE MY FORMATTING WAS BOOTYASS—okay, i really have no excuse, nor am i gonna give one. @angrythingstarlight and @sweeterthanthis are partially at fault for my new obsession, lmfao. originally this was gonna be like… 1.5k words, but here we are at 3,464, so… that’s short for me 😂 thank you all for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are appreciated and welcomed! This is a work of FICTION, and it contains Adult themes, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!
Something is wrong with you—it’s gotta be. There’s no reasonable explanation for your latest fixation, and honestly it would be ten times easier to blame Bucky if he was even remotely at fault. But for once, he actually isn’t. For once, this fantasy isn’t born from the filth that spills from his lips when he’s bottoming out inside your pussy, or while his cock spasms as he shoots down your throat. No, for once, this one is all you.
Today is the day. You think, massaging shampoo determinedly into your wild hair as you stand beneath the shower stream. Today is the day I stop fantasizing about my boyfriend’s balls.
It starts innocently enough—the smooth weight of them resting against your chin as he fucked your throat, the scent of the cocoa-butter lotion he won’t stop stealing from you, stuck to the soft, sensitive skin. You can’t help but incorporate them when you’re down there—what are you supposed to do? Ignore them? They’re always so heavy, and when you pull gently on them as you wrap your lips around the thick head of his cock, his hips always stutter against your face.
Goddammit, I’m doing it again. You shake your head, attempting to clear it. You’re a good girl, and good girls certainly don’t think about sucking their boyfriend’s balls—right? But you can’t help it—all you can think about as you rinse the lather from your hair is how they’ll taste. How they’ll feel on your tongue, the skin smooth and clean, hair neatly trimmed back—
“Stop it!” you hiss at yourself out loud, your cheeks heating as you press wet hands to them. You can’t keep thinking about this—not just because it’s not even remotely productive, but also because you’ll be seeing Bucky later at the Stark Industries picnic, and you promised you’d bake a pie.
A promise you were now regretting—mainly because all you wanted to do was lay down in your bed and sink your fingers into the growing heat at the apex of your thighs, all while fantasizing about your boyfriends balls on your face—
The sound of your phone ringing snapped you out of your daze, and you wrapped the towel around yourself quickly as you grabbed it off of the bathroom counter. You almost dropped it as you scrambled to answer, your tone panicked. “H-hello?”
“Hey, baby-doll.” Bucky’s smooth baritone sends shivers down your spine, and your pussy clenched in response. It’s got to be some sort of satanic coincidence that he should call now, as you’re trying your hardest not to think about him. “D’you need a ride to the picnic later? I’m pickin’ up some stuff for Sam.” he’s just being a good boyfriend, just trying to help, and you have to stop yourself from telling him to come right over and just shove his cock down your stupid throat.
“N-no. I’m all set, I’m about to start cooking soon.”
“I can’t wait to eat that pie,” he groans through the receiver, before letting out a sinister chuckle. “There’s lotsa stuff I can’t wait to eat.”
If you could have burst into flame, you probably would have. You almost wanted to cancel the entire day and hide out in your apartment. This was already so embarrassing, and you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing Bucky like this. The only thing stopping you was the knowledge that if you didn’t go, he would simply turn up on your doorstep later, knowing something was amiss.
“O-oh?” you squeaked, and he laughed.
“I’ll see you there, baby.”
“O-okay. I, um, I’ll see you there.” you ended the call, and leaned heavily on the counter. Hopefully you can make it through an afternoon without your embarrassment getting the better of you.
“Hey, glad you could make it!” Wanda exclaims, helping make space for your blueberry cobbler on the table. It’s already laden with food, but you’ve seen how some of these men eat, so you’re not particularly worried about it not getting eaten.
“Sorry I’m late,” you reply sheepishly, returning her hug. You’d given in as soon as the pie went into the oven, your fingers finding their way down to your hungry cunt as you imagined Bucky resting his heavy, full balls against your lips, your nose pressed to the underside of his cock—and then your alarm was going off, and you were frantically rushing into the kitchen to wash your hands and pull your cobbler out of the oven.
And that had left almost no time to change your clothes and hurriedly jet out of the house, the evidence of your earlier attempts smearing shamefully on your inner thighs.
“Don’t worry about it! I’m sure Bucky will be glad to see you, he was looking.” she looks down at the pie, licking her lips. “Looks amazing.” you laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Would you like me to cut you a piece?” you ask, reaching for the knife. “I’m sure it’s cool enough to cut now.”
“I’d love a piece.” Bucky’s voice behind you makes you jump, and his arms come up underneath your own to wrap around your torso. Warmth spreads through you at the contact, and you lean back, letting him rest his chin on top of your head. “Hey baby.” you awkwardly cut Wanda a square, your elbows bumping into Bucky’s arms as he refuses to let you go.
“Here you go.” you hand her the plate, and she thanks you before returning to the crowd to mingle. You turn in Bucky’s arms, resting your palms against his chest. “That is not good knife safety, sir.” you giggle, poking him with an accusing finger. He chuckles.
“I’m durable.” Bucky tucks a finger under your chin tilting your face up so he can claim your mouth with his own. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part for him unquestioningly. “Mmm. Always so sweet,” he mumbles against your mouth, and as you feel your thighs sliding slickly together, you remember what you’ve been thinking about all goddamn weekend—and you jump backwards, the backs of your knees banging against the table. Bucky cocks his head at you, lifting a brow. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Y-yeah. Just peachy.” you squeak, tangling and untangling your fingers in the fabric of your sundress. “I’m, um, I’m gonna go check on um—” you scrambled to find an inoffensive name in your mental roster. “—Peter. Yep. Peter asked me to, um, help him—” your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for him. “unload food.”
“Most of the food’s already unloaded,” Bucky replied, fixing you with a look that spoke of his confusion. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yep! I said I would help, so—” you scooted around him, pretending you didn’t hear Bucky call your name worriedly as you fled. Your cheeks were hot enough to fry an egg, and you’re certain if you stood there any longer, you were going to combust. You didn’t want Bucky thinking you were a freak—you weren’t the most… experienced sexual partner, and what you didn’t know, you tried to make up for in enthusiasm. What would he think of you, knowing you’d been daydreaming about rubbing your face all over his balls? Hell, you didn’t even know what to think of you.
You found Peter over by the water jugs, and asked him for a paper cup.
“You okay?” you were getting tired of people asking you if you were okay—you weren’t. You were so far from okay—you weren’t even in the same state as okay, maybe not even on the same continent. “You look a little shaky.” you nodded mutely, gulping down three little paper cups worth of water before answering.
“Just peachy.” you’d been so excited to see Bucky this weekend, but now you couldn’t stand to be around him, not when all your thoughts were x-rated and starring him. “Do you… do you um, need help unloading anything?” you asked lamely, looking for any excuse you could find to not be around the general public.
“Nope! I think we got everything all done to Mr. Stark’s specifications,” he said brightly. “Egg toss is all set up, and the bean bag toss bins are all full… I think all the food’s out too, but you could check with Vision—” you were off before he even had a chance to finish talking, speeding away towards the compound and away from the grassy field.
The hangar, usually full of intimidating jets, was currently empty and full of balloons in preparation for the adult-only dance party that would be held in here later. You weren’t sure if Stark Family Fun Day was his idea or not, but you suspected it had probably been all Pepper. The hangar was devoid of people and Vision, who had most likely snuck off with Wanda since he wasn’t much for crowds either.
You busy yourself with tasks that no one had given you—stacking napkins, organizing the cutlery in containers, tidying the tables. Anything you could find to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of Bucky further. The relationship was still so new, you didn’t think your fragile ego could take it if he decided he didn’t want you around anymore.
“There you are, doll.”Oh no. Oh no, no, no. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, doll. I thought we were supposed to spend today together.” he emphasizes the word and looks at you expectantly while you stare pointedly at a very interesting spot on the floor near his shoe. “Parker told me I might find you in here.”
“I, um, I wanted to be helpful.” you supply lamely, and he quirks an eyebrow.
“And you’re not avoiding me.”
Crap. “No! No, not at all.”
“ ‘Cause, you know, I understand why you might… why you might not want to be seen with me.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck nervously with the vibranium arm. The words hit you hard, knocking the proverbial wind from you. He thought you were ashamed of him. That you didn’t want anyone knowing you were together, which was the furthest thing from the truth you could imagine. Honestly, the real answer was much less serious, and much more embarrassing.
You rush forward to grab his hands, shaking your head. “No. I’m not, I could never—Bucky—” the words are all fighting to get to your mouth at once, and he chuckles before hushing you.
“It’s okay, doll. I get it.” he’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t believe me.
“No! You don’t get it,” you stammer. “Bucky, I’m—I’m not embarrassed of you! I…I like you so much, and I’m just so anxious and stupid, I don’t want to ruin it.” his shoulders sag with relief, and suddenly you’re crushed against his chest, the breath squeezed from your lungs in a harsh wheeze.
“Thank fuckin’ God.” you hear him murmur into your hair, and now you feel double bad. You sigh—or at least, you try to, as your lungs won’t currently expand all the way—and lean your head against the firm muscles of his chest.
“It’s not… it’s not you.” you say, your voice muffled by his body. He allows you to pull away a little, looking down at you curiously.
“What? What’s not me?”
Your heart hammers in your chest. You owe him the truth, as much as it may make you wish your heart would just give out right there on the spot. Although, now that you think of it, Tony’s probably got tons of spare parts lying around to prevent just such an occasion. You lick your dry lips. “I, um. I was avoiding you, but it’s not what you think—”
“I, um…” you take steadying breath and close your eyes, the words leaving your lips in a rushed exhale. “Ireallywanttoplaywithyourballs.” your cheeks heat so fast you’re surprised smoke isn’t pouring out of your ears. Bucky’s brows furrow as he stares at you. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his steel blue eyes, and you know his next question is for clarification.
Because there’s no way you just said what he thinks you said.
“I didn’t catch that, baby. One more time.”
“I… oh Christ on a fucking—I want to p-play with your, um, your balls.” you can’t bear to look at him, so you press your face into his chest. You can both hear and feel his reverberating laughter, and you want more than ever before to melt into an unwitting puddle on the concrete floor of the hangar. Slowly, Bucky peels your fingers from his shirt, uncurling them and holding your hands in his as he steps back enough to see your face.
“Is that why you’ve been treatin’ me like a leper all day, sweetheart?” you nod.
“Is that… weird?”
“No! Well, I don’t know,” he admits sheepishly. “Never really had anybody… want to do anything to ‘em before.” although Bucky doesn’t seem to be an expert, his acceptance releases a knot in your chest you hadn’t even realized was there. Your cheeks keep flaming up, and finally you cover your face with your hands as more embarrassed admissions form on your tongue.
“It’s just… I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I got so worked up and I didn’t know if you were going to think I was weird, and, and—” another deep, knowing chuckle emanates from his chest, and he runs his tongue across his bottom lip as he grins at you.
“Get you all sloppy ‘n messy thinkin’ about it, huh?” he teases, his hands coming up to gently peel your own away from your heated face. “Look at me, sweetheart.” you do, reluctantly. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears, and Bucky clucks his tongue at you pityingly. “Just been walkin’ around all wound up like a spring, huh, honey?” whenever he uses that voice, you know you’re a goner, your knees going weak as you nod at him.
“Yes,” you admit. Bucky captures your mouth in a kiss and you let out a tiny moan, your hands going to his shoulders to keep you up. He casts a quick look toward the entrance—it’s still early for the dance party, it doesn’t start for another hour. You know he’s listening too, using his enhanced hearing to check that you’re really alone.
“Aw, fuck, sweetheart. You shoulda’ said.” he drags you over to the far wall and into the shadows before stepping in front of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s in front just in case anyone does walk in—they won’t see you. Your heart is pounding—the riskiest thing he’s managed to convince you to do is fuck in the car, which had been terrifying and subsequently the hardest Bucky had ever made you cum.
Maybe that was what had started this recent chain of deviant thought—perhaps Bucky was to blame after all. You sink to your knees of your own accord, and he strokes your hair affectionately, his gaze locked on you.
“Get me out, baby.”
Your fingers are on his fly before he’s finished speaking, tugging the zipper down and tracing the already half hard length of him through his cotton briefs. He’s so thick, you almost can’t touch your fingers around his base. You pull the waistband down his hips, unable to stifle the little moan that worms past your lips as his cock springs free, bumping against your cheek heavily. Bucky licks his lips, his eyes dark as he watches; content not to give orders.
You’re in charge. It’s kind of a heady feeling, and for once you forget your embarrassment as you lean forward to lave wetly along the side of his cock. “Shit, doll.” his hips buck forward towards you. You stroke along the base, breath catching as your hand finds its prize.
His balls are soft and smooth, and you smirk as you smell your own cocoa butter lotion—so that’s where it went. They’re so full, and you test their weight in your hand as Bucky groans. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had a single sip of alcohol, and you’re emboldened by his now rock hard cock, bobbing next to your face. You scoot closer, grasping him with one hand and bowing lower until—oh my god.
You were right—they’re soft and warm and heavy and fuck, you are so goddamn wet. You push your nose right up against the base of his cock, laving a wet kiss on the underside as you nuzzle against him. He moans softly, his hand fisting in your hair over and over. You take that as your cue to continue, and wet your tongue before leaving a long wet trail down the side of his sac.
His grip tightens as he pushes your face against his balls—you know he has no control over it, an impulse he can’t curb because your tongue there has him seeing stars. “Fuck, baby, please,” he pants. “Again.” you oblige, sucking one against your lips. A sharp shudder runs through him and he fists his hand against the wall. You’re overwhelmed with the musky scent of him, the softness of his skin and the pulsing ache between your own thighs—and then you’re sucking it into your mouth, the other resting against your cheek as you knead it with your tongue.
Bucky’s mumbling curses above you, mixed in to holy prayers and filth that makes your face burn hot again even as you peek up at him through your lashes. His cock throbs in your grip, and you take a moment to spread the copious precum dripping from the tip. You peel back his foreskin with a gentle pull, your thumb swiping across the fat head of him. “God, doll, d-drivin’ me fuckin’ c-crazy,” he catches his lips in his teeth to stifle a moan.
It’s sloppy, and you make no effort to stop drool from dribbling down your chin as you switch from one side of his balls to the other, and it trails wetly across your cheek. Bucky’s always the one in charge, so seeing him weak in the knees for you, his cock dripping precum down onto your face and dress as you suck on his balls is just… addictive.
He’s actively fucking into your hand now, and there’s no way to hide the noises his slick cock makes against your palm. “Shit, ah, doll—” his eyes go wide, and suddenly he tries to stand away from you. “Baby—fuck—somebody’s comin’—!”
You’ll probably regret this—fuck, you know you will—but you don’t stop. Your hold on his cock tightens just a little, and you suck just a little harder against his sac before releasing it, spit glistening on around your mouth. “Then… cum fast.” you open your jaw as wide as it’ll go, and you’re barely—barely—able to fit them both in your mouth. You watch as his eyes roll shut and he whines, his hips moving urgently against your hand.
You can feel his balls convulsing against your tongue, contracting and releasing. You don’t let up, suckling them as his moans turn broken and guttural. “F-fuck baby, please gonna—your mouth—” you understand what he means, and reluctantly release his sac from the confines of your lips, only to wrap them around the head of his cock instead. Bucky grasps the sides of your face as his hips surge forward, seating him firmly in your throat just as his cock spasms. A deep, animal groan tears itself from his chest as he cums down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, the hot jets of his spend pumping down into your stomach.
His hands are clumsy and slow as he tries to button his jeans back up, and as you attempt to stand, your thighs slide together with audible slickness, and by the way Bucky’s eyes flick up to meet yours, you know he hears it. He’s wiping the wetness from your face when you spy Wanda tentatively peeking around the entrance. Your stomach drops—you should have stopped. Fuck, why didn’t you stop?
“Guys?” she calls, laughter clear in her tone. “Are you… done? I have Vision distracting everyone, but…” she pauses. “I think we’re running out of time.”
Luckily for you, Bucky answers.
“Yeah Wanda.” you’re clutching his shirt, hidden behind him as he chuckles, before speaking over his shoulder. “We’re going to finish this in my bedroom.” his hand wraps around your wrist as he tugs you forward.
“B-but what about the pie?”
“Don’t you worry, baby-doll, I’m gonna me get some right now.”
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Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)
Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, obnoxious flirting, mention of death, injuries, hospitals, weapons, etc
Word count: 7.6k
A/N: this chapter was supposed to be short. anyway, happy 6 months to this disaster fic!
thank you to the anon who suggested the idea for the beginning of this chapter. my anon who sent me the tiktok about the funny lil vacuum cleaner and the other anon and @rivercocytus for mackie’s steel blue eyes line that’s used here
also im not very sure if this is a good chapter. if i disappoint anyone, just know that i didn't mean to fkjghfkjgh
If you want more nonsense, you can head on over to Harmless Mini Drabbles :))
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
This was quite possibly the biggest, stupidest decision he had ever made and hoo boy, was that list hard to top.
“Wanda-” Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, pressing his fingers to his temples to alleviate his growing stress headache -”what the fuck are we doing?”
“Planning a date.” She pops a piece of caramel popcorn into her mouth, considerably less stressed. Why would she be? She didn’t have a date in less than 10 hours that she was grossly unprepared for.
“No, I mean-” he begins but it just ends in an exhale. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“Growing a stress ulcer.”
Entirely unhelpful, thanks.
“What’s got you so worked up? Do you regret asking her out?” She rattles the bowl in front of him. He turns it down with a quick sigh.
“Fuck no.” His answer comes back immediately.
“Okay, if that’s not the problem, then this is something we can solve.” Wanda brushes off her hands, setting the pencil down before sitting upright. “Look at the list.”
Bucky bolts up. “Don’t read out the list.”
“Skydiving?” she questions when he's too late to stop her, eyebrows knitted together. “When did we add skydiving?”
“After an escape room and dinner at that waterfront place.” He groans, voice drowned out by the pillow pressed against his face.
“There’s also pottery lessons.”
He doesn't even remember writing that.
“Wanda, what was I thinking?”
“Too much.” She hums, still pouring over the bullet points. “Stop overthinking this. You know what she’d like, you’re just freaking out.”
“I don’t know anything at this point," he mumbles to himself.
“Okay, how about we remove things she won’t like?” Wanda suggests, quiet scratches against paper as she begins to strike out multiple options. “We can start with fishing.”
“We wrote fishing?” Bucky lifts his head off the pillow to frown.
“I don’t know, it just says Walmart.”
He wants to die.
“Shoulda just left this up to her, she’s the creative one,” he grumbles. Bucky’s just the muscle. The next time you asked him out jokingly he should have agreed and gone with it.
But here he was with fucking Walmart on his list.
“Just ask her then,” Wanda’s face is sympathetic, given that it's hours since they've been at this, “or maybe her friend. It’d narrow things down.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” he says instantly. “Where’s my phone?”
She tosses it towards him before picking up her popcorn again.
He doesn't even have to fully unlock his phone to see a string of texts populating his notification bar, frown growing deeper with each one.
Just in case she doesn’t decide to tell you: she’s at Mercy West General
Whatever T’s saying, ignore it
She’s at the ER
She needs constant adult supervision
See you at 7 for our date
“How the fuck,” Bucky says the second he finds you in the emergency room, talking animatedly with your best friend.
“I can explain-” you begin, holding your hands up.
“She was building, it backfired, she got her leg fucked up,” T does it instead, disappointment clear as day on her face as she stands beside your bed with her arms across her chest.
“First of all, it’s a sprain.” You roll your eyes. “Second of all, it didn’t backfire. I tripped.”
You look like struggling to control yourself. “While… while I was falling for yo-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bucky cuts in, saving you the trouble.
“Some cable that was just lying around." Your expression turns half-mad, which isn't a look he sees very often. “It usually never happens.”
Bucky stares at you. “Why do I find that so hard to believe?”
“You’re not supposed to be bullying me, I’m hurt.” You glare back at him. "I'm in a hospital and everything."
“You should get bullied.”
“I can feel my sprain physically getting worse," you deadpan. “Ow.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “What’d the doc say?”
“Ice it, don’t strain and meds,” T pipes up before you have a chance to make things worse.
“I’ll be back on my feet in no time," you offer in condolence. "Like a sexy kangaroo or something.”
“I’m gonna get your prescription and then you’re going straight home." T, ignores you with ease. After many years, her ability to fine-tune her ears against most of the garbage that came from you is a valuable skill.
“But I already have an inator in mind.”
She rolls her eyes and grabs the piece of paper left beside you.
“Don’t,” she warns before turning on her heel and leaving in search of the pharmacy.
“Will you drop me off at the lair?” You peer up at Bucky hopefully.
“Traitor.” You huff. “I’ve left all the lights on, my electricity bill’s gonna be-”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Damn it," you swear. "Okay, I'm out of excuses. You can relax now."
Bucky lets his arms fall to his sides, a small smile taking over his face.
“You couldn’t not invent for one day?” he asks, gently sitting down on the bed.
"I was nervous," you mumble, eyes downcast. "Tried to keep myself distracted."
His gaze softens. It helped, in a strange sort of way, to know that it wasn't just him.
"You're an idiot."
"I'm well aware of that."
Bucky slips his fingers over yours. “Hurts bad?”
“Not so much now.” You swing the bandaged foot lightly as if to prove your point.
He watches you do it, wondering how long till you hit your leg on the bedpost. “Sexy kangaroo, huh?”
“You into that kinda thing?”
“You shouldn’t be allowed to talk.”
You crack a smile and it's easy to tell that you’re in slight disarray. He wonders if the pain’s already gotten to your head. Wonders if he should maybe cancel his mission tomorrow, even though practically he knows it isn't possible.
“Of all the damn days-” you start in mild annoyance. He lets out a small laugh. “I’m serious. And now you’re running off for two weeks to save the world while I die alone.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You have Jake and the cat.”
“Alpine doesn’t care about me.” You fiddle with Bucky’s fingers lightly. “Jake’s still at yoga camp. I'm pretty sure he accidentally joined a cult, so we can say goodbye to that story.”
Bucky hums lightly. “What flowers d’you want at your funeral?”
It elicits a chuckle from you. “Fuck you.”
You rock your leg again. The bedpost looks awfully close this time around, but he makes no comment.
“‘S okay.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “We can always reschedule for when you’re back.”
He just gives a distant noise in acknowledgement.
“Once you’re all bruised up, we can pretend like we’re in one of those boxing movies.” Your eyes gleam. “You stumble into my apartment with blood on your knuckles.”
“I have super healing.”
“I tend to your wounds, we share a moment.”
“Why would I come to your apartment when I have a med bay at the Tower?”
“Because of romance.”
“Do you have any medical experience?” Bucky scoffs. “And I don’t do romance.”
“Bold claim coming from you while we’re literally sharing a bed right now.”
“That’s not the sa-” he blows a breath out. “Jesus Christ, even when you’re injured you won’t give up.”
The place smells like disinfectant. He’s almost too used to it. The sting of alcohol doesn’t even burn anymore.
“Stop swinging your leg around so much, you’re gonna hit something,” he says finally.
You don’t break your intense gaze with him as you swing it harder. He rolls his eyes.
“If I die before you’re back, would you speak at my memorial?”
He flicks your shoulder. “Stop being morbid.”
You laugh. “I’m serious. I need you to go up there and look like you’ve been cryin’ for days.”
“Fine, then at least stand far away with an umbrella, sunglasses and a trench coat. We can make it look like I died under mysterious circumstances.”
“That I can do.”
“Great, it’s settled then.” You grin at him. “I’m gonna look so cool.”
“Right.” He snorts.
“Glad I could help.”
Your leg hits the bedpost with a resounding clang.
Bucky tries and fails to hide a laugh when you curse loudly, his only saving grace being that he had the common decency to not say that he told you so.
Either way, he knows he has to prepare to deal with your whining for the next ten minutes till T came back.
But your head drops onto his shoulder, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind if you bitch and blame for all eternity as long as you stayed like that.
Turns out there’s only so much inventing and watching trash TV can get you on a night that was destined to be a lot more interesting.
Your anti-gravity boot... inator definitely enables you to move around a lot easier- no pain if its military grade protective material and insulated padding prevents you from feeling anything you could possibly bump into.
The only downside was that its balance was still definitely off. The anti-gravity part aided in making sure you weren’t exerting too much pressure on it as you hopped around, but the stupid thing kept rising like a helium balloon. Still, it wasn’t too bad for a few hours worth of effort.
With nothing much to do and all candy demolished, Alpine goes through a series of costume changes. She isn’t too bothered, God knows she’s put up with worse. Little assistant looks like she enjoys some of them.
The group chat, in a great show of solidarity, rates each outfit out of ten. Her as a wizard is unsurprisingly the highest scoring one of the night. Bucky, however, picks her little cowboy costume as his choice.
You almost consider wearing the stupid, makeshift cast you’ve conjured up that evening and dragging him along on a new adventure, just for the hell of it.
You even go as far as sending him a text, asking him what he’s up to before you show up outside his bedroom.
He sends you a picture of his half-packed backpack. A granola bar sits unfinished on top of it.
You never thought it’d come to this... but maybe it was time to start the cheese business. The plan B. The backup.
From what you knew, Drusselsteinien Limburger took 58 years to age. No better time than the present-
A knock on the door drags you out of your boredom induced near-crisis.
You hobble over to it, almost immediately your arms wildly and grabbing onto the nearest bookshelf to keep yourself from falling over. You shove your foot down before pulling it open, braving a grin and smoothing out your clothes.
“Hey, Agent J,” you greet calmly as if the last minute or two didn’t just happen. “What’s up?”
“Just checking if everything is alright, miss,” Agent J says courteously. You know for a fact that his name is Jordan- it’s easy to get to know anyone after offering them lunch three times in a vain effort to gain any kind of company. Out of politeness, you still refer to him as Agent.
“Everything’s all good. Did you grab a bite to eat?” You’re about to ask the first out of many times if he would like slice of pizza and to watch Project Runway.
“My shift ends in thirty minutes.” He casts a glance at his watch. “I’ll get some food then.”
“Okay.” You nod, “but if you need anything, you can always ask.”
He flashes you a quick smile and excuses himself.
There goes that plan.
S.H.I.E.L.D.’s appointed security detail was… proficient at what they did. Constant patrol, regular check in’s- any time there was so much as a car that drove down the street twice, details were noted down.
The clown brigade didn’t get too far, unfortunately. Last you heard they were detained for questioning in SHIELD’s Jersey unit. Which probably meant it was the last you were gonna see of Nico.
Poor guy. He deserved better.
You’re back to trying to walk and failing miserably at it in an attempt to make it to your bedroom.
It barely takes a minute for you to stumble magnificently. With the grace of a newborn deer, your one leg goes up the air and hand sticks out to break your fall, dragging down a vase with you.
You cringe as it crashes noisily to the floor, meanwhile your body stuck in a half-split.
You’re only thankful it’s not Jake’s stupid fruit bowl. You’d rather break your other foot than have to hear his shriek when he realises his Home Depot masterpiece had disappeared in the few days he wasn’t here.
There’s a knock on the door again. Not even halfway through your journey you’re forced to turn around and tend to it before Agent J breaks it down in a desperate attempt to save you from yourself.
“Hello again.” You smile easily, opening the door only as much would allow your head to show through.
“Did you hear that noise?” Agent J tries not to peek over your shoulder, even though you can’t quite see through his dark glasses.
Behind the door, you force your leg down again. “My fault, I just tripped over something.”
Look, it wasn’t like you weren’t able to protect yourself. You were fully prepared. Extra prepared, in fact, for any intruders. It’s just that he was catching you at your less fine moments.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am. Thank you.” You cast him a grateful look. “I’ll let you know if there’s an issue.”
Agent J hesitantly takes a step back, eyes flickering behind you. You wait for him to turn around before shutting the door as gently as you could, trying not to rouse any more suspicions.
“Okay,” you say under your breath. “It’s just a few feet away. You got this.”
You gingerly limp over to the cupboard, holding onto anything sturdy along the way to ensure you make it there in one piece.
It’s more or less successful- only one photo frame lost in the process- and you pull out a broom and your vacuum. The latter of the two was a bright yellow, accented in purple and handheld, cartoonishly large letters branding its name on the side.
Probably the best EvilCon purchase you’d ever made, second only to the laser pointer for Alpine.
The smile on your face is devilish when it roars to life with an obnoxiously loud ‘pew’ sound. You point it towards the mess on the floor, proper due process be damned, and watch it suck the glass towards it.
The glass rattles around in its body rather delightfully the joy soon gives way to a string of curses when you realise what any loud, unnatural sound from your house invited these days.
You give it three seconds before there’s a knock on the door.
“Fucking-” you mumble to yourself before dragging yourself to the door.
With a defeated sigh, you begin, “Agent J, I promise-”
“Heard there’s been suspicious noises reported here tonight. Thought I’d come check it out.”
You blink. “Bucky.”
“Hi,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Hi,” you’re a little dazed but you lean against the doorframe. “A little too early to be stumblin’ into my apartment with blood on your knuckles. Don’t even have the supplies yet.”
“I’ll just leave then.” He gestures backwards with his shoulder.
You take note of the large paper bags he managed to balance in his arms, leaning his chin over them to look at you. Fuck, he looked adorable.
You smile wide, shoving your foot down. “I didn’t know you were showing up here.”
“Yeah, neither did I, but then you went and broke your foot.”
“Sprained, and I’ll have it fixed by next week.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m inventing as we speak.”
“What, a Fix-Your-Foot-inator?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Or a cure for your dumbass disease?”
Bucky raises the bags up. “Can I come in?”
“No, you’re staying out there tonight. Hope you brought a sleeping bag,” you say, moving aside to make space for him, pressing your cast foot firmly only the ground and using it to pivot.
“Yeah, yeah.” He stops for a second to look you up and down before walking in. “You look real pretty.”
The heat that spread through your face was annoyingly intense. “You into painkiller-high chic now?”
“Nah, just you in general.” This motherfucker’s gradual increase in smoothness was unprecedented. “Why do you have your leg in the air?”
You follow his line of sight, landing on your foot that was suspended off the ground like a damn burlesque dancer.
“Oh, you know. The usual.” You don’t bother explaining any further, forcing your leg down and locking the door behind you as you tried to follow him as normally as possible. “What’s with all the groceries? We finally moving in together?“
“I’m pretty sure you were the one who told me I should cook for you.” He sets the bag down on the kitchen counter. “It ain’t expensive wine and cheap burgers but I figured it’d do. But I got those too, just in case.”
He points to the bag where the logo of a fast-food company presses against the plastic.
“Mr Barnes,” you pipe up, a dopey smile on your face, “you are a closeted romantic.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
You hobble your way over to where he was, almost falling over but not quite. “How do I help?”
“You don’t. I’m cooking.”
You figure the safest bet you have right now is to hop onto the kitchen counter as he begins to unload things carefully from the bag. A lot of vegetables, bread, pasta sheets- the man was actually well prepared.
“I wanna help.”
“Just sit there.” He glances up at you. “You’re hurt and dyin’, remember?”
“Boo.” You cross your leg over your cast to keep it from rising.
Bucky does a quick survey of his surroundings before setting his eyes on something.
He drops Jake’s fruit bowl right beside you.
“You’re in charge of keeping that safe.”
Maybe you should have broken that shit after all.
You scoff out a laugh. “You’re terrible.”
“You’re a liability.” His eyes have the familiar glint that let you know he’s not being serious. “And no inators this evening. Don’t wanna be responsible for a house fire.”
“None,” you swear, leaning on your hands for support and pressing your foot down harder. “I thought you were supposed to be packing.”
“I’ll finish it tomorrow.” He does a quick recount of everything he’s laid out so far on your counter.
“I could have just shown up at your place. Would have been easier for you.” Would have been a trip and a half for you but he didn’t have to know that.
“I considered that,” he divulges, “but the team’s being annoying. Wouldn’t leave the Tower so I changed plans and shifted here.”
“You’re telling me they wouldn’t evacuate their house for you to cook your date dinner?” You snort. “Pretty selfish of them, if you ask me.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” He lets a smile slip past his lips. It leaves you a little star struck.
“On a more serious note,” your voice is more solemn, “shouldn’t you be resting? Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?”
Bucky hums. “Who cares?”
“I do,” you press. “You need energy.”
“D’you like lasagna?” he asks, looking up at you.
“I’m not kidding, you don’t have to do all this.” You press your lips together in a straight line. “We could just wait till you’re back.”
“I think we’ve waited long enough.” He shrugs. “So unless you want me out of your house, is that a ‘yes’ on the garlic bread?”
A smile makes its way onto your face. “Fuckin’ love garlic bread.”
“Good.” Bucky nods. “Your foot’s in the air again.”
You shove it back down.
Once he’s done a headcount and made sure everything he needs is there, he locks his phone and sets it back in his pocket.
He opens his mouth to ask you something, only to find you staring at him intently and with a slight crease between your boy like you’re contemplating something really hard.
It snaps you out of your internal debate of trying to decide what you like better- the navy blue sweater he has on that looks sinfully good on him or the little apron he’s secured around his waist.
“Never been better,” you reply honestly.
“Okay.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Where are your knives?”
“What, you didn’t bring your own?” You point them out, watching him tie his hair into a little bun. You want to cry, really.
“Those aren’t exactly used for vegetables.”
“Knife is knife.”
Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Smart.”
“Top of my class.” You watch him pull one of the knives out by its hilt, his sweater sleeves pull upto his elbows. The plates in his metal arm shift silently.
Balancing it on his finger, the knife stays perfectly straight, not tilted towards any side.
“Force of habit.” Bucky shrugs, doing a little flip before catching it firmly.
“Yeah, okay, that was.” He chuckles, and you’re about to join in with another teasing remark until you remember something.
Your smile drops.
“Chopping board’s over there,” you say quickly, “and put that knife down before you hurt yourself.”
He looks at you in surprise. “The knife?”
You know how ridiculous it sounds. One of the best assassins in the world, who you had on more than one occasion caught throwing, juggling and flipping blades like they were made of rubber as a way to pass time.
“Yes, the knife,” you insist regardless.
“I can handle a knife,” he says slowly, deliberately, like a reminder.
Not when it turns into a fucking sword if he presses the wrong button, he can’t.
“My knives are special.” You tap the counter. “Official rules state that we do not move while holding knives in this kitchen.”
He stares at you, trying to gauge your reaction. You stare back, cracking a smile in hopes that he’d take it as a dumb joke and just go with it.
In a unlikely moment of victory, he complies, and you know it’s because under the rock hard exterior and abs, he is a kind soul.
He leaves the knife next you, albeit while looking at you like you’ve grown three heads. That you can deal with. Accidental stabbing, you can’t.
You wait until he walks over to the cutting board. It only gives you a few seconds to grab the knife he set down, swiftly pressing down on the three rivets securing the handle to the blade in a pattern only you were aware of. You sigh when a soft click comes through.
“Nothing.” You flash him a quick smile. “Just checking to see if it was clean.”
You hold out the knife gingerly and he takes it. You watch it closely, hoping that it doesn’t blow up into a sword, possibly driving a hole through your kitchen wall.
“Good grip,” he notes.
“It’s custom made,” you say weakly.
How are you supposed to think in advance when he’s standing in your kitchen looking like a domestic husband with no frown for once.
True to his word, he definitely can handle a knife- and he’s surprisingly adept at cutting vegetables with it too. Not like you’d expect any less from him.
“Did you get through to Jake finally?”
“Oh, yeah.” You watch him shove the chopped ones all to one side before moving onto the others. “He called me a moron, and then said he’s on his way back.”
“I guess he’s joining in then,” Bucky says, hint of humour in his voice. “I’ll make extra.”
“Obviously. You’re the third wheel here.” However, the idea of dating Jake isn’t one that you can stomach for too long leading to a quick shudder. “No, I told him to stay where he was and that I’d be fine.”
“He okay with that?” Despite the tumultuous conversations you shared with the guy, he cared deeply about whether you lived or died. Under dire circumstances, he would even so far as to call you an acquaintance.
“I told him I wouldn’t let him in the apartment.” You shrug. “He doesn’t get a lot of time off, he shouldn’t have to come back just because of a little sprain.”
Bucky’s gaze shifts between your cast and you. “How long till it heals?”
“Doc says three weeks, but with my intellect, I’d say a week and a half.”
He stops cutting for a moment, shoulders still hunched over the board. You look at him in slight confusion.
“You’re gonna do something stupid and I’m not gonna know about it till I’m back,” he mumbles.
“Nonsense, I save all the stupid for when I’m with you.” You grin. “Say, what are your thoughts on paper cuts?”
“Not a fan.”
“Great, I have my next idea.”
“Papercut Inator?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Seems mild.”
“Can’t go big all the time, Bucky. I have a budget, you know.”
“And you spend it all on confetti guns.”
He hums but says nothing further. “Skillet?”
“There.” You point to the cabinet it rests in.
He picks it up, pausing for a second before holding it up in front of you.
“You got a problem with me using this or…” he trails off, “because I’m pretty sure I can handle a pan.”
It takes a quick second to wonder whether you’ve actually fucked with the pan or not before deciding on a probably not.
“We’re gonna have wait and see.”
Thankfully, things are fine for a while. Non-lethal, at the very least.
The potential death trap you’ve set out is quickly evaded by switching out a few salt shakers and spice jars when he’s not looking to prevent potential explosions.
Everything smells pretty darn great, and in an impressive show of skills, he’s not burnt anything yet.
“Geez, you weren’t kidding about the whole cooking stuff, huh?”
“Don’t do it often.” He looks down at the garlic butter he’s spreading on the loaf. “‘S more of a coping mechanism than anything.”
“How good are you at baking?” Your foot hits the counter lightly when you shove it down again. It was getting harder to remember that it had a tendency to float.
“Stop swinging your leg,” he says absentmindedly. “I’m okay at it.”
You have to remember to keep your leg crossed over it, even if it was getting sore.
“What if I call you the next time the school has a bake sale?”
“I’m not selling cookies at your school.”
“Fine, you bake and I’ll sell ‘em.” You wiggle your eyebrows.
You hear a small crash in the background. He quirks an eyebrow at it before you dismiss it as probably being Alpine. Things like that were normal around here; it’d be weirder if there wasn’t an unexplained noise every once and a while.
“You’re gonna exploit me for your bake sale?”
“We’ll split the profit.”
“I’m putting in all the work.”
“It takes a good face to market, and I got the best face.”
He doesn’t put forth an opposing argument, instead turning around to grab something else from his ingredients.
There’s another crash, and fortunately he elects to ignore it.
Unfortunately for you, the unmistakable whir of wheels accompanies it in the distance and dread instantly fills your stomach when it you’re hit with the realisation of what the source actually is.
It enters the room, slowly and sticking to the wall like the trained little menace it was.
Your intruder preventer droid stares up at you with pixelated heart eyes. It looks fucking adorable but you wave your hand around furiously to get it to go away.
Blasphemous thing takes it as a sign to enter, almost immediately bumping into the trashcan in the corner of the room. You internally scream.
“Hey!” you call out to Bucky, startling him with the sudden raise in volume.
“Why are you yelling?” he asks, slightly baffled.
To mask the fucking noise of the droid beeping while it backed up like a garbage truck, what else-
“I’m just so excited you’re here,” you cover-up pathetically, giving him a wide toothed smile, more nervous than anything.
His eyebrows furrow. “You’re bein’ weirder than usual.”
“Ah, well, you know-” you wave your hand around vaguely. “Pain meds or something.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced, lips pursued inwards and eyes alight in barely-there humour. “Mhm.”
The intruder droid rolls up behind him curiously, scaling his size with a scan.
“D’you want some grapes?” you ask hastily, reaching for them from Jake’s bowl because tragically, they are the only weapons you have on hand.
The swords weren’t exactly subtle and you din’t want to kill a perfectly good droid before you had to. It was cute. Sometimes it sang ABBA.
Bucky glances towards at the bowl of fruit. “I’m good.”
“Your pasta’s done.” You point to the pot of boiling water, not actually sure if it was, but hell it’d been there long enough.
He wipes at his brow and goes to tend to that, and you take advantage of his momentary distraction to launch a grape at the droid.
It veers backwards, turning around and shooting out a laser to eliminate the threat. You wanted to cheer at the fact that it worked rather well, but you genuinely wish it didn’t right now.
“Was this always the idea?” Hopefully, if you could keep his attention on you, he’d miss the stupid bot. “Ending up at my place on our first night out?”
“Nah, was probably gonna go with a trapeze class.”
“That’s more of a third date kinda thing.” You throw another piece but it misses, bouncing off on the floor somewhere. A second and a third shot similarly doesn’t reach the target.
It tilts its head up at Bucky.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The droid wouldn’t do much damage but you knew for a fact that Bucky appreciated having both his ankles intact for his job.
You curse at it, kicking your anti-gravity cast in its direction.
“Jesus, Y/N, you’re gonna make your sprain worse,” he groans, stopping his layering of the sauce and sheets alternatively.
You snap your head up. “Did you hear someone at the door?”
The suddenness of the topic change works to distract him temporarily. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s Agent J.” You keep your eyes on him despite the fact that you can see the droid steadily advance towards him from the corner of your eye. “He usually knocks to check if I’m okay.”
“Are you?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Those painkillers gettin’ to you?”
“I’m all good, Buck.” You look past him to the stupid droid, hoping it runs into a stray grape along the way. “But could you tell him that? He’s probably just here to let me know his shift’s done.”
The concern is apparent on his face but he drags out a slow ‘okay’, setting the glass dish away from the edge of the counter. The bot, by a miracle, runs into the same trash can as before, leaving it completely unnoticed by Bucky as. he walks out of the kitchen.
The second he's out of sight, you jump off the counter, one strong step towards the stupid droid. Anything more than that and your date would find you sprawled on the floor.
“Intruder detected. Attack.” Its default message rings.
“No intruder.” You want to cry at how cute its little voice is but instead you put it on silent.
“There’s no one here.” You hear Bucky gently close the door. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Swear I am, I think it’s just the meds.” In a flash you scoop it up by its head before pulling open the oven door and throwing it inside.
You hop back onto the counter, settling back in your position and regain your breathing. The droid bangs against the door. You kick it with your foot.
“Do you want me to get our doc to take a look at you?” Bucky’s voice gets louder as he gets closer.
“Nope.” You swing your legs casually as he reappears. “Unless your doc has a cure for my dumbass disease.”
“That’s incurable.” He stops in his path, eyes slowly dropping down. “There are grapes on the floor.”
“Huh,” you say stupidly, “guess there are. Musta dropped them.”
He narrows his eyes at you. You smile back awkwardly.
“You need sleep,” he says, lifting up the glass dish to place it in the oven. “You’re eating dinner and that’s it for today.”
You nod lazily before it suddenly hits you.
"No, wait!" You grab his face, kicking your foot against the oven door to keep it shut. You can feel the droid push at the door in an attempt to get out.
Bucky freezes, looking at you slightly wide-eyed. "...what?"
Your eyes flicker down for just a second and it's like time slows down. You instinctively brush his cheekbone with your thumb and his breath hitches.
"You, uh-" you swallow the lump in your throat. “You're very pretty."
"Thank you?" He blinks.
There’s a thick silence that ensues. Bucky’s chest rises and falls steadily, grip on the glass dish tightening. The laugh lines around his eyes were more prominent up close.
“Yeah." You let go of his face slowly, clearing your throat when you feel the droid give up. “Those steel blue eyes let you know where home is.”
He snorts, recovering rather quickly. “Alright.”
“It's my safe place,” you continue, trying to get rid of the image out of him so close to your face out of your mind.
“Not yet.” You grin. “I’ll put it in the oven, you go open the wine. We got plenty more to go.”
“You’re not supposed to be on your feet.”
It’s late in the evening and you’ve had damn near enough of your Home Alone style traps, and it shows when you say, “Trust me when I say it’s easier for both of us if I just help with this one thing.”
He looks at you sceptically. You bat your eyelashes innocently in return.
“Fuckin’ knew I shoulda bought two bottles.” He leaves the tray on the countertop, taking the plates and cutlery with him.
You breathe out a little sigh once he’s out of the way before hopping off the counter and yanking open the oven door.
The droid launches itself past you with pent up ferocity and you tug it backwards.
“Bad droid,” you whisper. “Bad, bad droid.”
“Attack,” it says robotically. “Intruder detected. Attack.”
“Not him.” You fumble for the kill-switch as it struggled against your grip. “Why don’t you ever do this to Jake?”
“Intruder detected. Attack.”
“What’d you say?” Bucky calls out from the dining table.
“Timer’s at twenty minutes, right?” you deflect loudly.
“Intruder voice detected.”
“Shut up, please.” You finally push the button, watching it die down in your hands. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Yeah, twenty minutes.”
“Okay.” You open the nearest cabinet and shove it inside carelessly, hoping it stays there without any more drama.
It sputters in defiance. You gave a sharp thud against the door with your hand and it doesn’t make any more noise, at least not for the time being.
“You good?” Bucky appears at the doorway, his apron now swung over his shoulder like a towel.
“Perfect.” You smile up at him, smoothly sliding the dish into the oven like nothing happened. “If this recipe works, it’s because I was so good at setting the timer.”
There’s a serving of the most amazing smelling lasagna, probably the best-looking garlic bread you’d ever seen and a good bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of your couch. Bucky was busy scrolling through Netflix for a movie to watch, occasionally stopping to ask for your input.
And though this was probably the most ideal situation, given the circumstances, you can’t stop glancing towards the kitchen for any new surprises that may come your way.
“Did you forget something there?” Bucky asks after you look over his shoulder for the tenth time.
“No, no,” you mumble. “Just checkin’ to see if Alpine’s alright.”
“I thought she went to bed.” She did, after scarfing down the little treat Bucky bought for her. You told him he spoiled her. He brandished another treat from his pocket in retaliation.
“Thought I heard her walkin’ about.”
“You know,” he says casually, pausing at the ‘horror’ section of the catalogue, “your murder bot’s not gonna get out of that cabinet.”
“You don’t know that yet-” you say distractedly before reeling back. “Wait, what murder bot?”
“The one that’s been rolling around the kitchen all evening.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Almost stepped on it a few times.”
“You fuckin’ knew?” Your jaw drops unceremoniously.
“I’m a stealth agent. I’ve been trained for decades.” He snorts. “And you’re terrible at being subtle. If you were even trying.”
Guess you weren’t.
Your nose scrunches up. “You said no inators.”
“I didn’t think you’d take it that seriously.” Bucky rolls his eyes.
“I dunno.” You shrug. “Figured we deserved a night off from them.”
He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Listen, you like them. They’re important to you.” He looks ahead again. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“We’re a package deal.”
You conceal a smile. “A closeted romantic.”
“Shut up.” He grunts, exhaling out a laugh shortly after. “Pick a damn movie.”
You were already on a different tangent, the whole evening replaying in your head viscerally.
“I spent so long trying to stop that thing from getting rid of your ankles,” you whine. “Do you even care about your ankles?”
“And my cast won’t stop floating and the knives are swords.” Maybe you should get rid of a few of them. It seemed like overkill. “What would I have done if you stabbed yourself?”
Bucky shakes his head at you in disbelief. “How the fuck do you live here?”
“They’re not always around. I just work around them, usually,” you mumble. “Woulda evil-proofed the apartment if I knew you were showing up.”
Bucky points to a handheld inator that’s propped up against the corner of the room, a bright yellow in colour and accentuated in purple. “What’s that?”
“Oh, that’s just a vacuum cleaner.” You forgot to put it away after the earlier fiasco.
He looks at you, unamused.
“I’m not kidding.” You laugh. “I swear, it makes a ‘pew pew’ sound and everythin’ but it’s just a regular vacuum cleaner. I could show you if you want.”
The one thing he thinks could be a weapon and it turns out not to be.
“What are we watching?” He reverts his attention back to something he could predict.
“I don’t know.” You watch him flip through channels. “We started watching Breaking Bad the last time you were here.”
“There’s been more than enough drugs for one night.”
“Fair point,” you concede. “The rest of this date’s just us scrolling through Netflix’s catalogue.”
“Who said this was a date? This is for security puposes.”
To be fair, he forgot it was a date. It just seemed like any other day of hanging out with you which, he now supposes, were mini-dates. Turns out Clint was right about one thing after all, even though it was months ago.
“You’re in too deep, buddy.” You shuffle closer to him. “Security or not, you’re here eating dinner with me.”
“I’m here on duty.”
“Fine, answer me this.” You sit up straight, twisting your body to look at him. “You’re supposed to do your duty.”
He waits for you to continue, nodding slowly.
“And if I’m your duty,” you begin, “then you should be doing me.”
He stares at you. “Pick a damn movie.”
“Sure.” You flop back, a little too easily.
He’s this close to asking how you agreed that easily.
Until he notices a sinister smile on your face and he already dreads what you’re about to start playing.
The wine glass was discarded a long time ago, the bottle finding its way into his grip halfway through the movie along with a prayer that he could get drunk again. He had the same reaction the first time around, too.
Your anti-gravity military grade cast came off 15 minutes into the movie after it blocked his view. He insisted you keep it on, more for his sanity than anything. You immediately took threw it off, leaving only the bandage around it.
“Wish I could actually get drunk,” he mumbles. “Get this shit-for-brains movie out of my head.”
“Kissing Booth 2-” you start but he already starts protesting “-is amazing. It’s got two guys.”
“They look the same.”
“And what’s the problem with that?”
“They’re both idiots.”
“You just don’t get it.”
By the time the credits start rolling, Bucky wants to commit arson.
“Never again,” he announces. “I’m never watching a movie with you again.”
“But the third one-”
“Never again,” he repeats, more determination in his voice than earlier.
“How are you fine with horror movies and not this?”
“I don’t mind good ones, this is just garbage,” he argues. “Horror movies are fine, I see worse shit on a daily basis.”
“New plan, listen to this.” You hold up a finger. “So kiss me if I’m wrong, but-”
You blink at him. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
He shrugs, looking you straight in the eye. “Heard what I had to.”
Whatever reply you have dies down in your throat.
You bite your lip when his stare doesn’t shift.
The doorbell drags you out of it.
Both of your heads snap towards the door.
Bucky lets out a small noise as he pushes himself off the couch. “You expecting anyone?”
“Yeah, my boyfriend.” You shake your head to get yourself under control, before getting up yourself to follow him.
“I’ll warm up the leftovers.”
The door opens to another agent, dressed in all black from head to toe, including night-vision goggles. It reminds you of the time when that was all Bucky wore to meet you, his blue sweater a stark contrast to what used to be.
“Hey, Agent P.” You give him a smile.
“Ma’am.” He nods. “Just a regular reporting and check in.”
“Everything’s good here.” You steal a glance at Bucky.
“You know what to do if you need any assistance.”
“Scream bloody murder and bust out the ol’ baseball bat.”
He doesn’t move a muscle.
“And hit the safety switch y’all gave me twice,” you murmur in a follow-up. “Have a safe patrol.”
“Thank you.” He sends Bucky a curt acknowledgement before turning on his heel and leaving.
Bucky doesn’t bother closing the door behind him, instead, watching him leave. “Your boyfriend didn’t take any leftovers.”
“Ah, it’s okay. He’ll be back.” You cross your arms over your chest.
He leans against the door frame with a small smile. “It’s late.”
“Uh huh.” If Agent P was here for his shift, it meant that it was close to midnight.
“I should get going.”
“Guess you do.”
“Gotta pack,” he feels like he should explain even though he doesn’t really need to.
“Those guns aren’t gonna pack themselves.” You tap his bicep.
“I aim to please.”
Bucky laughs, and maybe you wanna tug him by the collar of his stupid sweater and kiss him against the door.
“I had a good time,” you admit rather.
“Me too.” It was just as chaotic as he imagined it would be.
“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Don’t know.” He exhales, hooking his thumbs into the pocket of his jeans. “Depends on what time Barton wakes up from his hangover.”
“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease, face falling into an easy smirk.
“No chance.” He scoffs. Maybe the sweltering heat of Qatar would be enough of a distraction.
“Some fuckin’ peace and quiet for two weeks.”
“You’re annoying,” It’s definitely an inside joke at this point, “and I hate you.”
Still, there’s a bright smile on his face and the makings of an evening well spent in his eyes. You love it.
Bucky takes a calm step towards you.
You take a step right back.
“If you whisper in my ear again, I will attack you,” you warn from experience, “sprained foot and all.”
Bucky laughs. “No, not this time.”
Instead, his lips are warm against your cheek. He lets it linger there for a slow second before pulling back, and you find it hard to stop smiling.
“You should get some rest,” he says softly, returning back to his original place at the doorway.
“Mhm.” As much as you hate it, there’s a small sense of disappointment, even though the heat that spread through your face screamed otherwise.
“I know what you’re thinkin’.”
You look at him, mouth quirking upwards.
“Not like this.” He gives you a half-smile. “Maybe next time, when you’re not jacked up on meds.”
You could live with that.
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I don’t know what possessed me to make this but I can’t be alone right???
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What about Peter catching reader, his roomate, humping her pillow while looking at a spiderman picture?
You Caught Me
A/N: This ended up being a lot dirtier than I had originally planned lol. Also, double upload today, since I ended up getting carried away with this one haha. But, thank you so much for the request, love! :)
I hope you all enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated!
Pairing: Older! Peter Parker x fem! Reader
Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, cursing, fingering
You thrust your hips faster as you picture your roommate slamming into you from behind.
This is a normal day for you… Humping your pillow as you stare at a picture of Peter dressed in his Spiderman suit.
Totally normal. Minus the humping and the picture. But, it’s the first day in a week that Peter is gone for the entire day, busy helping the Avengers keep the world safe and you’re horny beyond belief. So, could anyone really blame you?
“Peter,” you moan out, flinging your head back as a wave of pleasure rushes through you. You’re close, so close you can feel your cunt tightening around nothing.
Your thrusts become sloppy as you rush to orgasm, desperately needing the release.
“Oh, Peter. Right there, baby. That’s it. I’m almost-”
Your movements abruptly stop as you hear your name, your body shutting down in fear.
No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another few hours.
Sliding the picture of him under your pillow, you slowly turn around to face Peter. The look on his face is pure shock, not expecting to come home to his roommate naked and masturbating.
And then, the even worse reality settles in as you realize he must’ve heard you moaning his name.
“Peter! You’re home early.”
Walking into your room, his eyes gaze down to your pillow that’s haphazardly thrown on your bed. “Yeah, the mission turned out to be easier than we originally thought.” His gaze settles back on you, his eyes curious. “What have you been up to?”
You try your best to appear casual, but fail miserably. “Just hanging out.”
Peter approaches you then, his body standing by the edge of your bed. “Hanging out? Naked?”
A wave of chills rush over your skin. “It was a little warm in here, I just wanted to stay cool.”
“Huh, funny.” One of his hands reaches out, his finger trailing up the expanse of your leg. “Your body says otherwise.”
Nervously coughing, you move your leg out from under his hand. “Well, I better get dressed. I need to-”
“Were you masturbating to my picture?”
All the blood drains from your face as you notice his Spiderman picture peeking out from your pillow. He’s staring at it, his jaw clenched tight.
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
Slowly, Peter turns his head to stare at you. “Don’t make me ask again, Y/N. Were you or were you not masturbating to a picture of me?”
The air leaves your lungs and you gasp, attempting to even your breathing before answering. “I was.”
Chuckling, Peter moves to stand in front of your now sitting form, caging you in as he places his hands on either side of you. “Is that so?”
His face is close, so close that if you lean forward even just the slightest, your lips will touch his. But before you can ponder it, he’s backing away.
You think you’ve scared him off, ruining your friendship forever, until… Until he’s pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his suit underneath.
“Well, luckily for you, I never bothered to take it off.”
You gulp at the sight of his suit clinging tightly to his chiseled chest, showing off every sculpted inch of him.
You watch him saunter towards you, his eyes never once leaving yours as he unzips his pants, letting them fall to the floor.
“You want me to fuck you in my suit, baby?”
You clench your thighs together, a stream of wetness threatening to spill out of your pussy. “You don’t think this is weird?” You barely recognize your voice, the sound of it low and ragged.
He smirks as one of his fingers rests on your lips, tracing the curve of your mouth. “To be completely honest, Y/N, I’ve been thinking about fucking you for a long time now.”
He swallows your response by slamming his mouth onto yours, his tongue diving in between your lips.
You moan as his hands roam all over your body, taking in as much as possible. He cradles your breasts, teasing his thumbs over your nipples because sliding down even lower.
Gasping, you break away from the kiss to look down at his hand that’s now catering to your cunt, two of his fingers thrusting deep inside you while his thumb makes quick work of your clit.
“Peter!” Your head is thrown back, exposing your neck and he takes up the opportunity to suck on your skin.
“Just wanted to get you ready for me, sweetheart.”
His fingers leave you then and you groan at the loss of contact. You don’t have time to complain though because he’s already pulling his dick out of his suit’s secret zipper and lining it up with your entrance.
“Gonna fuck you so good, Y/N, you’ll never be able to get off on your own ever again.”
The tip of his dick pushes into you and the both of you groan, the feeling of him stretching you out pulsing through you.
He continues to push inside you, stopping halfway to catch his breath. “God, you’re tight.”
His forehead rests down on yours as he fills you up completely, all the way to the hilt.
Staring into each other’s eyes, you both gasp at the feeling of him slowly moving back out until slamming back in one thrust.
He repeats his movements, the tip of his dick repeatedly hitting your g-spot while his thumb reaches down to rub circles into your clit.
“Peter, I’m not going to last long,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak.
“That’s the plan,” he groans out, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I’m close, baby.”
His thrusts pick up speed and shortly after, the two of you are falling over the edge, your vagina squeezing him tightly as you both orgasm.
The two of you moan each other’s names loudly, your voices mixing together and echoing off the walls of your room.
You feel his cum shoot into you, coating your walls and when he slowly pulls out, it trickles out and down your thigh.
Your foreheads are still pressed against each other as you both try to catch your breath.
“I’m glad you caught me,” you whisper breathlessly.
“What?” Peter asks, his voice gravelly.
“I’m glad you caught me masturbating.”
Peter grins at you then. “You better be.” His hands move to roam your body once again, his fingers trailing over your center. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
You let him slam his mouth back onto yours as he confesses all of the things he’s going to do to you.
Time to get ready for round two.
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Sundaes and Barbecues
Pairing: Modern!Bucky x female!reader
Word Count: 9.3K (sorryyy)
Summary: After moving back to your home town, you run into the one person you weren’t prepared for.
Warnings: Angst, mentions of past abuse (mental, manipulation), fluff.
Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost
The multiple piles of boxes stared you down, daring to unpack them — to unpack your life, to re-setup your life — but all you could do was stare back. It didn't help that the box truck of furniture was staring at you from its spot in the driveway, mocking you for not hiring a moving company to unload it for you.
You didn't think you'd ever end back up in the tiny lake town you grew up in, but here you are, standing in the small house you bought with most of the money you kept hidden from your ex-husband. It was halfway across the country away from him, and you would've gone further if you could have, but your little town was always safe when you were younger. No tourists, not too much crime, other than the crimes from the big city just twenty minutes down the highway. Not even your ex-husband knew it was your home. You figured it'd be the best spot to restart.
Sighing, you decided not to unpack just yet, and grabbed your car keys. Your car was already unhooked from the trailer and you needed groceries, and what better time to go get them than when you don't want to do what really needs to be done.
Driving down to the local store, you were able to see how not much had changed. Most of the houses you walked by when you were in high-school still looked the same, save for the new paint jobs or new fences, you even recognized most of the people working out in their yards or sitting on their porches. It was a sense of familiarity you didn't know you needed until a hint of a smile had found its way on your cheeks.
The grocery store was set up the same too, with most of the same people working the registers and setting out produce. You pulled your hat down as you walked past people you recognized, hoping they didn't see you. It was not a day you wanted to spend playing catch up with anyone. You just wanted to grab what you needed to make a semi-decent dinner and you'd come back tomorrow after a good night's rest.
You were pushing the sad cart that had one wheel who just couldn't get with the program and was squeaking at every rotation, looking at different packages of noodles when you heard the thud of a set of heavy boots coming up behind you. Glancing at the ground behind you, you stepped out of the way with a small apology for being in the man's way before looking back at your options - elbow or penne.
You noticed the boots were frozen behind you, unmoving, and it made a knot of worry form in your chest. It was when your name fell on your ears in a whisper that you almost jumped out of your own skin.
Spinning on your heel with a slight gasp, your eyes followed up the floor from black boots and dark jeans to a light grey shirt paired with a leather jacket. You looked up to see those familiar slate blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes. He had the same scruff on his cheeks, but his hair was shorter now - no longer down to his shoulders, it was cut, cropped and short with a small bit of length on the top. He seemed leaner, no longer large and bulky. His eyebrows were arched, creasing his forehead as he looked over you.
"Is that really you?" His voice was soft, but it held a roughness to it that was unfamiliar. He looked the same, but yet so different.
"Uh, ye - yeah," You glanced down at your leggings and hoodie, stained with dust and paint, and you immediately wished you were anywhere but there, "Hi, Buck. . . I didn't think anyone would recognize me." Glancing back up at him from under the brim of your baseball cap, you caught the small smile that played on the corners of his lips.
"I'll always recognize you. What are you doing here anyways?" He asked in a breathy laugh, "I thought you moved away?"
"I did," You started, shoving your hands in your hoodie pocket and pulling at the tips of your fingers, "I just moved back."
"Really? Where at?" he gave you one of his show stopping smiles and you couldn't help the part of your heart that still yearned for him after all these years.
"Like a block or two away from the highschool, a small house," You grinned tightly at him, silently letting him know he wasn't going to be getting more information than that.
"Oh so not too far from here then," A silence fell between you after you nodded. He was just watching you with a sort of adoration that you couldn't quite explain. He noticed you shift on your feet, clearly uncomfortable, and cleared his throat.
"Well, if you need any help, I'm down at that mechanic shop every day. You know the one Steve's dad owned?" Your eyes widened as you nodded. "Steve and I took over so his old man could retire."
"Thanks, but I think I'll be okay," You grabbed your empty cart and went to push it to the next aisle, "It was good to see you though." You noticed his smile falter before an understanding filled his eyes.
"Yeah, you too," He nodded at you, the happy tone in his voice slipping away, "Have a goodnight." You gave him a short smile before turning down the next aisle, the corners of your lips falling immediately. You waited there for a few minutes until you were sure you heard his boots thud off to another aisle. Taking the empty cart to the front, you put it back with the others and made your way to your car. You'd decided on just ordering take out.
Out of everyone you had wanted to run into, you wished it was anyone but him. Anyone but your ex-boyfriend.
You were a firm believer that it had just been the wrong timing for you two, you broke up on good terms and agreed to stay friends. You had received a job offer of your dreams, just on the other side of the country. You wanted to leave the small town, and he wanted to stay. It was as simple as just two different people wanting different things, and that was okay — until it wasn't.
You moved out to your new city, leaving the town behind. You tried to reach out to keep in contact, and it was fine at first, but his replies started coming in far and few between -- and when he did bother to get back to you, it was never the same. He had grown short in his replies, he didn't tell you much of what was going on, and he stopped reaching out. It had grown exhausting trying to get ahold of him, so you let him go.
You stopped calling, stopped texting. Your friendship dwindled down to following each other on social media, and that was it. You were fine with it though, once you got married. Your ex-husband wasn't too keen on you having male friends anyways, or really any friends for that matter — one of his many insecurities that would turn out to be your life's downfall.
You didn't even consider that Bucky would still be here after all these years, but really, where else would he be? He told you he didn't want to leave, that he liked living in a small town where everyone knew each other and everyone knew what was going on in everyone else's life. He loved it for the exact reason you wanted to leave.
After picking up some subpar Chinese food and heading home, you were sat at your kitchen counter, eating, when your phone lit up next to you. You set your cheap wooden chopsticks down and picked up your phone, unlocking it to a new message.
"She just left after that?" Steve asked from under a truck, the only truck they had to work on at the moment, Bucky handing him tools as he told him about how he saw you at the grocery store the night before.
He couldn't get you out of his head after he saw you. You were still as gorgeous as the last time, but there was a caution in your movements and a sadness in your eyes that was new to him. It worried him.
"Yeah, man. I saw her put her cart back and walk out. I don't know if it was something I said, but I could tell she was super uncomfortable." He replied, handing over another tool.
"Well, she just moved back. Maybe she was just exhausted? She was probably moving stuff before you saw her." Bucky sighed. Steve was probably right, you weren't someone to ask for help so he knew you'd probably moved most of your stuff on your own, if not all of it.
"I don't know, she seemed. . . different. I don't know how to put it," He glanced at his phone on the other end of the garage, sitting on one of the tool boxes. He had messaged you last night, having to pull up your social profile, he'd deleted your number years ago. He was still waiting for a reply.
"Well, you're different than you were back then too." Steve muttered, but Bucky wasn't paying attention.
"Do you think she's still mad at me?" Steve froze, the sound of the wrench twisting turning to silence. He peaked out from under the car.
"She could be," He went back to work, "You did just drop her when she moved away. I'd be mad too."
Bucky sighed, grabbing tools back from Steve, placing them in the tool box, "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time." He backed up to let Steve out from under the truck, his blond hair tinted with grease and his blue eyes squinting at Bucky. Once Steve was up, he was wiping his hands on his already too dirty rag.
"Well, if she's mad, apologize. Hell, even if she's not mad, you should give her an apology." He turned to lower the truck, "She deserves one."
Steve's words continued to repeat in Bucky’s head all day as he not so patiently waited for you to reply to his late night courage. Steve was right. You did deserve an apology, and he wished you'd give him the chance to give it to you.
He knew he had done you dirty, leaving you in the dust like that. Not explaining that he couldn't take hearing how good it was in your new city. How you were already making friends and going out. How you loved it so much.
He knew he was the one who didn't agree on moving out of the town, but he didn't expect you to love it the way you did. He thought that you'd go for a couple months and come back, bored of the busy streets and light pollution; but you never did.
He knew it was wrong to stop replying — knowing it was working when your messages became less frequent. They thinned from once a day, to once a week, to once a month. And one day, he had received the last call from you that he'd ever get. He could still remember it, clear as day.
He watched as his phone rang on the cushion next to him, the slight vibrations crawling into his skin and the shrill ringtone piercing his ears.
He watched the picture of you - one he'd taken of you after you'd gone for ice cream, you carrying the biggest sundae with an even bigger smile on your face - displayed across the screen before it faded to black as the time ran out. You had moved out to the city a year ago - you were supposed to come visit but you had been offered the opportunity to work on a huge project and you couldn't say no.
His eyes were glued to the screen when he saw your voicemail come through. Grasping his phone, he pulled it to his ear, listening to your voice coming through crackling static. Your voice was emotionless, numb.
"Hey James," His heart hammered in his chest — you never called him James, "I don't know if you're even gonna listen to this, but, uh. . . I'm sorry if I ever offended you or upset you. But, it's pretty clear you don't wanna talk, and that's fine. Um, I guess if you ever wanna talk again, you know how to reach me. . ." The line fell silent.
He didn't know how to feel, his heart fell to the bottom of the pit in his stomach and all the air in chest vacated his lungs in a single huff. Pulling his phone from his ear, he looked down, the small screen bright in the darkness of his living room. He wanted to call you back, to tell you he was sorry for avoiding you, for giving you the silent treatment you didn't deserve. He so desperately wanted to hear you laugh and to hear you call him 'Bucky' again.
But he figured it was already too late for that. You called him James - that meant you were mad at him, it had to. Clicking to your contact info, he clicked 'edit' and scrolled to the bottom.
I'll just hold her back, he thought to himself as he clicked 'delete,' a confirmation message taking the screen, I have to let her go.
He clicked 'yes.'
"Thank you, Miss Potts, I really appreciate the offer. I'll see you in the office on Monday?" You asked. Your interview for an editing company was coming to an end, and it had gone incredibly well and you were to start in the next week.
"Yes! We will see you then!" Pepper Pots, the small business's acting CEO, was more than excited when you had accepted her offer. She said she took one look at your transcripts and your resume and she just had to have you on the team.
You bid your goodbyes before hanging up and sighing, a small smile on your face. Things were starting to look up, it had been years since things had gone your way and you were just hoping it would stay that way.
The smile on your lips faltered as you remembered the message that sat in your inbox, waiting for a reply. Bucky had sent it after your run-in with each other at the grocery store two days ago, and you still didn’t know what to say.
Hey, I know some of our friends would love to know your back. We’re holding a small bbq at the shop on Saturday if you wanna come along? No pressure :)
It was Thursday, you’d have two days to get your life unpacked — at least partially — before going out and then one more day before you started for Miss Potts. But did you want to go?
You hadn’t seen, let alone talked to, any of your old friends since you left. Bucky was the only one to keep in touch with you and even that dwindled away from you.
You sighed as you typed a reply — finally. If anything, you could just leave and it wouldn’t matter. There’s no harm in going, right?
Just a small bbq? Not really in the mood for a crowd.
You knew your response came off short, but you hadn’t talked with him in so long, it felt awkward. His response came just minutes later, like he’d been waiting for you to get back to him.
Yeah just a couple friends. We’d love it if you came by.
You couldn’t stop the small smile that lifted on your cheeks before you replied.
I’ll swing by for a little while, I’ve got some more unpacking though so I can’t stay long.
His response was immediate, not even giving you a chance to lock your screen.
I’ll save a plate for you ;)
Sighing, you locked your phone and looked at your pile of boxes. It was smaller than it was two days ago, most of the boxes moved to their appropriate rooms, but most of them remained unopened, the tape uncut.
You hadn’t had much motivation to open anything, not wanting to revisit harmful memories as you pulled things out of boxes, one by one coming back to haunt you. But now you have a reason to unpack — at least enough of a reason to find a decent outfit, a nice pair of shoes, and your makeup. So, you stood from your old couch — the one that took way too long to move into your house without help — and got to work.
There was quiet music playing from the old stereo in the corner, Steve’s old man’s stereo from when he still owned the shop. All the tools were put in their respective places in the toolboxes, locked away. The grill was already going, Bruce flipping burgers and rotating skewers while Natasha kept him company.
Wanda and her husband Vis were with Steve catching up with the brothers Thor and Loki — polar opposites whose parents liked Norse mythology a bit too much.
Bucky was waiting, standing with Sam while he rambled on about his adventures in the Air Force — he was only in town for the week. It didn’t take long for Sam to figure out that Bucky wasn’t listening as he stared at the open garage door like he was expecting something to happen.
His attention was torn from the door when a jab met his ribs and he whipped his head to his friend who had that knowing look in his eyes.
“What, Sam?” He grumbled before lifting his beer to his lips and taking a sip.
“Man, who are you waiting for? Your eyes have been glued to the road outside that door for the past ten minutes,” Sam laughed.
“She’ll show, she always does,” he mumbled, “She always did.” Sam’s brows creased at the last addition.
“Did? Who did?”
Bucky let his eyes drift back to the empty road just outside the large door, mumbling your name, making Sam’s eyes narrow.
“Wait — Didn’t she move away?” Bucky nodded before explaining how he ran into you at the grocery store.
“You’re telling me, your ex-girlfriend, who you stopped talking to, moved back and is coming by tonight?” He asked, eyes wide in amusement, “After what you did, I’m surprised she said she’d come.”
“Yeah me too,” Bucky muttered, “Somethings different about her, man. She used to be so upbeat, happy, always dancing to a tune in her head. When I saw her, she was just as gorgeous as she was seven years ago, but there was a sadness to her. She was hiding behind a hat, she hardly smiled, and when she did it was so small, it was barely noticeable. She seemed… broken.”
Bucky stated at the road as Sam weighed what he said, a silence settling between them. The sun was setting, filling the sky with pastel pinks and purples. When Sam finally responded, his tone was quiet, softer than it usually was.
“Buck, a lot can change for a person in that time. You may not know her as well as you used to. Just be ready for that. But you also need to remember that you've changed too,” He rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a nudge and drawing his attention back, “Just be patient, give her some time, and be honest with her." There was a knowing glint in his chocolate eyes — he knew Bucky better than most, even if he never said the words that his friend was picking up on.
Bucky nodded with a small smile, “Yeah. . . Thanks.”
Just as he smiled at Sam, he heard the closing of a car door followed by a jingle of keys and his head whipped to the door. There you were, walking through the open doorway, arms wrapped around yourself. You were wearing a pair of light skinny jeans and a loose black blouse, a pair of black flats on your feet. He could feel his heart lift at the sight of you.
He excused himself from Sam’s side, and made his way to you, smiling when he caught your attention.
“You made it,” He smiled, nudging your arm with his elbow.
“Yeah, though it seems I’m a little late,” you mumbled as you peaked around him to see who was there.
“Hey, I’m the one who never told you a time, that’s on me,” he laughed as he led you over to Sam. “You remember Sam right?” He watched as your eyes widened and sparkled as you saw Sam.
“Yes! Oh my god, hi,” you laughed as you went in for a hug with your old friend — Bucky wanting to take Sam’s place.
The three of you stood there for what felt like forever, catching up on the lost years. Sam telling you the same stories Bucky had already heard about his deployments. You telling them both stories about the city you went to work in for two years and the next city you eventually lived in for the past five. It was just like old times, as if you hadn’t gone almost a decade with radio silence. That was until Sam asked a question that appeared to strike a nerve in you.
“I saw you got married, is your husband coming too?” The moment the word ‘husband’ left Sam’s mouth, Bucky noticed your shoulders tense. The spark left your eyes as they fell to the floor and it was as if you were closing in on yourself. This was the way he saw you at the store and his heart clenched at the sight.
“I did get married, but we’re not… together anymore,” you whispered, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam caught on to your discomfort and switched the subject, making fun of Bucky for something he did back when they were in school, pulling a small laugh out of you.
It went on like that for a few hours, catching up with more people as they recognized you and came to say hello. There were only a few instances where you’d start to close off — people asking too personal a question or asking about your husband — but Bucky would pick up on your nervous ticks and take over the conversation for you.
That was something that hadn’t changed in him, he was always trying to make sure you were comfortable and okay.
Eventually, he caught you checking the delicate wine red watch that wrapped around your wrist and he remembered you saying you still had stuff to unpack. He wanted to offer to help, but he didn’t know if you’d accept it. If you’d just let him walk into your home to unpack the years of your life he didn’t know about. But just as he was about to open his mouth, a shrill ringtone cut through the music from your back pocket.
Bucky watched as your shoulders tensed and you scrambled to pull your phone out, eyes widening as you saw who was calling.
“I — I’ll be right back, sorry,” you mumbled as you scurried off out of the door, phone to your ear.
Bucky watched you pace back and forth next to your car as you actively chatted — more like argued — with whoever was on the other side. He wanted to know who could call you and cause that kind of a reaction. You looked scared as if the person on the other end was going to reach through the screen and hurt you.
Your phone call lasted longer than either of you thought it would, and people started to pick up their things and head home. They'd wave to you as they walked by — you quieted down so they didn't hear your frustrations — and you'd wave back with a small smile. When the phone call was finally over, you returned to the garage, the quiet tune of music filling the air of silence.
"Everything okay?" Bucky asked from his seat against the wall. You walked over to him, standing a few feet away, arms crossed.
"Yeah, I'm-uh-I'm gonna head home though. It's getting late and I gotta get up early tomorrow to get some stuff done around the house before Monday," You glanced to the floor, staring at your shoes as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
"Do you need any help? I'm free all day tomorrow." You glanced up at him and shook your head.
"No, I should be fine. Thank you though," You smiled, it not quite reaching your eyes, "I'm gonna go." He quickly jumped up from his seat with a mumble of agreement and walked you to your car. He held the door open for you and shut it once you were seated comfortably in your driver's seat. He watched as you pulled out from the driveway and took off down the road, still wondering who called you and upset you.
He had known you'd gotten married, he'd seen it on your profile. But other than the occasional recipe or holiday post, there wasn't much to your profile. But, the way you didn't want to talk about it, and the way you closed in on yourself when it was brought up made him wonder. What happened to you?
You weren't fine like you told Bucky last night. Your phone call with Billy had sent a huge wave of anxiety over you and you hardly slept. Every time you had to speak to him, a wave of anxiety would take over you for at least a day. Because you didn't sleep much, you couldn't clear your head enough to unpack. The pile of boxes was smaller, only a few remaining sealed. But your box truck of furniture still sat outside, daring you to open it.
If you were going to be well rested for your first day at your new job, you'd need your actual bed, not just the couch that was covered in blankets and pillows — a sad attempt to make it comfortable enough.
After the long debate in your head and Bucky's offer echoing in your ears, you shakily reached for your phone. It had been years since you had asked for his help with anything, but you knew he would help, he would keep his word. Scrolling through your contacts, the butterflies in your stomach erupting, you found his name, took a breath, and hit 'call.'
The phone rang for a few moments, the monotone ring filling your ear as you paced the kitchen, a habit you couldn't seem to break no matter who it was you were talking with. Just as you were about to hang up and figure something else out, the ring was cut off and it was followed by a grunted, "Hello?"
"Hey, Buck, it's me," Your voice was hardly there, but you knew he heard it when you heard his shuffling on the other end stop and the distant sound of revving engines became distant.
"Hey! What's going on?" He sounded concerned, and you couldn't blame him. Your voice was shaky and quiet and you were about two seconds away from hanging up the phone and just giving your furniture to the place you rented the truck from.
"I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer?" The line fell quiet for a moment and you stomach started to sink as your nerves rose, "I got all the boxes moved and mostly unpacked, but I have some furniture I can't move on my own and I don't have anyone else's number anymore so—“
"Send me your address, plum," The old pet name rolled off his tongue as if he never stopped using it, making your heart skip a beat, "I can get Steve and Sam to help out too if you think we'll need it?"
"Um no, just you should be fine, I think," You heard him chuckle followed by keys jingling.
"Alright, I'll see you soon."
Bucky was surprised you had called him, happy, but surprised nonetheless. He almost didn't pick up, he still didn't have your number saved in his phone, but something had told him to answer it, and he was glad he did. Though, you sounded so timid over the speaker, your voice quiet and nervous, it made that ball of worry settle in his chest again as he revved up his bike and pulled out of the shop.
He made his way to your house once you sent over your address — you were only a couple blocks away from the shop — and he pulled up to find you sitting on the porch with a mug of what he assumed was coffee in your hands as you stared at the truck in your driveway. He shut off the bike, taking his helmet off and swinging his leg over the side to walk to you. You were still staring at the truck, slowly blinking, as he made his way up the driveway. You were zoned out and hadn’t really noticed him yet, giving him the time to take you in.
You looked exhausted, in a pair of pajama shorts and a loose short sleeve with beat-up tennis shoes on your feet. You had bags under your eyes, and your lips were chapped and picked at, something you used to do when you were younger when you were nervous.
"Hey," He announced himself, trying his best not to startle you, though it hardly worked. Your eyes snapped to him, wide, and you quickly stood from your spot on the small porch.
"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," You mumbled, "Ready to get to work?"
Having Bucky help you unload the truck was one of the better decisions you had made. You were able to get everything unpacked in just a couple of hours and he even helped put your bed frame together and reattach the mirror to your dresser. You were able to spend the rest of that day unpacking everything else. Nothing was perfect, but it was starting to come together. He even returned the truck for you so you wouldn't have to lose time doing what you needed to do.
After that, the awkwardness between the two of you faded, not all of the way, but you didn't feel weird texting him or calling him. You weren't necessarily close yet, but your friendship really just picked up where it left off — including your heart and stomach doing flips when he would call you 'plum' or 'doll' or any of the pet names he'd call you when you were together. You were sure it was just a habit, something he didn't even realize he was doing, so you didn't ask him about it, but you couldn't deny how it made you feel. And that scared you.
You couldn't drag him into your life, no matter how you felt about him. You knew you were safe, but there was that nagging voice in the back of your head that made you question how long your safety would last — being married to a narcissistic manipulative asshole did that to you. So you kept him at an arm's distance over the next few weeks.
He would come help you with simple home repairs, like the light fixture in your kitchen that wouldn't turn on and ended up needing a new wire soldered to it. He fixed the broken pipe in your kitchen sink, and even fixed the chipped grout in the laundry room. He became your go to when things went wrong in the house. He would immediately drop what he was doing — a perk of being part owner to the shop, you supposed — and when he'd come to fix it, you'd supply him with a hot meal, but that was really all you would let him have — let yourself have.
The dinners with him were always calm as he'd relive memories with you from your late teens and very early twenties when you were friends. He didn't dare bring up memories from when you were together, he was scared that talking about that alone would make you close yourself off from him again. It was nice though, being domestic with you even in a platonic sense. He liked seeing you relaxed around him again, even if he wanted more.
Your job was going well, you were helping Pepper Potts directly with editing for her larger projects for the company's owner, Tony Stark. You loved it there and you hoped that after they made their move to the city not too far away, you could stay with them, even if you stayed in the town.
It was two months after you moved back that Bucky asked you over again. He had been respecting your space, but was holding another barbeque before summer ended, and it was supposed to be more of a party. He asked you to come, to get you out and socialize with old friends again, and you agreed. You hadn't heard from Billy since the last time you were at the garage, and you felt like you deserved a night out.
The day came for the party, and you picked out a pair of skinny jeans and a white blouse, one that's neck didn't plunge too deep but didn't leave too much to the imagination. Your makeup was simple, but it accentuated your eyes and when you were ready, you took a look in the mirror. You were starting to look like yourself — your ex-husband would be furious if he saw you, and that thought made a smile crawl up your cheeks as you walked out to your car and made your way to the shop.
Bucky was waiting for you, just like last time. He wanted to spend the night at your side, trying to make you laugh and get you to shine your radiant smile his way. The music rang through the air, the bass of whatever was playing shaking his ribs, he wasn't paying attention to lyrics though as he spotted your car pull up and park along the curb. He pushed his way through the sea of people, most of them moving out of his way, and out to the curb to wait for you to climb out of your car. When you did, he couldn't help staring at you. Every time he saw you, it was like seeing you for the first time again — his heart would stutter and his stomach would do flips as everything in his head silenced.
He walked in with you, grabbing you a drink after you told him you wanted to have a good time and that it had been too long since you'd let yourself drink and have fun. The night was filled with laughter, drinks, and good food. Near the end of the night, they had set up a small bonfire behind the shop and set up camping chairs where you wrapped yourself in a blanket and made yourself comfortable.
Most of the people had gone home, leaving a few stragglers inside playing cards or darts, or having one last bite to eat before they left. Bucky had joined you, sitting just a few steps away, but it was just the two of you by the fire. Silence blanketed you in a comfortable embrace, but the alcohol in your veins pushed for conversation.
“I missed this place,” you started, glancing at the small gathering of people watching Nat throw darts, not missing a single shot at the bullseye.
“Then why’d you leave?” Bucky's voice dragged your eyes to him. He had that look in his eyes that said he had more to say, but just couldn’t get the words out.
“You know why I left,” you mumbled, staring back into the flames, “I got my dream job, and it was amazing. I loved it there…” The memories of your old life were bittersweet, and they left a sour taste in your mouth — or was that the lime from earlier?
“Then why’d you come back?” It was a simple question, but the answer was so much more complicated than you wanted him to know. But the alcohol in your head had reduced your inner filter to almost nonexistent.
“It’s safe here. Things didn’t really work out for me, and I’d rather be here where I know most of the town, than be completely alone in a new city. Even if it feels like I’m alone here,” you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as you huffed out a sigh.
“You’re not alone, plum,” Bucky uttered, thinking you’d miss it, but when you let out a sad laugh his eyes widened.
“I am. These people don’t know me, not anymore.” He tore his eyes from the dancing flames and turned to face you.
“I know you.”
You peaked at him from the corner of your eyes before looking down at your lap, “You used to, you don’t know who I am. I’m not who I used to be, Buck. We went so long without talking, I can't expect you to know me anymore.”
Bucky's chest tightened at your words. You had said them so casually, as if you weren’t calling him out on ditching you, on ghosting you for so long.
“Doll, I’m sorry,” he started, noticing the way your hands stilled under the blanket, “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
A moment of silence fell between you, the only noises coming from the crackling of the fire and the subtle tune of soft music from inside. Finally, your head lifted as you looked over the fire.
“I don’t know why you’re apologizing, it’s fine, things happen. I get it,” you turned to him, and he could see the sadness in your eyes, in the unshed tears that were slowly gathering along your lower lashes, “People grow apart and it’s okay.”
He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t expect you to have that reaction to his words, he was bracing for anger or accusation, not tears and acceptance. All he could do was watch you as you rambled on, unable to stop yourself.
“I didn’t want to grow apart. I wanted to stay friends. I wanted to have a reason to come back and visit. Or a reason to get you to spend some time out of this damn town. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come spend a weekend with me. I wanted to show you the city, all the cool little bars and small restaurants and the parks. But you wouldn’t pick up,” your voice wavered and he was able to see the first tear fall, the light from the fire reflecting off of it.
“But I guess it’s okay, Billy wouldn’t have liked us being friends. He didn't like a lot of things." Bucky watched as you sniffed and wiped your face before sitting up, "I should get going." You pulled the blanket off of yourself, messily folding it as you stood, setting it on the chair.
"Hey, you're still drunk," He stood to steady you as you rocked on your feet, grabbing both of your forearms, "Let me help you home." His voice held a sternness he didn't intend, but he wasn't about to let you wander home when you could barely walk straight or keep your eyes open more than half way.
You simply nodded and let him wrap an arm around your waist to guide you through the garage and out to the sidewalk — your house was just a couple blocks, and he'd carry you if he had to.
And he did, about halfway there your knees started to shake. Before you could become good friends with the ground, he caught you, steadying you on your feet long enough to get you on his back. Your nose buried in the side of his neck as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his hands held you up under your thighs, your feet dangling beside his legs. It reminded him of when you two were younger, when you’d trip in your heels and he’d have to carry you because one of them snapped. He teased you about it for weeks, but he never told you how much he loved it — or how quickly he would do it all again.
Once you reached the familiar little house and you were both safely inside, he helped you up to your bed and got you seated before he knelt on the ground and removed your shoes. He helped you lay back and went to grab you a glass of water and some ibuprofen to set on your nightstand. Taking one more glance at you, the light from the hallway catching your cheeks and the tips of your lashes, he sighed before turning to make his way out when there was a grip on his wrist.
"I'm sorry. . ." Your soft voice, though slurred and muffled by the pillow, cut through the silence and pulled his eyes to your half lidded ones, "I'm sorry I left." Every muscle in Bucky's body relaxed — the tension in his jaw, in his shoulders, even in his clenched fists, dissipated as he sank to sit next to you, gently placing a calloused hand on your soft cheek.
"You don't need to apologize for that, plum," He stroked your cheek with his thumb, a sigh leaving your lips. "We were young, we wanted different things. It's okay." A small smile took over your features as you drifted off. He stood from your bed, pulling your hand from his wrist and gently setting it on the blanket before he leaned over you and placed a ghost of a kiss on your forehead.
When you woke the next morning, a pounding in your skull and your stomach in knots, you groaned and turned over. A glass of water and a small pill were on your nightstand and your brows pulled together as you tried to remember what happened. It only took a moment, but once all the memories flooded your head, you groaned.
You had gotten emotional and Bucky walked you home. You remembered him trying to apologize for not talking to you, and you apologizing to him for leaving. You remembered the way he carried you home, his hands under your thighs and his thumbs rubbing circles in your skin. Your skin got heated thinking about it, you always loved his hands and the feel of his skin on yours.
"Oh god. . ." You sat up, rubbing your temples before reaching for the water and the pill, quickly swallowing both before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You stood, making your way to the hallway when a smell hit your nose. You inhaled, the scent of breakfast filling your senses. Your stomach growled, but your mind was racing. Bucky went home last night, didn't he?
You reached for the baseball bat by your door, the one that Bucky had bought for you when you were teenagers, before you even dated each other. He had asked you to help him with his pitching for the school baseball team and you soon learned you had a mean swing.
Slowly descending the stairs, you avoided all the spots that creaked and held the bat at the ready when you nervously peaked into the kitchen. You stared at the muscled back and the short cropped hair that was messy and sticking out in all different directions. He was humming along to a tune in his head as he pulled the bacon off of the pan on the stove. When he turned the slightest, his tattooed arm reaching for the pancake batter, he saw you from the corner of his eye and froze.
"Bucky?" Your arms relaxed as you dropped the bat to your side.
"I didn't wanna leave and have the door unlocked, so I slept on the couch. I hope that's okay?" You nodded as you watched him eye the bat in your hand, "Were you going to hit me with that?"
You shrugged, "If I needed to." He chuckled at that as you set the bat against the wall and made your way to his side, glancing down at the cooking pancakes. "You cook now?"
His eyes squinted at your teasing tone, "I do, if you want some though you'll have to be nice to me." You scrunched your nose at him before turning to walk around the counter, taking a seat and watching him finish breakfast. When he was done with the stove and had it turned off, he made you each a plate — he knew his way around your kitchen like it was the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry you had to help me home last night," you started as he slid your plate in front of you, "And I'm sorry I got emotional." His shoulders tensed slightly before they sagged.
"I didn't think you'd remember." He uttered as he grabbed you a fork and a glass of orange juice.
"I remember most of it." You whispered before shoving a bite in your mouth.
"Do you remember me apologizing? Well, trying to apologize?" He wouldn't look at you, and was just pushing the cut off bite of fluffy goodness around his plate with his fork. You thought hard about what exactly he had said to you, only remembering the words 'I'm sorry.'
"Kind of. I don't remember exactly the words you used." He set his fork down and placed both hands on the counter, sighing before lifting his eyes to yours. Those slate blues held a sense of sorrow and regret that you hadn't seen before, and you definitely didn't have a sober enough gaze to notice it last night.
"I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for not keeping in contact, and I'm so sorry that I never explained why I stopped responding." His voice was tense, like he was fighting to say more but didn't want to dump everything on you at once.
You set down your fork and folded your hands together in your lap. "Do you want to explain it to me? Or is that something you'd rather keep to yourself?"
He sighed, dropping his head, and was silent for a moment, "I want to, but it might make you change your mind about me. You might hate me."
"I don't think I could ever hate you, Buck," He looked up at you, a small flash of hope crossing his face. "Don't get me wrong, I can get mad, and I have been mad at you before. But I could never hate you. Not truly."
"I was. . ." He paused, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the skin before starting again, "It hurt knowing you loved the city so much," He looked up at you, with a sad smile on his face, "That you had gone so far and you were so happy about it. I was happy for you, don't get me wrong. I was so happy you got to have your dream job come true. I was happy you loved the city — hell, I was so worried you would regret it," He huffed out a harsh breath as he carded his fingers through his short hair and scratched the back of his head before continuing, "I was so proud of you," He smiled at the floor, pulling his hand away from his head and crossing his arms again. His eyes were glued to the floor, refusing to move from the tiniest crack in the tile, "But, it was hard hearing about it, because. . . Because I was still in love with you," Your brows knitted together as your heart flipped, ". . . I still am."
Your jaw slacked slightly as you processed his words. I still am. It echoed in your head as he watched you, gauging you for a reaction. He was still in love with you? Even after all this time? You thought about the weeks you'd spent with him, having him come over and help, how he was so fast to pick up the phone when you called. How he would drop everything to come over and fix the stair railing or the chipped grout. You thought about how he would stay by your side at the two barbecues and how he was so willing to make sure you got home safe. And how he even spent the night on the couch and cooked you breakfast in the morning. It was something you should've picked up on by now you realized.
"It's okay if you don't feel the same way. I just couldn't not tell you," He uttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the edge of the now cold stove.
Did you feel the same way? You knew the answer, you always have. You knew you would always love him, no matter where life took you, no matter the distance between you, no matter the years you'd gone with silence between you.
"Bucky, I. . ." Your voice trailed off as you searched for the right words. You looked to him to see nothing but worry and patience. He wasn't going to cut you off until you said what you needed to say. He was looking at you with so much love and adoration — something you haven't been on the receiving end of in years — and it brought tears to your eyes. "You don't know me anymore," Your voice was quiet and wavered as you tried to keep the unexpected emotions at bay, "I don't even know me anymore."
"What does that mean?" He stepped forward, placing his hands on the counter, outstretched to you. Watching his fingers lightly tap on the counter, you knew it was an open invitation that you didn't have to take — it was just there if you needed it.
Pulling your gaze from his hand that pushed a little further across the table than his other, you looked down to your own fingers, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. "I don't know who I am anymore, Buck. I married a man who drained everything from me. He convinced me to leave my dream job. To move out of the city I loved. . . to forget who I am as a person. . ." You glanced up to him, "The only thing he couldn't take from me, was my love for you." You gave him a watery smile as your voice cracked and the first tear fell.
You could tell he wanted to smile, wanted to be joyful that you still felt the same way about him, but the concern at your tears and the uncertainty in your words kept his smile at bay. He wanted to ask you what you meant, to forget who you were. How could your husband do that to you? What would he want to change about you? You were perfect in Bucky's eyes, he didn't understand, but he kept his questions to himself because he could tell you weren't done talking yet.
"I don't know if I can be the person you fell in love with," You reached for his hand, his fingers immediately reacting to yours and squeezing them, "I want to be. I want to be that happy, go-lucky person you asked out after years of being friends. I want to be the same person who went with you to your first tattoo appointment, who you used to take star gazing at the lake," He gave your hand another squeeze as his eyes became glossy, waiting for you to finish, "I want to be her. But, I don't know if I can be. A lot's happened and I'm not that girl anymore. And I love you, I always have. But I don't think you'd love who I've become." You swallowed the nerves in your throat itching you to say more, knowing if you kept talking you'd start sobbing.
You knew the toll your marriage had on you, you weren't blind to it. You just didn't notice it until you were in too deep. When you had married him. Had moved for him. Had changed who you were. For him. Bucky had fallen in love with the girl with the big dreams. The girl who could find a tune in the most annoying of sounds and make a dance to it or hum a song in response. He fell for the girl who hadn't been broken yet. The feel of his hand pulling away from yours broke you out of your head by making your heart drop. It wasn't the reaction you wanted, but you had expected it. You couldn't expect him to want to stay to re-learn you.
The shuffling of his feet on the tile drew your eyes up to watch as he rounded the counter and pulled up the second bar stool to sit next to you. He turned you to face him, tucking your knees in between his own as he held your hands again.
"If you feel like I don't know you anymore, will you let me?" Your brows pinched together at that, the anxiety trickling slowly away.
"Let me re-get to know you? Let me take you out — we can start as friends if you want — but let me learn who you are again," He brought your knuckles to his lips as he smiled softly, "Let me show you that no matter who you become, I'll always love you."
You didn't know what to say, those weren't the words you had prepared yourself for. This wasn't what you had thought would happen. You didn't think he'd want to have to re-learn who you were now. You didn't think anyone would. But the way he was looking at you, like you were the most important thing in the world, how could you doubt his words?
"Okay," You whispered, giving his fingers a squeeze.
"Let me take you to dinner tonight?" His voice matching the volume of your own. He was inching closer, hardly noticeable but you caught it — and you didn't stop it. You nodded, eyes flicking down to his lips as one of his hands reached to wipe your tears before cupping your cheek. "I'll take you to the diner with the sundaes you used to love."
You giggled as you remembered the too large sundaes that nearly made you sick with how sweet they were. You never could finish a whole one by yourself, but you always tried. Bucky stopped ordering anything after the first couple of times, offering to finish yours when you were too full to even think about taking another bite. You nodded again with a smile, one you didn't have to force.
Before you knew it, he was so close, his nose was brushing up against yours. His eyes shot to your lips once before looking back up at you. Waiting for you to close the gap, he stopped just a breath away. He was waiting for you to make the decision, giving you time to say no. Watching your eyes for a sign that he needed to back up, but you gave him none. Instead, you closed the gap, slotting your lips over his.
It started soft, just a couple of kisses against his lips before you pulled back and glanced up to his eyes, before closing the space again. This time in a more frantic, needy way. There were years of emotion, years of yearning, of loving from a distance behind the way your lips danced, his tongue tangling with yours.
It was full of the love you wished had never stopped between you. The type of love you remembered having with him, and had always wished to find again. Full of the pain that filled your heart when he stopped talking to you, when you became nothing more than strangers. And the love he’d been showing you the past two months. All of it came pouring out in a single action.
Thank you for reading! As always: comments, likes, reblogs, and replies are all appreciated!
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Taglist: @spid3rgwen @austynparksandpizza
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Bucky wants a little something to get him through a long mission.
Warnings: Nudity/photographed nudity, implications of smut and a sex tape/video (18+ older, please!), one bad language word, fluff
Word Count: Roughly 1680
A/N: This piece has got to be one of my favorites that I’ve ever done. Sweet and spicy at the same time! A big big thank you to Rose, @gogolucky13, for letting me bounce this idea off her and brainstorming with me! I really don’t think this piece would’ve reached its full potential without her help. She’s an amazing human and a fantastic writer, so go and check her out! Please forgive/ignore any mistakes you may find. Happy reading!
You offer a small hum in reply, your attention still stuck to the weathered paperback book in your hands. To your right, Bucky snaps his own book closed and sets it on his bedside table.
“You know how I have this two week mission coming up?” You look at him now, a mixture of anxiety and sadness settling within you, where they would inevitably make their home over the weeks to come. You force a wary smile. Despite your own feelings, you want Bucky to know that you’ll support him endlessly. This time is no different.
“Yeah, what about it?” Turning back to his bedside table, Bucky reaches for his phone before facing you again. You watch him fiddle with the device, noticing how he doesn’t meet your eyes when he speaks.
“I was...thinking,” he begins, and a entirely new wave of worry overtakes you. Thinking what? Surely he couldn’t be ending things with you over a lengthy mission. The two of you have been together for three years, for God’s sake. Does he want to opt out of the operation? You don’t know the details, but do the risks outweigh benefits this time around? The thought sends you into another round of panic, and even though you’re good at hiding it, Bucky is quick to notice the shift in your mood.
“I was just thinking that I want some...pictures of us. Of you...just to have while I’m away.” A pink flush colors his cheeks. You quirk a confused eyebrow at him.
“We have lots of pictures together, Buck,” you say, and as if on cue, his phone lights up, revealing a selfie the two of you had taken on your date to Central Park. You’re laughing, a smudge of chocolate ice cream smeared on your cheek. Bucky is laughing, too, his own cup of mint chocolate chip clutched in his free hand. Even in a photo, the immense amount of love he holds for you is evident in the way he’s looking at you.
“I know,” Bucky cracks a coy smile, but it fades when he continues to speak. “I meant the kinds of pictures of you...that I can’t show anyone else.” Now, he’s pulling at a loose thread on the comforter. Still not quite following him, you cock your head to the side. He huffs. “Pictures of you...naked,” he all but mumbles. Now it registers.
“James Buchanan Barnes,” you muse, a mischievous smirk playing at your lips. “Do you want to take my nudes?” The flush on his cheeks deepens and he finally chances a glance at you. Your reaction noticeably eases his nerves a little.
“If that’s what they’re called these days, then yes.” He reaches a hand to scratch at the back if his neck. “If it’s okay with you, of course.” Your heart flutters. Always the gentleman. Closing your book and depositing it on your own bedside table, you waste no time in stripping yourself of your (his) t-shirt. Bucky watches with wide eyes, ogling at you as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen you bare.
“What’d you have in mind?” you ask eagerly. He chuckles, opening his phone and selecting the camera. Before you can even register it, he’s snapping a photo of you cross-legged and bare-chested on the bed. “Hey! I wasn’t even ready!”
“Don’t worry, babydoll,” he smirks. “Just a quick test. You look beautiful, anyways.” You can tell by the way his smirk widens at his phone screen that he’s admiring his work.
“You should probably make a separate album for these, just to be safe. I don’t need Sam or Steve seeing my boobs.” You cringe at the thought. “Do you need me to show you how?” Bucky chuckles again, turning his phone to you. On the screen, the candid photo of you is displayed in an album labeled “My Best Girl”. Butterflies fill your stomach, and it’s your turn to blush a deep pinky-red. If you weren’t so flattered and in love with this teddy bear of a man, you’d be worrying about who taught him how to create a new photo album...and if they knew what it was for.
“Alright, come over here,” Bucky instructs, rising from the bed and padding over to the full-length mirror in the corner of your shared bedroom. You follow him eagerly, shimming out of your panties once you’re standing beside him. Again, he watches you, his smirk wide and his eyes hooded with desire. Still, though, the rosey blush hasn’t left his cheeks. You can tell that he’s nervous from they way he watches you, gauging your every move and reaction. This is new territory for him, and while you’re the only one he’d ever want to explore it with, he’d be damned if he upset you in any way.
“Gotta be nude for the nudes,” you giggle, taking in your naked reflection and Bucky’s half naked one beside you. His grey sweatpants are low on his hips, but his upper half is bare and muscular and absolutely perfect. Something about being completely exposed and vulnerable while he’s still somewhat clothed sends a chill up your spine and an aching desire straight to your core.
“Okay, will you hold this? And please, let me know if you want to stop at all.” You nod. Bucky hands you his phone and moves to stand behind you. He hesitates for a moment, and then his right arm comes around your body and across your breasts, positioning himself in such a way that only your nipples are covered. His vibranium arm snakes it way down your left side, cool fingers ticking soft skin, his hand coming to rest against the most intimate part of your body, shielding you from the camera lens. If you were turned on before, it doesn’t compare to the feeling that floods your body now. His large frame wrapped around you, his hands, both calloused and smooth, concealing the parts of you that are only his to see and touch...it’s enough to make you feral. You rest your left hand on his metallic forearm, leaning back into his warm chest. Bucky nuzzles his nose into your neck, his lips finding the spot where your neck and your shoulder meet. Raising his phone to the mirror, you snap the picture.
“Perfect,” Bucky whispers against your skin, and it’s obviously that he isn’t referring to the picture, though you’re positive that came out just as well. Gently, he guides your body to turn around in his arms, taking the phone from your hand. Now chest to chest, he drapes your arm over his shoulder. You follow suit with your other arm, reaching up on your toes and wrapping them around the back of his neck. Something between a squeal and a giggle escapes you when his vibranium hand grips your ass cheek, giving it a playful squeeze. Bucky laughs. “Stay still, sweetheart.” The camera clicks again.
“You’ve really thought this through, huh?” you quip, pulling back to look at him. Your arms still rest around his neck, your fingers tangling in his long brown locks. “You should be a photographer after you’re done avenging.”
“Only if you get to be my model.” He steals a soft kiss.
You continue to allow him to do what he wants, molding your body into whatever position he likes. Slowly, he sheds his nervousness and lets his guard down. Sweet nothings are whispered and giggles are shared. The level of trust and comfort the two of you have been able to find in each other never ceases to amaze you, or him, for that matter. Never did Bucky think that he’d ever get to a place like this. But now that he’s here, now that he’s with you, nothing else seems to matter.
Now he’s leading you back to the bed and laying you back among the messy sheets. He settles between your legs, his phone camera at the ready as you tuck your hands behind your head. “Wait,” he says, seemingly more to himself than to you. Your brows knit together in wonder as he reaches over and pulls open one of the drawers in his bedside table. A soft metallic jingle has you pushing yourself up on to your elbows. Your eyes go wide once you see what Bucky pulls from the drawer.
“Will you put these on?” He looks at you innocently, expectantly. You hesitate, eyes wide as your gaze flicks between Bucky and his dog tags that dangle from his hand.
“Buck...are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, sweetheart,” he smiles, the meaning of his words reaching far beyond the idea of someone else wearing his dog tags. He drapes the cold chain over your head and gingerly pulls your hair from underneath it. The two silver tags that bare his name come to rest perfectly in the valley of your breasts. “Perfect.”
Smiling, you lay back again as a warmth blooms in your chest. You’re fully convinced your heart will burst one day because you can’t contain how much you love your super soldier. Until then, you’ll spend every moment showing him just how much he means to you. Resting your head on your hands, you give him your best flirty smile. Bucky snaps a few pictures this time. Sitting back on his haunches, he scrolls through the latest pictures, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth.
“These are too good not to set as my screensaver, babydoll,” he almost whines. You giggle, poking your toe playfully into his abdomen.
“Fine,” you relent. “But only as your home screen. Keep your lock screen PG.”
“Deal.” You watch him as he fiddles with his phone, noticing his growing arousal that his sweatpants do nothing to hide. An idea pops into your head.
“So...you’ve got my nudes now,” you purr, sitting up and grabbing the drawstring of his sweatpants. “How about a video to match?” Bucky’s eyes go wide, his pupils blowing, the task of switching his screensaver forgotten now.
“Are you sure?” His previous nerves make a small reappearance.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Buck.”
That’s all the confirmation he needs.
Read part 2 here!
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If This Is The Last Time
Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader
Summary: Bucky finds you bleeding out and he fears it will be his last opportunity to tell you how much he cares.
Warnings: knife wounds, blood, angst, canon level violence, swearing, hospitals
Word count: 1.3k
Masterlist | Requests are open! | Taglist
Bucky heard a scream, your scream. As he quickly rounded the corner you came into view, writhing in pain on the ground and all he could see was red. The deep red blood spilling out of the wound in your stomach, pooling at your side and the blind hot red rage distorting his perception as his fist connected with your attacker's jaw.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” He yelled, the components of his metal prosthetic clicking into place as his left hand wrapped tightly around the man's throat, choking the life out of him.
“Bucky…” Your voice snapped him out of his vengeful fury and in an instant, he was by your side, applying pressure to your wound, leaving the man slumped on the ground in a fit of coughing. Sam apprehending him before he was able to make an escape.
“Stay with me alright, the medics will be here soon.” Bucky was strong, but the force he was applying wasn’t enough to stop the gushing blood - the wound was too deep.
“Buck if I don’t make it…” Your voice trembled, only loud enough for Bucky to hear. His stomach clenched - you dying in his arms wasn’t an option. The two of you had been through too much together for your story to be cut short by a Flag Smasher with a knife, he cared about you too deeply to watch you die in front him, your blood staining his hands. That would be the heartbreak he knew he wouldn't ever recover from.
“You’re gonna make it, doll. You aren’t dying on me that easy.” He choked out a forced laugh but could feel tears burning the backs of his eyes. Of all the moments in his life he could have told you how he felt, of every chance he had to detail just how much he loved you, this was the most inopportune, but it might be the last one he got.
“If I only get one pair of eyes to stare into when I go, I'm glad their yours.” Your words broke the dam walls and now tears were racing streams down Bucky's cheeks.
“Don't you dare give up on me Y/N, you're going to survive this.” He reassured. How could he possibly find the right words now, when his vision was compromised by the tears and his heart was beating so forcefully it felt as though it was breaking his rib cage?
“Don’t cry Buck. I’ll get to see Nat again.” You said, placing your hands on top of his comfortingly.
“Don’t say that! I need more time with you! Do you hear me? I need you. God, there’s so much I should have said, that I shouldn’t have waited until now to say, but you can’t die because I need you, Y/N.” He could hear the sound of faint sirens approaching, but he couldn’t tell how far away they were. Just a little bit longer, just hold on a little bit longer.
“I always needed you too Buck.” He wasn’t sure if the words you said were in a romantic or platonic context, but all he could focus on was the past tense you used, as if you were content with dying right here.
“Hold on for me, okay? They’re almost here. I can’t lose you.” Bucky glanced over at Sam, who gave a slight shake of his head, looking absolutely defeated. “You’re not allowed to die on me, you hear? This is not the end.” It can’t be.
The sirens and flashing lights got more prominent as the ambulance came into view. Relief spread through his chest until he looked down at you, your eyes fluttering shut.
"No, doll, keep your eyes open. Please, Y/N." You didn't move, didn't flinch as he pressed down harder on your open wound. Medics took over compression, putting you on a gurney which they slotted into the back of the ambulance.
* * *
“Are you the men who came in with Y/N Y/L/N?” A nurse asked Bucky and Sam after they had been waiting patiently in the hospital's emergency department.
“Yes, that’s us.” Sam said anxiously as they both rose to their feet. Bucky's feet were almost numb, his shirt still soaked with your blood, still had your dried blood under his fingernails.
The nurse informed them of your condition post-surgery, all stable but still under the effects of anaesthesia. Bucky’s body flooded with relief at the news - you were still alive, the one person he needed in the world was still with him.
“Can we see her?” Bucky asked impatiently, raking his flesh hand through his hair.
“Sorry sir, family members only. You can come back in the morning during visiting hours.” The nurse smiled sadly, although Bucky contemplated it probably wasn’t the worst news she had to divulge that night.
“Please ma’am, just five minutes - she doesn’t have any family.” Sam begged, looking ready to pick an argument if he was told no.
“Oh, well, if you’re her fiancé, then I can make an exception.” She said slightly louder than what would be considered normal so her colleagues by the nurses station could hear, shooting them a wink. “Room 108.”
Bucky gently opened the door to find you sleeping in the hospital bed, steady beeps resounding throughout the room in correspondence with your heartbeat. He could see your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, which was the most comforting sight. Even after all the wars and fighting he had been involved in over the span of his very long life, nothing came even remotely close to the pain of almost losing you.
He sat in the chair beside your bed and took your hand in his flesh one, wanting to feel the warmness of your touch, another reassurance that you were alive. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, but eventually you stirred awake.
“I told you you weren't dying on me that easy.” He smiled, standing up from the visitors seat and perching himself on the edge of the bed, where he had a better view of your gorgeous eyes.
“Yeah, but I did try my best, didn’t I?” You laughed, to only end up coughing and clutching at the wound in your abdomen.
“You remember what happened?” Bucky asked curiously, eager to know if his words had evaporated into the atmosphere, as if they had never been said in the first place.
“Most of it... Something about you being needy, or was that needing someone?” You teased, fiddling with Bucky's hand which was still protectively holding yours.
“You jest, but you said you needed me too, or don't you remember that part?” He raised his brows as he scooted closer to you, heart beating almost as quickly as earlier in the day when he found you bleeding out in the alleyway.
“It's slowly coming back to me.” You smirked as your eyes flitted towards Bucky's lips.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, his metal hand cupping your cheek. You leant into his touch, not flinching at the cool vibranium caressing your skin, which had the potential to inflict unspeakable damage.
“I'd be a little mad if you didn't.” You smiled and Bucky's heart fluttered. You smiling up at him had to be the most beautiful sight he ever beheld. He did as you suggested and kissed you, lips parting, tongues dancing. Bucky had been waiting for this moment since he met you, and now that he was living it, he forgot everyone in the world existed except you.
Permanent taglist: @imagining-harrypotter
Bucky Barnes taglist: @thechoosenonecreator
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