#ssb2020

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

[barnesandco]

Hidden Mischief

Bucky can’t resist your appeal long enough to get you into a bedroom.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 1185. Square filled: “Laughing During Sex”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: PLEASE STOP READING IF YOU ARE NOT 18+

A/N: It’s. Closet. Sex. Please enjoy.

The closet is dark and you almost scream when you are pulled into it, stopped only by the familiar scent of Bucky’s cologne that reassures you that you are safe, and the person who yanked you into the cleaning supplies closet as you were walking down the hallway isn’t going to harm you.

Quite the contrary. Bucky kisses you sweetly, clutching your face in his large hands, metal smooth on one side and gun- and knife-roughened palm on the other. You shiver as the gold ridges in his vibranium hand catch on your skin and graze the line of your jaw, and take a moment to breathe, saying, “Bucky? What are we doing here?”

He nuzzles into you, nose grazing the soft stretch of skin below your ear, placing a gentle kiss on your neck. It’s too dark to see him, but you trace the outline of his face with shaking fingertips. “Isn’t it obvious, angel?” He asks, his hot breath hitting your skin. “I’m seducing you?”

“All this effort for little ol’ me?” You murmur in a gasp as his teeth find the hollow of your throat, where he bites hard enough to make you keen, but soft enough that he won’t leave a mark. In response, he walks you backward into a shelf.

Your sweatshirt is taken off with hasty movements, and you tug at the hem of his sweater in sharp motions. When he doesn’t break away from placing wet kisses over the tops of your breasts, you use that super strength that got you recruited to tear it off. He pauses. You can imaging his gaze on yours but can’t see it, and you’re worried for a second until he hoists you up and puts you in a shelf.

Bottles of what you think are cleaning liquids go toppling, and you freeze with Bucky’s hands on your waist and his on your shoulders. There are voices outside, in the hallway. Bucky is close enough that you can see the cerulean glow of his petrified eyes in the light filtering in from under the locked door. That’s when you lose it.

It starts with a giggle that you try to tamp down behind bitten lips, and then by kissing away the worry, but soon you are shaking with laughter, and have to bury your face in his shoulder, breathing in the sweat-salt scent of your boyfriend, until he is smiling into the crook of your neck, too.

Outside, Nat is saying, “Did you hear that?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Sam says, privy to their secret and you can hear the strain of desperation in his voice. He really isn’t much of a spy, but Nat decides to leave it be, and soon, they’re gone.

Bucky recovers first, trailing his tongue from the top of your bra to just below your jaw, while his hand makes short work of your jeans and removes them to trail up your inner thigh. You’re still delirious from the fear of near-discovery when he covers your lips with his, and you form a smile against his mouth as his hands find your underwear.

“Bucky,” you murmur, smile leaving your face to be replaced by a muted moan as his thumb strokes over your clit and he gently works one thick finger inside your velvet folds. You’re soaking wet and he’s barely gotten started, now moving his finger inside of you with slow thrusts that have you arching towards him.

He takes a break from exploring your mouth to groan into your neck, hard against your inner thigh and trying to be patient and gentle. “Easy, darlin’. Don’t want the others to know we’re in here, do you?”

So you stifle the next moan in his mouth by leaning to kiss him, mouths bumping clumsily in the dark and then latching on. His skin is tight and strong under your fingers, and you trace the joint between metal and flesh on his left shoulder with a delicate caress. He shudders and gives you another finger, opening you up to him, not that you need much more of his work. You’re ready.

His pants come off with quick flicks off your wrists and as he steps out of them, he bumps into a broom – how does Tony design a hypermodern superhero complex and still need physical brooms? – and it falls to the ground with a clatter.

But you’re in too much of a hurry to care, and Bucky rips off your underwear with a strong tug, pulls you closer and then works his cock into you slowly, until he is buried in you, to the hilt. The feeling is magnanimous, and you hold him close to you, your arms around his shoulders in an intimate embrace, breathing into his ear.

He smells like sweat and your perfume and his cologne, and you breathe him in deep, then roll forward, and he growls. Pulls out until just the tip is in you and then pushes forward to bury himself in you again, and you gasp, your hands finding a home in his hair, drawing all the hair out of the bun he had it tied in previously.

“Shhh, baby,” he urges again, saying, “Can’t have the others runnin’ in here.” And then there’s a pause, and his voice drops into a wicked whisper. “Or is that what you want? You want everyone to know how good I love you, is that it, baby doll?” The words are muttered sharply into your shoulder, accompanied by deep, rolling thrusts that build the ache in your belly until you are a writhing mass of want, as he keeps talking. “If that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you, honey. You won’t walk right for days and they’ll all know,” he murmurs.

His hands finds your clit again and your walls flutter around him. Bucky is big and you are so full, so sensitive, you can feel every ridge and vein graze your walls as you roll forward in tandem with his thrusts.

The finger on your clit moves in sharp circles and your toes curl where your feet are locked behind his back as he thrusts. The pace becomes frenzied as he gets closer to release and the fireworks waiting behind your eyelids explode, the dark growing white hot as you come around him, feeling him swell inside you before he comes, too, in fast, shallow thrusts, emptying himself inside of you.

Peppering kisses across his shoulders, you breathe deep and slow, willing your heartrate to return to normal while your fingertips seek out his wrists to feel his pulse slow. He twists his hand to catch yours, and your fingers intertwine.

The air smells like cleaning supplies and sex.

Someone tries the door handle.

You and Bucky let go of each other’s hands but stay close, still bare to the skin and thrumming with electric fire.

“Who’s in there?” It’s Steve. You look at Bucky, who is wearing an expression that can most closely be described as I hate my best friend. You cover a smile. No way out of this one.

#SSB2020 #ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #fanfiction #marvel #mcu

[avintagekiss24]

the forest > bucky barnes

|| pairing: bucky barnes x black!reader

|| word count: 11,557

|| warnings: language words, smut, sex, sex pollen kinda, animal transformation, grumpy bucky, angst/horror?, fae/faries, fairy tale vibes

|| challenge: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge - Werewolf AU - You have been lost in the forest due to a curse that won’t let you leave.

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ SSB2020 I3: “This is not what it looks like”

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo​ K2: Survival in the wild

|| summary: You wake up in a strange, magical place. All alone, you start to walk and find that you aren’t the only one wandering the trees.

|| link: ao3

|| note: i don’t know why i’m nervous to post this, but i am! forgive me, my brain gets the best of me sometimes. i hope you guys enjoy this - despite the posting anxiety, i did enjoy weaving this little tale. i just hope it all makes sense :)

line dividers by writeyourmindaway!

Your feet are blistered and bloody. You’ve been walking for hours. Your throat is dry, your eyes puffy and swollen; watery. Your sundress is tattered and ripped and you don’t know why. You can’t remember. You don’t know where you are, why you’re here, or how you ended up in this place - but the fear sitting in your belly is the only thing keeping you moving.

It’s dense here. Thick, green, lush trees and shrubs line the dirt path that you walk on. Sun rays peek through the treetops, but because they’re so thick, the trees, it looks like a dark day; a muted day. You can hear birds chirping, little bugs buzzing around, even spot a butterfly or two. It’s beautiful - but ominous. Like there’s danger lurking just around the bend. 

You hear crackling in the distance - leaves being crunched, twigs being broken - and you freeze, snapping your head towards it. You swallow hard as you zero in on the noise, everything else going silent around you. You clutch the hem of your dress in your hand, as it’s the only tangible thing that makes any of this real, and just listen. Your heart beats loudly in your ears. A bead of sweat slips down the side of your face. Your breath is shallow.

The crackling stops. You wait for a beat or two, blinking slowly, listening hard, and then you start moving again - trying to find something, someone… anything. You nervously continue to play with the hem of your dress as you pad through this still forest, the soft dirt squishing through your toes. The sound of water soon hits your ears, soft and rippling, and just at the end of the path, there’s a small bank leading to a quiet little river. 

You quicken your pace, stepping into the grass, and then the wet sand before you fall to your knees and dip your hands into the water. You splash your face, once, twice, three times, before dipping your hands back into the surprising cool liquid, cupping them to collect a small amount. You bring it to your lips to drink, slurping it in haste as your thirst overwhelms you. Handful after handful, you bring the small offering of water to your lips, barely finishing the gulp before thrusting your hands back in the water.

You’re so consumed with the cool liquid that you don’t even hear the crackling of the leaves behind you. You drop your hands back into the water as you lift your eyes to the other side of the bank slowly. Your breath goes shallow again as you blink rapidly, now acutely aware that you’re being watched by someone, or something. You swallow hard and let your lips part as you turn your head, peeking over your shoulder - and suddenly, you’re face to face with a large, white wolf. 

Your chin starts to tremble as fear paralyzes you. The animal’s eyes are a piercing blue as they stare back at you. Its head is low, ears laid back on its head. Its nose twitches as it sniffs at the air, but it never takes its eyes off of you. It lowers its head to the ground, sniffing at the footprints you left behind before it lifts its gaze to you again. 

It takes a step towards you, slowly, and then another, and another. You don’t move -  you can’t. You just start to tremble as it closes the distance between you, a single tear slipping down your cheek as your eyes cloud over with water. It gets nose to nose with you, blinking slowly as it starts to sniff you. You let out a sob as it pushes its nose into your hair, breathing you in. It lets out a hard breath, tossing your hair with it before it tilts its head towards the sky and howls loudly. 

You jump and gasp at the sudden burst of noise as it rocks through the forest. Birds flock from the trees as more howls from somewhere deep in the trees, making you snap your head towards the chorus, your chest now heaving. 

“You’re quick,” a deep voice sounds, making you snap your head back again, “Took me hours to track you.”

The wolf is suddenly gone, now replaced with a very tall, blonde, blue eyed, naked man. Your eyes go wide as you scramble back into the water. You blink furiously, pushing more hot tears down your face as your mind starts to race. You shake your head as your face breaks, finally giving into the confusion and fear that’s motivated you for most of the day. The man kneels and tilts his head as he watches you, his eyes still searching as if he isn’t quite sure of you.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, holding out his hand, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you cry openly, “I don’t - I don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay, I’ll explain it to you on the way. Come.”

He wiggles his fingers, trying to coax you out of the water. You shake your head again frantically, dragging in a breath, nearly choking on it, “Please, I just, I want to go home. Please.”

“Come.” He says again, his voice still soft- still calm. 

“No, please let me go. Please.” You beg.

The man sighs, blinking back at you slowly, “You can’t go home. Come with me please, before something dangerous finds you.”

You stare at his hand, still outstretched towards you, before you cut your eyes back up to his. A deep growl sounds through the trees, followed by a series of menacing barks. You and the man both snap towards the noise. A black wolf moves through the trees on the opposite side of the stream, instantly sending chills down your spine. Its eyes are golden, but a darkness looms in them as it peers at you. It starts to growl again, lowering its head as it bares its teeth, barking loudly again.

“Cut it out,” the man behind you says sternly, “She’s already claimed, Rumlow.”

You gasp when the black wolf changes right in front of you. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, a dark haired man stands on the bank, “She hasn’t been marked yet,” he smirks, his eyes bouncing between yours and the man behind you, “So technically, she hasn’t been claimed, Rogers.”

“Back off. I’m warning you.”

“Ooooh,” Rumlow laughs, “Scary voice.”

You swallow and glance up at the man behind you, Rogers. He keeps his eyes across the stream, his hands balled at his sides, his chest swollen with possession, “Get behind me,” He hisses, “Now.”

You oblige - and fast. You scramble to your feet and step behind him, peering around his arm at the menacing Rumlow. He sneers at you, wiggling his fingers, trying to intimidate you. The golden eyed man takes a step into the water and Rogers transforms back to his four legged alter ego. He digs his paw into the wet sand and lowers his head as a deep growl rumbles in his throat. 

You skirt your eyes back to this Rumlow, watching as he turns, thick black hair and four legs returning to his frame. He barks at you and Rogers, saliva dripping from his mouth as he bares his teeth. 

They lunge at each other without so much as a warning, making you stumble back as you inhale sharply. The sounds of nails ripping through flesh, water splashing, loud barking and growling fill the air as you once again blink back tears. You stand in utter disbelief as these two half animal, half man creatures rip into each other - one, seemingly for your protection, the other for ownership. 

Rogers prevails. He pins the black wolf to the mud, his teeth biting into the others throat and neck, shaking his head back and forth. The black wolf whelps in pain as it kicks and scratches at the much larger, much stronger opponent. Rogers releases him, taking a few steps back but keeps his eyes on the other as it scrambles back up the bank. The golden eyes are back on you as he whips back around, growling lowly, but soon scampers off with a heavy limp.

Rogers watches the trees for a minute longer before he turns and moves slowly back to your side. He rubs his head against your hand, licking your fingers gently. You look down at him, his big blue eyes gazing back up into yours and you can’t help but pat the top of his head. He did just save you, after all.

“Thank you.” You offer softly.

He takes a few steps past you and then turns to look at you, waiting for you to join him. You really have nowhere else to go and knowing now what exactly lurks out in the trees, you’re too afraid to have him leave you. The two of you start to walk back in the direction that you first came. He stays in his wolf form, his heavy paws padding softly in the dirt next to you, his eyes wide and alert as you traipse through the forest. Your mind races with the silence, his words playing over and over again - you can’t go home. You can’t go home. You can’t go home. Your stomach starts to twist all over again. Why can’t you go home? What did you do to make it so? 

Maybe it’s a dream - maybe it’s just all one big, bad dream and you can’t wake yourself up. You start to pray, closing your eyes as you walk, pleading with God to just wake you up from all of this. But you don’t - wake up that is. 

You walk for hours. The heat beating down on you from the sun starts to wear on you, your throat going dry again as sweat beads on your forehead. Your feet ache as each footprint you leave behind starts to clump with blood. Your vision starts to blur and you stumble slightly, making Rogers snap his head towards you.

He circles your legs, barking a few times before he changes into his human form again. He grabs your elbow, his eyes searching yours intently before he brushes your messy hair away from your face. 

“We’re almost there, let me carry you.”

You pull away from him but stumble again, “I’m fine, I -”

Without another word, you’re lifted from your feet with ease. He curls you into his broad, hairy chest, wrapping an arm around your back and tucking the other underneath your knees. You’re too exhausted to fight him. You rest your head against his chest and let him carry you slowly the rest of the way, your eyes closing to slits. You’re barely conscious when Rogers steps through a wall of brush and shrubs and suddenly, you’ve stepped into a utopia. 

You blink furiously as you try and make sure that you are seeing what you are really seeing. The air smells sweeter. The trees and grass are alive with motion as a breeze whips over your body. You feel eyes on you as Rogers moves you through this new town-like place. You can see cottages placed randomly throughout the trees as people start to come out from them, watching. You tense, but Rogers is quick to quell your fear.

“It’s okay. Your scent is spreading, that’s all.”

“My scent? I smell bad?”

He smiles a little, keeping his eyes straight ahead, “Not bad, just new.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Wanda. She’s our seer.”

He moves you through another set of trees and you’re standing at the edge of a large lake. The water level is low - a wispy waterfall to your left barely dribbles into the body of water. That’s when you spot her, a redheaded woman bathing in the water. Her back is to you, but she’s calm as she sweeps her hand over her outstretched arm, smoothing water over her skin. Rogers sits you on your feet but keeps his hand on the small of your back to help keep you steady. 

You glance over at him, where he meets your gaze, shaking his head gently as he taps his index finger against his lips, “Wait until she calls for you.” He whispers. 

Another man pops up from underneath the water seconds later, scaring you slightly. He pushes the water away from his face with his hands before he sweeps them over the top of his head. He smiles at you, and you smile back without hesitation - he’s so beautiful. It’s a warm, gentle, friendly smile - the gap in his teeth and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes invite you to feel just a little more comfortable. The sun makes his brown skin glow, accentuating the drops of water that collect on his shoulders and chest.

“Steve?” You hear the woman say.

“Yes. I have her.”

“I know you do,” her voice is sweet, thick with comfort  and amusement, “Sam, can you bring her to me?”

She disappears under the water. You watch as the other man, Sam, swims towards you and glance nervously over at Rogers - no, Steve. He gives you a reassuring nod and a hint of a smile before you turn back just as the smooth skinned Sam emerges from the water. You quickly avert your eyes towards your feet, as he’s stark naked as well, but steal a glance or two. Water cascades down his rippled chest and stomach, glinting underneath the strong sun.

Sam outstretches his hand, a broad smile lighting up his face, “Hi, I’m Sam. Welcome.” 

When you hesitate, Steve steps a little closer, “She’s still a little foggy.”

“That’s okay, darlin’. We’re not going to hurt you. Promise.” Sam reassures, keeping his hand open and outstretched. 

You take it with trepidation, allowing him to slowly pull you into the cool water. It feels good on your achy, bloody feet, and sore limbs. Sam turns to you again, “It’s okay if you want to dip under. You’ll feel a whole lot better, I swear it.” 

You don’t even hesitate. You push your body underneath the water, closing your eyes as your hearing gets muffled by the liquid. You pop back up seconds later, pushing your hands over your hair as the sun warms you again. He’s right. You do feel a whole lot better - clean. 

Sam wraps his long fingers around your arm and places it over his shoulder, before doing the same with the other. Before you can question him, he starts to swim out deeper, pulling you with him. You let him carry you towards the mysterious woman, who is now wearing a bright smile as she wiggles her thin fingers at you as you approach. She swims underneath the waterfall and Sam follows, setting you on your feet before he exits.

“Hungry?” She asks, handing you a small bowl of assorted fruits, “I wish I could offer you more, but we’re going through a bit of a rough growing season. I had to walk for miles to find these as it was.”

“That’s okay,” You greedily take the bowl, stuffing the sweet berries into your mouth, “Thank you, I’m- starving. Thank you.”

“Eat up, baby. I know you’re exhausted.” She watches you as you eat, her eyes twinkling as she smiles. She closes her eyes after a few minutes and tilts her head upwards, nodding every now and again as if she’s listening to something - or someone. 

She moans softly as she sways her hands back and forth in the water, her fingertips just barely touching the surface. Then, suddenly, she pops her big eyes open and blinks at you, “My God,” she whispers, “It’s you.”

“M-me? I-” You stammer, glancing around nervously.

She smiles big as she grabs your hands in hers, “We’ve been waiting for you. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are.”

You shake your head slowly as dread fills your stomach, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t- I don’t even remember how I got here and Steve says that I can’t go home. Please. I just- I want to go home.”

Wanda pulls you into her bare chest, hugging you tightly. She pulls away seconds later, her eyes bouncing between yours, “This is scary at first, it was for all of us, but you’ll come to love it here. You are going to rule this forest one day and drive out all of the evil. You, dear girl,” she smiles at you again, “You will finally bring us peace. Please, close your eyes.”

“Wanda, I don’t-”

“Shhh,” she coos, “Close your eyes.” 

You take a breath, letting your shoulders slump slightly but close your eyes. You feel Wanda braid her fingers with yours before she starts to speak again.

“Only the cursed inhabit this enchanted forest.” She says softly. Your lips part as fear flushes through you, “All of us, at different times found ourselves wandering through these trees, cursed to never be able to leave. Each one of us has gained an affliction over time, some sooner than others.”

“Affliction?” you whisper, your chest starting to heave.

“I’m a seer. I wasn’t at first, it came to me over time. I can see other’s afflictions before they manifest. I’m also known to have premonitions and visions of what’s to come. Steve and Sam, they are lycans, able to shift between wolf and human form. Bucky, whom you’ll meet soon enough, a werewolf. Unlucky for him, full moons come around every night. Clint, another shifter of an avian kind. Natasha and Carol, mermaids, unable to walk to the earth.” 

“Then what am I?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“We’ll get to that soon,” She answers. You feel the water shift as she moves around you. She drags her hands up your arms and shoulders softly, “Try and remember. Remember what brought you here.”

You focus your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth, as you force your brain to try and remember. You squeeze your eyes tight, but nothing forms - not a thought, not a memory… nothing. You shake your head as your chin starts to tremble, all of the fear and anxiety rising up in your throat. 

“I can’t,” you start to whimper, “I can’t remember, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda coos, hugging you from behind, “It’s okay. Relax, just try and remember. Feel the water and the warm sun, just let it carry you away. Focus on the waterfall, hear it.”

Tears stream down your cheeks but you push out a shaky breath as you digest her words. Feel the cool water. Hear the waterfall. Wanda grabs your hand, flipping it over before she presses her fingers into your palm, drawing gentle circles, “Just try and remember.”

A quick image flashes before your eyes - pink. Balloons, a congratulations banner… the clinking of champagne glasses. Then, there’s faces, happy ones - Shelia! Romero and Tammy are also there, all hugging you, wishing you luck. You’ve worked so hard for this! No one deserves this more than you!

“I got it,” you whisper, “I got the job. I was promoted to bank manager.”

“That’s it. Stay there, just remember.”

You see it now. They threw you a party during your lunch break - bought you a cake and everything. After the celebration, you walked back to your desk and there it was - one singular cupcake, topped with pink icing and white sprinkles. 

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand, “Oh my god.” 

Wanda sways you back and forth softly, resting her chin on your shoulder, walking you through it. You looked around, but saw no one paying you any attention. You sat in your chair, stuffed to the gills from the lunch and the cake - but you brought the small pastry to your nose anyway, inhaling the sweetness of it. You moaned as a smile spread on your face. You were always a sucker for a cupcake. 

You peeled away the wrapping and brought it to your face again, ready to take a bite, when you noticed a small slip of paper peeking out from underneath your keyboard. You pulled it out with the tips of your fingers and furrowed your brow as you read the unfamiliar handwriting. You deserve all that’s coming to you. 

More tears spill from your eyes as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. 

You looked around one final time to see if anyone was watching, but found no one paying you any mind. You looked back down at the cupcake in your hand and shrugged before closing your eyes and taking a bite. You moaned again as the spongy cake exploded on your taste buds. It was the best cupcake you had ever had. You finished it quickly and tossed the wrapper and note, before waking up your computer and returning to your emails, not even noticing the little old woman slipping out through the front doors. 

“I didn’t give her the extension.” You whisper, your voice shaky, “She was months behind on her mortgage, we had already given her three. I couldn’t. My hands were tied. I couldn’t grant her another extension, I just couldn’t.”

“It’s okay, dear girl.”

“It’s not okay!” You shout, “She cursed me! She sent me here!”

“I told you it was going to be hard at first.”

You pull away from her, spinning around to face her again, “I want to leave! Now!”

“Honey -”

She reaches for you but you slap her hands from you as you back away, “I’m leaving. I’m not- I don’t know what you want, but I’m leaving!”

You move underneath the wispy waterfall and back out into the large lake as Wanda screams for you to stop. You swim hard, and fast towards the shore, feeling Sam and Steve’s eyes on you as they lounge underneath one of the large trees. They both stand, their eyes wide as you stumble up onto the bank, tripping over your own feet as you try and gain some traction. 

You run towards the trees, the weight of your wet dress not slowing you down in the least bit. You hear Wanda’s voice again, this time instructing Sam and Steve to let you go, “She’ll get lost out there.” Steve worries.

“She’ll be fine,” Wanda says, taking a breath as she wades in the water, “You’ll just have to find her again in the morning.”

You run for miles. You run until the sun is replaced by the moon and the sounds of the day have completely stilled. You hear nothing but your own footsteps and the chirp of a cricket that you never seem to find. It’s cooled down considerably, your body is racked with chills as a gust of wind whips around you. The only thing keeping you going is fear. You’re afraid to stop and rest, not knowing what or who is out in these woods in the dark. 

You push deeper, trying to use the moonlight as a guide but you have no idea what you’re looking for. Every time you think you’ve found a way out, that maybe you think you see a road or hear a car, you just move into a section of trees and shrubs and grass. This forest is never ending. Maybe they were right. Maybe you can’t -

You snap your head and gasp as a loud scream erupts from deep in the trees. It awakens the birds, making them all screech and fly out from their nests. The scream erupts again, this time louder, so loud you have to cover your ears. It sounds like a man being ripped apart from limb to limb. He screams again - a blood curdling one - and you cringe as it seems even louder, like he’s right behind you. 

You start running again. The screams continue but each one gets deeper, more animal-like, more painful. You freeze right in your tracks when a loud, long howl sounds through the sleepy forest - a bay at the large, white moon in the sky. Unlucky for him, full moons come every night. 

Soon, all you can hear is your own breathing. You cower behind a tree, hugging it tightly as you keep your eyes wide, your pupils surely blown. There’s a rustling in the trees and brush, twigs snapping, heavy, fast footsteps. Another howl, followed by random barks and then rushed footsteps again. Your eyes fill with water as your mind races, unsure of what to do, where to go. You don’t want to die out here. 

Smell? I smell bad?

Not bad, just new.

Fuck.

You snap your head over your shoulder, watching as the bushes in the distance start to shake as something moves through it. You push away from the tree and dart off to your left, ducking and dodging random limbs and vines as you try to flee. You keep turning around as you run - but you see nothing. You just hear it. Barking, growling, howling - the heavy footsteps pounding into the ground as it closes in on you. 

“Shit!” You cry as you push yourself as hard as you can, willing your feet to carry you faster. Your lungs and legs burn as you cut through the trees, ignoring the stinging cuts on your arms and feet from the branches whipping against you. You turn again, gasping you finally spot the beast chasing you emerging from the brush. 

Just as you do, your foot tangles in an exposed root, tripping you. You hit the ground hard, face first, screaming as pain rips through your ankle and lower leg. A shadow casts over you as a large mass jumps clear over your head. It lands on all fours, the ground shaking with its weight when it lands. You sit up quickly, trying to back away, dragging your now bum leg as your fingernails dig into the dirt underneath you.

You drag in a deep, shaky breath as instant tears flood your face. Your body shakes as your face completely breaks with emotion. You stare back into a pair of pitch black eyes. This beast is huge - larger than Steve and Rumlow combined. It howls again, making you scream as your eardrums nearly burst from the sound. It stands on its back legs as it bays again and you could swear it’s seven feet tall. It falls back to the earth with another heavy thud, then lowers its head as it zeros in on you again. 

It starts to growl, snarling its lip to show its sharp, white teeth. It barks and snaps at you, saliva dripping from its mouth as it takes a step towards you. You scamper backwards but your back slams into a tree. You try to stand but fall back to the ground as your leg just can’t carry you. It steps towards you again, still growling, still snapping. 

You push up against the tree as hard as you can, almost wanting it to swallow you whole. You shut your eyes as the heat from its breath washes over your face, the rush of air pushing from its nostrils tossing your hair. You squirm, whimpering when you feel its wiry hair on your legs, its whiskers grazing against your cheek. You turn your head as it sniffs at you loudly, pushing its long nose through your hair and down your neck.

It pushes out another forceful breath through its nose, making you jump. You blink your eyes, slowly opening them as you turn back to face it. You pull in deep, audible breaths as you stare back at this… thing, this affliction, as Wanda’s words come back to you. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are… 

“Please,” you whisper quietly, so quietly you barely hear yourself, “Bucky, please.”

It tilts its head at the sound of the name - but not in the way you’d hoped. His eyes narrow as he snarls his lip again, that menacing growl rumbling through his chest and throat. His ears lay back on his head as he drops it, clearly threatened. He crouches down as he snaps at you again, dragging his front paw through the dirt as he readies himself to pounce. 

You start to sob loudly, holding your hands out as you plead and beg - screaming for your life. The adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins becomes ever present as your head starts to spin. Your palms get sweaty, your heart racing and thumping against your chest as your body shakes. You can’t catch your breath, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t fill your lungs with air. You’re hot and cold all at the same time. Your vision tunnels - your pupils shrinking to the size of the tip of a pin. 

Suddenly, everything goes black. 

Bucky glances down at the woman in his arms as he trudges through the trees. It’s early morning, the sky still orange and pink as the birds start to sing. He’s not sure who she is, he just remembers her smell - strong - calling to him in the dark of the night. It’s the most vivid scent he’s ever encountered. So pure, so heavy that he can remember it even after his change. She’s not the usual newcomer around here -  that he can tell. 

He pushes into his home surroundings, most of their small community still snuggled tight in their cottages - “Bucky! There you are.”

He snaps his head towards the approaching Wanda, eyeing her as she steps next to him, sweeping her hand over the passed out woman’s forehead, “You know this one?” He asks. 

She nods, “Just came to us yesterday. She’s -”

Bucky just nods, glancing out into the distance as he knows what she’s about to say, “She’s hurt. I think her ankle is broken. I might have - I think the gashes are from me.”

“No worries, I’ll get her fixed up. Do you mind taking her to your cottage?”

He sighs heavily, sending his eyes towards the small redhead, watching as she smiles softly, “Wanda,”

“You and Steve have more space,” she shrugs, her face filling with surprise as Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Sam and I just had a baby. This poor thing needs rest and looking after.”

“Well,” Bucky starts gruffly, “Steve can look after her then.”

Wanda throws her hands on her hips, giving him a stern look before she turns her attention to the shuffling coming from behind them, “Clint? Can you do me a favor?”

The short blonde approaches, nodding his head towards Bucky, “Of course. Who’s that?” He asks, pointing towards the unconscious woman in his hands.

Wanda smiles brightly, “She’s our Faery.”

Clint’s eyes widen as a smirk spreads on his face, “No shit, really?”

Wanda nods, and Bucky rolls his eyes again.

“What’s the favor?” Clint asks, chuckling softly.

“See if you can find Steve and Sam. They’re out looking for her. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

With another quick nod, Clint is now soaring towards the tops of the trees, his arms replaced by long, sleek wings as he transforms. He screeches, his bird call rippling through the forest as he flies out of sight. 

Bucky starts to move again, readjusting the woman in his arms as her legs bounce against his naked thigh. He moves into he and Steve’s shared cottage, Wanda right behind him as he moves into his room. He lays the unconscious woman down on his bed before walking back out of the room without a word. 

He collects a large bowl from the kitchen and fills it with warm water while grabbing clean towels and cotton swabs. He pads back into the room, sitting the supplies on the small table next to his bed before he pulls open the drawer, grabbing his stitch kit and tossing it on the bed.

“Where are you going?” Wanda questions from her spot on the bed, watching as he walks back towards his bedroom door.

Bucky doesn’t even turn around. He just holds up a bar of soap as he heads for the main door, “Bath.”

Bucky runs his hands through his short hair as he comes up from underneath the water. He’s still not really used to it, but he needed the haircut, and Steve actually did a good job on it. He keeps his eyes closed and his head tilted towards the sky as the sun beats down on him, warming him as he stands in the cool water. There is nothing better than a bath after a night of pillaging. 

His mind floats back to Wanda and the strange woman keeping him from collapsing into his bed. He scoffs at just the thought. He’s never bought into Wanda’s bullshit. She’s been blowing smoke up his ass for years, but it just goes into one ear and right out the other one. She’s coming Bucky, I can feel it. She’ll fix this place and she’ll love you forever, plus a day. He rolled his eyes then and he rolls his eyes now. She seems to forget this place is a literal curse. 

Who could love you? Bucky pops his eyes open as the thought floats through his mind. Who could actually love a monster like you? “Nobody,” he mumbles to himself, letting his eyes drop to the water. That’s why it’s all bullshit. 

He hears a rustling in the trees and turns his head and body to watch Sam, Steve, and Clint emerge. Sam lifts his hand towards him, which Bucky returns with a head nod, before he swims towards the bank to join the three men.

“Where did you find her?” Steve asks as soon as he’s on the bank.

Bucky shrugs, “Out pretty far. I came across her on my way home.”

“She’s hurt?” Steve questions again, his face and eyes full of concern.

“Broken ankle, some gashes and cuts, but she’ll live.”

“You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

Bucky grits his teeth as he narrows his eyes, “I don’t know, maybe. What’s with all the fucking questions?”

Clint slaps him on his arm, smirking all the while, “You know Steve and that bleeding heart of his.”

“She’s our faery, we’re all supposed to take care of her.” Steve says, pushing past Bucky.

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbles, dropping his head into his hands to rub his face, “I’m not in the mood for all of this.”

“When are you ever in the mood?” Sam quips, shaking his head, “Where’s my wife?”

“In my bedroom, tending to our fabulous faery.” Bucky huffs, “Fuck, I just want to sleep. I should have put her in Steve’s room.”

“I wouldn’t talk about your soulmate like that, Barnes. Women don’t like sarcasm.” Sam smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t you start. She’s not my soulmate, she not gonna bring peace or whatever the fuck Wanda is always spouting off about. She’s just another cursed soul, just like the rest of us. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Sam and Clint glance at each other, shaking their heads at the cynical man before them, “Whatever, fuck off. I’m going to sleep.” Bucky grumbles, turning back towards his cottage.

“You can sleep at ours if you want,” Sam calls, “I'll bunk with Steve until the girl is back on her feet.”

“And have that sniffling, whiny little brat of yours waking me up every hour? No thanks.”

He ducks quickly as a rock whizzes by his head, “Don’t talk about my baby boy like that, Barnes!”

Bucky bounds inside his shared home and makes his way towards his bedroom, leaning against the door frame as he listens in on Wanda and Steve. The girl looks better already, the dried blood splattered on random parts of her body gone. Her tattered dress is also gone, replaced by one of Wanda’s hand sewn tunic’s. The deeper of her gashes are sewn together, her feet wrapped in leaves of the bountiful lamb ear. 

Her face is soft as she breathes in and out gently. Her hands are crossed over her chest as Wanda crushes up more herbs beside her, smoothing the goop over her flesh wounds. He turns away after a few minutes, as her scent starts to make him dizzy in this confined space. He wonders how Steve can handle being that close.

His heavy feet carry him into the living room, his eyes growing heavier and heavier with each step. He falls onto the old, lumpy hand sewn pillows that sit atop the nicked up couch that Steve fashioned with his bare hands, and grabs the blanket thrown over the back. He covers his entire body and head while burying his face in the cushions as he tries to drown out Wanda and Steve’s hushed voices. 

Bucky wakes with a start hours later. A loud pounding noise beats over the roof of the small cottage, making him spring up. He snaps his head towards the front door, finding it wide open. He stands quickly, peeking his head into his room, finding the woman still asleep on his bed but doesn’t find Wanda or Steve. He takes off towards the front door, but stops in his tracks when he realizes what the pounding is. 

Rain. 

He moves out onto the small porch, finding Steve sitting on the step, “How long has it been raining like this?”

“Hours,” Steve smiles up at him, “Started right after you fell asleep. Do you remember the last time it rained like this?”

Bucky shakes his head. They get showers here and there, just enough to keep the stream and the lake flowing but this? It’s been months since they’ve seen a steady, strong, purposeless rain. 

“Wanda had a premonition, a strong one. She had to go lay down.” Steve says gently, not taking his eyes off the rain, “She said this is just the beginning. This is because of her.”

“Steve, come on-”

“There’s not going to be a full moon tonight.” Steve says, cutting him off, “Wanda saw it, Buck.”

Bucky squares his jaw as an irrational anger flushes through him, “That’s not possible.”

“It is. She saw it, Bucky. Wanda is never wrong, you know that. She’s proved it time and time again.”

“I’ve been here for seventy years,” Bucky growls, his tone hard, “I’ve turned every night -  every single night there’s a full moon. That’s my affliction, it doesn’t just go away because some woman shows up one day.”

Steve drops his head, shaking it softly. He shrugs after a minute or two, not wanting to pick a fight, “Okay, Buck.”

“I don’t know why you fall for that shit.” 

“Maybe because I want to believe in something more, something bigger. I get it,” Steve retorts, “We fucked up in our old lives, but we were given a second chance.”

“A second chance?” Bucky asks incredulously, “You call this a second chance? Bound to a god forsaken forest and having to skulk around like an animal for the rest of eternity?”

Steve hangs his head, but smirks nonetheless, “It’s not that bad.” 

“For you,” Bucky reminds him, “Try having your limbs twist and break every night and get back to me about it being a second chance.”

Bucky pushes past him, off of the porch and into the rain. He lets it beat down on him, cleansing him of the anger building inside of his chest before he pushes his hands over his hair, “I’m going for a walk.”

Steve just nods in acknowledgement and returns his gaze towards the gray sky. 

You wake up slowly, fluttering your eyes as you stretch out your limbs. You rub your face as you groan slightly, rolling your head into the pillows beneath you. You sit up and let out a yawn before you glance around the unfamiliar room. It’s minimal, a table, a chair in the corner, and a bed. It’s cozy still, even with the scarce decor. 

You’ve never felt better in your life. All the aches and pains in your body are gone. There’s no anxiety or fear. Your eyes don’t burn, your throat isn’t dry. You feel so good.  You glance down, running your fingers over the hand stitched garment that covers your body. You then graze your fingers over the stitches in your leg, a purple and blue bruise surrounding it, but you feel no pain. You unwrap the leaves around your feet and wiggle your toes before you toss your legs over the side of the bed. 

You notice a small bowl of fruit and a homemade mug sitting on the small wooden table next to the bed. You pick up the bowl, popping what looks like a blueberry into your mouth before you moan in satisfaction, closing your eyes as you swallow. You stand, tucking the bowl into your chest and grabbing the mug before you head out of the bedroom. You glance around as you move slowly through the cottage, from room to room, finding it empty. As you pop a strawberry into your mouth, you move out of the second bedroom and back into the living room, where you peek out of the small window. 

A steady, hard rain pours from the gray sky. You stand and watch for a few minutes, bringing the mug to your lips and draining the cup of it’s sweet liquid. You sit the now empty cup and bowl down and walk out onto the porch, the defending sound of the rain now unmuted by the walls of the cottage. You reach your hand out, letting the fat drops plop against it as a smile spreads on your face. You’ve always loved the rain. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, breathing in the earth - the dirt and leaves and grass - letting it fill your lungs as they’re all nurtured by the water. Without thinking, you step off of the small porch, right into the rain, letting it wash over you. Your hair sticks to your head, your thin tunic becomes glued to the curves of your body, accentuating your hips and breasts as you start to walk aimlessly through the quiet, sleepy little community. 

You move into a field of tall grass and hold out your hands as you walk slowly, letting the blades graze your palms. You close your eyes again as your head starts to swim and a warmth starts to spread through your body, starting in your toes and moving all the way up to your head. You’re not sure what exactly has happened over the past twenty four hours but, now, with each passing minute, you start to feel like you’re home - almost as if this is what you’ve been searching for your whole life.

“What are you doing?” You jump at the sound of the deep, gruff voice. You pop your eyes open, spinning on your feet to come face to face with a dark haired man. His eyes are a crystal blue, his jaw square, his eyes crinkled in the corners as he squints at you, “You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“W-why not?” You ask softly.

“You’re ankle, it’s-” he drops his eyes to your feet, his lips parting as he finds them in perfect condition, “What did you do?” 

He moves towards you quickly, scaring you slightly as he lifts the thin material covering your body, “What did you do?” He asks again, his voice irritated, his eyes angry.

“N-nothing. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Your ankle was broken. Wanda had to give you stitches in that leg.” He points.

You snatch the material of your tunic from his fingers, stepping back, “I still have the stitches,” you rebuff, glancing down at your leg, “See? They’re right -”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at your now healed leg. You shake your head, letting out a breath, “I just… the stitches were there, my leg was bruised, just… just right before I walked out here.”

You look up at the man standing before you, your eyes bouncing wildly between his as he stares back at you. You can’t read his expression, but the wheels in his head are definitely turning as he drops his eyes from yours. He turns his head to the side slightly and stares into the grass as he tries to work something out in his brain. 

“Do you know what’s happening to me?” You ask softly as you push your wet hair out of your face.

He turns back to face you as soon as the words leave your lips. His mouth falls open, but no words come out. He just stares at you as the rain beats on him, slipping down his neck and chest and abs before it hits the ground below.

“You haven’t spoken to Wanda?”

“Just a little,” you shrug, swallowing hard as you drop your head to look at your feet, “I didn’t really, um, give her a chance to explain it all. I was... scared.”

You feel his eyes roam over you as you twist the bottom of your tunic in your fingers, “You need to talk to Wanda. She’ll explain it to you.” He answers simply as he turns away.

You watch him as he walks away from you. His shoulders broad, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. You bite your lip as your eyes fall to his behind, sculpted and hard, and his thighs, thick and sturdy. Your stomach clenches. The rain doesn’t help either - the water droplets cascading down his sinewy body, providing you with quick, fragmented images of your tongue licking each droplet away. 

You let out a breath, and then Wanda’s words float back to you again, stronger and louder this time. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are.

“Are you, um,” you call out to him, “Are you Bucky?”

He stops, rolling his shoulders in irritation, “What about it?”

“You’re what attacked me last night?”

You watch as he drops his head, his back muscles tensing as your question reaches him. He turns to face you, his jaw tight, his eye narrowed, “You’re still breathing aren’t you?”

You glance around nervously, “Well, yeah, I-“

“Then I didn’t attack you, did I?”

You swallow. You’re not sure if it’s just you or if he’s always like this, but he’s trying really hard to intimidate you. It’s working… kind of, “You tried too.” You answer back quietly.

He scoffs at the notion, “If I had tried to attack you, I’d be digesting you right about now. I should’ve, I wouldn’t have to eat for a week. That would be a welcome change.”

You squint your eyes at the unnecessarily rude comment, “You’re an asshole.” You spit back angrily, your brow furrowing, “I’m just trying to-“

“I don’t care what you’re trying to do.” He shouts, “Keep outta my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” 

“No problem there, pal.” 

“Wonderful, darling.” He sneers, before turning and walking off again.

You scoff hard, crossing your arms over your chest in a huff. You cut your eyes back towards him as he moves through the grass and your stomach tightens again. A warmth spreads through you as your fingers start to itch - wanting to feel him. Your lips part as your breath starts to come a little faster - a little harder - and you’re not even sure why. Something is just drawing you to him. 

You don’t understand for the life of you what’s happening in this moment. Maybe it was the berries and fruit, or that drink that was left by the bedside, but you’re warm all over, your head is spinning and you want nothing more than to feel that man inside of you - even now after your tense exchange. Heat rises in your cheeks as your breath starts to rush. You twist the bottom of your tunic harder as you become acutely aware of the ache between your legs. A fire starts to rage in the pit of your stomach - you want him to put it out. 

Before you can stop yourself, you're running after him, your feet squishing in the mud as you move. You reach out for him once you’re close, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. He turns quickly, bringing to you a quick halt in front of him. He scrunches his face in utter confusion and maybe a little annoyance as he blinks down at you, “What? What do you want?”

You push up onto your tiptoes and kiss him hard. You moan into him as you rest a hand on his shoulder and push the other into his hair, pulling him closer. He pulls away seconds later, his lips parted and swollen, pure befuddlement playing in his eyes.

You blink back at him as your chest heaves. You open your mouth to speak, but you can’t find the words. Your mind is just - blank. You rest your hands on his shoulders again and drop your eyes to his chest as your fingers start to trace the light scars littered across his otherwise smooth skin. Some are old and white, some deep and purple, some raised, some smooth. They’re all beautiful - they make him beautiful. You drop your hands down to his stomach, just feeling him, his muscles, his masculinity, his strength. 

You bite your lip. 

You take a deep breath as you feel his arms wrap around you, his hands cupping your ass before he lifts you right off your feet. You stare back into his ice blue eyes as you push your hands into his dark hair again and wrap your legs around his waist. He kisses you - deeply. You accept his tongue into your mouth, letting it massage the roof of your mouth before it slides along yours. You push your chest into his as your lips smack against one another’s, both of your moans rising into the air around you.

The rain is still heavy as he lays you down in the grass. You tug at the wet garment covering your body, pulling it over your head to expose your nakedness to him. You’ve never been this forward in your life, but something is pulling you, filling you with confidence and power and awareness. You want to be one with him, with the earth, with the wind and the rain. You want to connect with everything around you. You let him grope your breast with his large, calloused hand. You let him drag his lips along your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin.

He pushes your legs open gruffly with his hand as he pulls away from you. You dig your feet into the wet, soft earth, the mud squishing between your toes as you feel his rough fingers sweep through your folds. He rubs at your clit quickly, not really for you, but for him - just to touch you - giving you the feeling that it’s been a while since he’s felt a woman. Pride swells in your chest. 

He then leans over, his lips hovering over yours, his fingers gripping the grass. Then - oh, and then - he starts pushing at your opening, breaking into your awaiting cunt. You gasp as your body inhales inch after inch of him until he’s buried to his hilt - his hips flush against yours. You whimper softly as your flesh stretches wider than ever before to hold him. It feels good. You let out the breath that you’ve been holding as Bucky settles into the feeling of you. His eyes flutter as his mouth hangs, the rain dripping off of his brow and the tip of his nose down onto you.

He bucks into you and you grunt, grabbing onto his forearms and digging your nails into his thick skin. He pushes again, and again, and again until he has a succinct, hard rhythm. Your body bounces with each thrust, your pussy gripping him harder and harder with each pass. The sky really opens up then. A flash of lightning streaks across the sky as a crack of thunder rips through the silence. Not that either one phases the two of you. 

You lean up and kiss him again, biting down on his lips as he fucks into you. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and neck, hanging on for dear life as you breathe him in - the raw, carnal scent of him filling your lungs. He thrusts into you suddenly, as hard as he can, and then just stays there, pressing against the deepest part of you. Another bolt of lightning slashes through the sky as you cry out - his name falling from your lips - the sound of it tripping off your tongue sending a shiver right down his spine. 

Your pussy starts to quiver as he moves again. His hips are quick and swift, his cock pushing, pushing, pushing until you’re writhing underneath him. Tears sting your eyes as the intensity of the past twenty four hours rolls through your body. Every synapse within you fires as the warm tears start to slip out of the corners of your eyes, the hard rain sweeping them away. 

You cry out again as a sharp pain travels through you, your sensitive nipple now between Bucky’s teeth. Thunder claps again. You push your chest into his wet mouth as his tongue swirls around your skin. He bites down again and your hips jerk up into his as you roll your head in the mud. You run your hands up and down his arms, gripping and groping as his weight pins you to the ground. You’re almost certain that as he drills his hips into yours, he’ll push you right into the ground, straight down to the earth’s core. 

The orgasm that’s been laying in wait, deep inside of your belly, starts to ripple through you. The sparks start to fly, soft as first but within minutes, the embers are now a full blown fire. You screech and wail as your body tenses and curls into his. The rain gets harder, the lightning spidering through the clouds, the thunder so loud it could burst your eardrums. Another push of his hips and you let out a long, deep growl as your release is finally set free. 

The air whips up around you as you come undone beneath him, shaking the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass. His hips still crash into yours as you claw at his back with your fingernails, but they grow more desperate as the seconds pass. A moan rumbles through his chest, then his breathing hitches - his eyes slam shut. You tense, squeezing your slick pussy around his cock as he starts to spill his seed. You want it all, every last drop - not an ounce to be wasted. 

You grab his face in your hands and press your forehead into his as you both ride out the waves of your orgasms. The warmth of his thick cum spreads through you as his hips jerk and his body shudders. His body slides against yours until he is totally spent, collapsing on top of you when he just can’t hold himself up any longer. You cradle his head with your hands as he tucks into the crook of your neck. You push your fingers through his wet, dark tresses, massaging his scalp slowly as you stare up into the sky. 

The rain slows - it’s still steady, but calmer than before. The lightning and thunder disappears, the wind dies away. You and Bucky stay connected as you drag your fingers up and down his spine. He leans back after a few minutes pass, and stares down at you, his eyes roaming your face as he tries and fails to figure you out. 

“Who are you?” He asks softly, slowly realizing the power you hold.

You breathe gently as you blink back at him, “I don’t know.”

You throw your head back as you pant loudly. Your hips roll against Bucky’s as you ride him on top of his bed. You lean forward slightly, pressing your palms into his broad chest, your fingers digging into his flesh. His strong hands are around your hips, helping you move, pushing you forward and then backwards, and then forwards again. 

A bead of sweat slips between your breasts but his tongue captures it before it can delve any further. He falls back onto the thin mattress that holds the two of you and lets his hands fall to your thighs, “God,” he pushes out between clenched teeth, “S’fuckin’ good, girl.”

You start to bounce on top of him, pushing more of your weight into the center of his chest. His hands leave your hips to grip your bouncing tits, massaging them hard before he takes each of your nipples between his rough fingers. He slips his hands around to your back, groping your flesh quickly before he grabs your long locs to pull them gently. You groan as a slight pain prickles at your scalp, but smile as you push your hands up to cup your breasts.

The rain picks up outside again as the familiar pull of an orgasm starts to tickle your insides. You work your hips, up and down, up and down, up and down on his cock until you’re quaking. Your clit jumps with convulsions as you come, your thin fingers stroking the aching flesh to exacerbate the feeling. Bucky isn’t far behind, just like the other four times the two of you have made love throughout the day and evening. 

He hisses and grunts as he lifts his hips into yours, fucking up into you as his spunk fills you to the brim before it slips back out and down his shaft. The thunder outside cracks again as you fuck him for all he’s worth, until you literally can’t sit up any longer. You fall onto his chest, your breath heavy and hard as you nuzzle into him. Your skin sticks to his as humidity fills the room but you hum happily.

You start to trace the scars on his chest with your index finger, your eyes growing heavy. You still don’t know what is drawing you to this man. One minute, you’re both seething with anger directed at one another, the next, you’re making love like it’s your last hours on earth. With each passing moment, you feel him seeping into your heart - your soul - and you don’t even know him. All you know is that you don’t ever want to leave this bed again.

“I have a question.” You whisper after several minutes.

“What’s that?” He slurs, half asleep.

“How long have you been here?”

He wraps his arms around your waist, holding your body tight to his, “Too long.”

“How long?” You press.

“Seventy years,” he says, letting out a breath, “Give or take a year or two. Go to sleep.”

You giggle but close your eyes anyway, “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that a time or two. Now shut up, I mean it.”

“Steve said that I was already claimed. What does that mean?”

“You’ve asked your question, girl.”

“Come on,” you whine, “Please?”

He sighs heavily, turning his head into the pillow, keeping his eyes closed, “There’s evil out there in the woods. Not everybody is as nice as us.”

You sit up, flattening your palm to his chest as you blink at the side of his face, “Rumlow? He’s evil?”

“You saw Rumlow? When?” He asks, popping his eyes open as he turns to face you.

“Yesterday, when Steve found me.”

Bucky lets out another breath, his eyes calming, “He’s evil. It’s a good thing he didn’t find you first.” He reaches towards you, sliding his hand along your face before he cups your chin, “Now, I’m going to put you out if you don’t go to sleep.”

You smile softly and lay back down on his chest, nuzzling into him, “Sheesh, okay grumpy.”

He tightens his grip around your waist and just as you are slipping between consciousness and sleep, you swear you feel his lips on your forehead and hear a faint goodnight, girl. 

Bucky sits straight up as a jolt of fear flashes through him. He snaps his head towards the window as the sun peaks in behind the thin, white curtains that cover it. Daytime. It’s daytime and he’s still in his bed. How in the - 

Something shifts beside him and he jerks again, letting out a breath as an arm slinks over his chest. He eyes the small woman next to him, her leg slung over both of his, her face nuzzled into his bicep as she drags in deep, calm breaths. The previous day’s events flash through his mind - his lips on hers, her nails dug into his skin, her sweet gasps as he plunged into her over and over and over again.

She’s coming Bucky, I can feel it. She’ll fix this place and she’ll love you forever, plus a day. 

Wanda’s words play back through his mind. He huffs, letting out a breath before he lowers his head to his hands and rubs his face. He turns his head and peeks over at the sleeping woman next to him. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up to such a sight. Warm brown skin, long locs spidering across the stark white sheets, a gentle, soft face… it takes him back to the 40s. How it felt to wake up next to his girl everyday. God, he wonders where she is now, if she’s even still alive.

He blinks and reaches out slowly, placing his palm flat on her back. He watches as it rises and falls with each steady breath before he sweeps his fingers across her smooth skin. He cups the side of her face and rubs his thumb across her cheek… it’s been a long time… and it feels nice. She feels nice.

Movement outside of his door grabs his attention and then a soft knock spreads through the room. Steve pokes his head in, smiling softly as he eyes the sleeping girl.

“This is not what it looks like.” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face again.

“Of course it isn’t,” Steve shrugs, “Wanda’s here for you.”

“Wonderful,” Bucky titters, “Give me a minute.”

When Steve disappears, Bucky turns back towards the sleeping body next to him. He dips down and places his lips to her forehead, and then the side of her face, and then on the tip of her nose before he sits up straight. He watches as she smiles in her sleep, before she hums softly. He smiles back. He throws his feet over the edge of the bed and stands - what the fuck is happening to him? He couldn’t stand her twelve hours ago. 

“Wanda,” he starts as he moves into the living room, shutting his door, “What brings you here so early?”

She smirks, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as Steve hands her a mug, “You know why I’m here.”

“Do I?” He asks sarcastically - smirking as she levels a slap to his arm.

“How is she?” 

“Who?”

“Goddamn you, Barnes!” She laughs.

“She’s fine,” he shrugs, “Still sleeping.” 

“With you?” 

Bucky sends his eyes towards her, squinting them just a bit as she smiles back at him. Steve hands him a mug seconds later, which he accepts and sips before he answers, “Nosy ass.”

“You are awfully nonchalant about this whole thing,” Steve pipes up, “It rained like hell all day and well into the night, and then, more importantly, you didn’t turn. No full moon, and all we get from you is your usual sarcasm.” 

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, that was nice.”

“That was nice?” Steve scoffs, “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky laughs lightly, “Okay, yes, some weird shit is going on, alright? I don’t have an answer for you.” 

“It’s not weird, it’s her.” Wanda says, sending her eyes to his closed door, “She is powerful.” 

Bucky rubs his face again, his brain turning, “It still doesn’t make any sense. You have to be cursed to end up here, right? So how does she have all of this power? Where is it coming from? Who fucking decides?”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” Wanda says, tilting her head, “We may have been cursed, but even here, in this place, we all still have a destiny to fulfill. We were meant to adapt and survive for some reason or another. Our afflictions have shown that.”

Bucky casts his eyes to his feet as he runs his hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to bring up that within twenty four hours, her broken ankle is completely healed. That not one scratch is present on her body. That every time she came in his arms, the wind and the rain got stronger and harder. If he does, it’s real. Everything Wanda’s been telling them for years is actually coming true - and he’s found the love of his life. 

“What is it? What happened?” Wanda asks, eyeing him quietly, “What are you thinking?”

Bucky clicks his tongue, throwing her a look, “Nothing, damn.” 

“James Buchanan Barnes, so help me!”

He rolls his eyes, “She’s… her ankle, you remember? It was broken, clearly.”

“I remember.” 

“Well, it’s not, now,” he says slowly, shifting his eyes around the room, “It wasn’t yesterday when she was roaming around outside.” He snaps his eyes to Wanda when she gasps and covers her mouth with her fingers, “The gash on her leg, her feet, they’re all healed up. It’s like nothing even happened to her.”

Wanda’s eyes go wide as she glances off into space, her mind racing. She opens her mouth to speak, but a loud knock at the front door interrupts her, “Babe,” Sam starts as he pops his head inside, “You gotta come look at this.”

The three of them follow the excited Sam as he pulls them down towards the lake. The waterfall rushes with intensity, the water level of the lake higher than they’ve ever seen it. They rush up the hill just to the side of the lake and waterfall to the connecting stream above and stop in their tracks as they push through the trees. 

Fish, all sizes and colors, leap from the water and then dive back in as they swim along. Natasha pops her head up out of the water, her green-blue tail swishing behind her, “Do you see this?” She laughs, “This is incredible! We haven’t had fish like this in God only knows how long.”

“When did this start?” Bucky asks.

“Last night, but it was just a few. Carol and I just thought a few got separated from their school, but we woke up this morning to all of this.”

The water starts to ripple upstream as something cuts through it with ease. Once the shadow underneath reaches them, it circles Natasha before it bobs up in the water, Carol’s blue eyes and warm smile falling onto the group, “Go check the orchards. I’ve never seen them like this.” 

Apples, oranges, peaches, and lemons scatter the ground as Bucky, Sam, Wanda, and Steve move through the trees. They haven’t yielded in months and now they are so full, they can’t even hold their production. Wanda’s eyes fill with tears as she reaches towards a blueberry bush, plucking off a single berry. Sam wraps her up in his arms, kissing the side of her face as she smiles up at him through the emotion, “She’s going to save us, Sam. We’re going to be okay.” 

“I never lost faith, baby.” He whispers, swaying her gently back and forth, “Never for a minute.”

Steve picks a bright red apple from the sprawling tree above him and brings it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it. He closes his eyes and hums in appreciation as the sweet taste explodes against his taste buds.

Bucky wipes at the corners of his mouth, wiping away the juices from the plumb he’s just inhaled. Wanda was right. He should have never doubted her. 

“Is everything okay?” A soft voice sounds behind them, making them all turn. You stand a few feet away, worry written all over your face, the bottom of your tunic bunched in your hand, “I woke up and everybody was gone.”

You cut your eyes to Bucky as he plucks a handful of blueberries from a small bush. He walks towards you, stepping right up to you before he brings one of the berries to your lips. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his, searching for an answer that you’re not sure he has. You’re almost shocked when he smiles back at you. You open your mouth and accept the small piece of fruit, chewing slowly before you swallow.

“Everything’s okay.” He answers, kissing your lips quickly - softly, “We’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.” 

You turn your head towards Wanda as she advances, placing her hands on your shoulder, a smile on her face, “Come, baby. I have much to tell you about your journey.” 

#ldamc #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bbb2020 #SSB2020 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #you x bucky #bucky x reader #reader x bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #black reader #bucky barnes x black reader #avintagekiss24

[jayankles]

Call Me Out

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary: You go on a drive with Sam, you have everything planned out but Sam makes an unexpected pit stop.

Word Count: 971

Warning: smut, car sex, public sex

Written for: @mcukinkbingo​ | @star-spangled-bingo​ 

Squares Filled: Location: The Car | Love confession during sex

Kinktober Day 13: Public or Semi public sex

“Sam, what are you doing?” You asked when Sam pulled into a random car park. It had struck you as odd, this pit stop wasn’t on your meticulously planned itinerary. “Do you need something from the store?”

“Nah, baby, we gon’ have some car sex.” Sam blurted out and you couldn’t help but laugh at how blunt he was about the activity in question.

“What if someone sees us?” You questioned but your hand found his muscular thigh. ”You okay with having someone see Captain America’s ass or any part of my sexy body?”

“That is a risk I am definitely willing to take. I saw the lingerie you put on this morning and although this outfit is on point. I want it off.” You were dripping just thinking about it, Sam had made you feel sexy, made you feel wanted. Biting your lip, you lifted your hips, ]your hands diving under your skirt and pulling your panties down, tossing them in Sam’s direction.

“I guess you can keep those if you like them so much.” You whispered in his ear, tongue grazing over the shell of it. You’re grinning from ear to ear when you were finally able to pull down his jeans and underwear, his cock springing free from its confinements. He really was turned on by you, and that made you wetter by second.

Checking your surroundings, it was packed full of cars and people were flooding in and out of the store but you supposed it was better than the car park being completely empty and having some, if not all, the attention drawn to the both of you.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, you hiked up your skirt, bunching it up around your hips. You straddled him, feeling him widening his legs below you.

“God, I’m so glad you didn’t drive in the bug today.” You laughed, already lining yourself up with the tip of his cock, sinking down on him. He grunted, teeth biting down on his bottom lip as he thrusted up into your pussy. You clawed onto his shirt, grabbing hold of his shoulder for stability.

Public sex was always so risky. But the risk of getting caught sent a thrill through your entire body. If you did get caught though, there was nothing that anybody could say or do to stop you from riding him.

“Look at you,” Sam coos at you, humming deep in his throat. “You look so sexy on top of me, baby girl.”

His lips pressed to the exposed softness of your collarbone, leading to the swell of your breasts. Sam pushes them together, his head turning from side to side in your breasts. You giggled before he captured your nipple in his mouth, teeth scraping against it as he pulled back.

Settling onto your knees, you rose up as high as you could; your head hitting the roof of the car. When you knew that just the tip of dick was inside you, you slammed back down onto him. Your skin slapping together. You repeated the action over and over again, Sam letting you take charge as you rode him, his hips sporadically fucking up into you.

Sam was close; he could feel it inside him. The knots. The tightness. The pain. He could have come when you threw your panties at him but he wanted to hold on for as long as long as he could. He wanted to come inside your pussy, wanted you to milk him dry of all he had, wanted you to clench your pussy and keep his come inside you for the rest of the day. And without your panties it was going to be a difficult task to keep it from dribbling down your thighs. 

He grunted beneath you, thrusting up into you. He took this moment to spit on his fingers, pressing them to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You squealed as rubbed at your clit with vigor. Sam wanted you to come hard and come quick, and he knew exactly what he was doing to get you there.

Legs quivering, your stomach tightens under Sam’s dirty work. Falling forward, you convulse against Sam’s chest. “Are you gonna come for me, baby girl? Fuck! Shit, I love you! Love it when you clench around my cock.”

“Yes! Sam, fuck! Keep rubbing my clit, baby. Use your big cock and come in my pussy. Please! Fuck!” Your legs clench around Sam’s thighs, your pussy doing the same to his cock. Closing your eyes, you groan at the force of your orgasm, writhing at how powerful it was. You came with a cry, he continued to rub your clit as you rode the waves of the aftershocks. Sam came, his whole body rid of any motion other than panting and holding you close.

“Shit, Sam.” You said against his neck, out of breath as you returned to the land of the living. “Why haven’t we done that before?”

Sam coughed out a laugh, watching intently as you rise from his lap, detaching yourself from his softened cock, his come dripping with your pussy. “Because there is always someone else in the car or we’re apart, that’s why. And you’re constantly complaining about your back so we have to do it where we have space otherwise you won’t let me touch you for about a week.”

“Why you always gotta call me out like that?” Rolling your eyes, you returned back to your seat and readjusted your skirt and pulled up the top that Sam had pulled down while he was sucking on your tits. “I think we should get outta here.”

“Why because we’ve ruined your itinerary?” 

“Well yes but no not that, I’m pretty sure my ass hit the horn and there are security guards coming for us right now. Let’s go.”

#mcukinkbingo #ssb2020 #sam x reader #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x reader fic #sam wilson fic #sam wilson x reader smut #sam wilson smut #sam x reader smut #jayankles #jayankles writes #bailey writes

[avengerscompound]

Running to a Standstill - 1

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2188

Rating:  E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ - Widow’s Bite

Warnings: none for this chapter, there will be smut and canon typical violence, etc for the series

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers.  While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 1

Bucky sat cross-legged on the floor of Clint’s apartment fiddling with Natasha’s widow bites.  They'd malfunctioned while they were out chasing down some creeps trying to hold up a bank using stolen alien tech and now parts of them were spread out on the stained Ikea coffee table along with his machine gun, Clint’s bow, a handful of arrows, and some throwing knives.  Bucky had already been zapped three times, and at this point, he was determined to fix these things just to spite them.

“Fuck,” he cursed as he was zapped once again.  He shook his hand and sucked on his finger.

“Just leave them, James,” Natasha said, as she passed through the room on her way to the fridge. “Stark can fix them.”

“This is way below Stark’s pay grade.  I can do it,” Bucky argued, and like the miniature tasers were trying to spite him right back he got zapped again.  “Fuck!  You little…”

There was a rapping on Clint’s door followed by a snuffling sound and scratching.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Clint complained, tripping over Steve’s shield and then his own quiver as he made his way to the door.

He pulled the door open to reveal Clint’s one-eyed Labrador mix, a little boy who looked to be about three or four years old, and you.

“Hey, Clint,” you said, cheerily as the little boy chased the dog inside.  “Returning Lucky.  Thanks for letting me take him out.”

“You kidding?”  Clint replied as Steve quickly got to his feet and started picking up weapons and putting them up out of the reach of little hands.  “Did me a favor.  Thanks for taking him with you.”

“Of course, Geo loves him,” you replied.  “Geo, you say thank you to Mister Barton?”

“Dank,” the little boy who seemed to be named Geo said.  “Nad, Nad, Nad…”

Natasha smiled softly.  It was a rare thing to see and it made Bucky feel a little warm on the inside.  A feeling he was still getting used to experiencing.

“What is it, malysh?”  She asked.

Geo then babbled a series of words that seemed to include ‘balloon’, ‘doggy’, ‘fly’, and ‘cake’ but Bucky couldn’t quite follow what he was actually saying.

“Well that all sounds fantastic,” Natasha said, brushing the little boy's hair off his face.  “What a wonderful day you’ve had.”

He bounced on his toes and kissed her cheek before running off toward Bucky.

“Geo, honey,” you said in that patient voice that some parents couldn’t seem to be able to perfect.  “We need to go,” you said taking a step into the room.  “Sorry, Clint.”

“Mama, but dis,” Geo complained, coming over to Bucky and patting his arm.

“No, honey, they’re doing work,” you said, as Geo caressed the metal plates on Bucky’s prosthetic arm.

“Whad dis?”  Geo said, looking up at Bucky.

“Oh my god,” you said, sounding mortified as Clint stifled a laugh.  “I’m so sorry, Sergeant… Barnes?”  You said his name like a question, confirming his identity.

Bucky shook his head.  “It’s fine,” he said to you and turned his attention back to Geo.  “That’s my arm.”

“Is a robod arm?”  Geo asked.

“Yeah, it’s a robot arm,” Bucky answered.

Clint laughed and closed the door behind you.  “You might as well get comfortable.  This is gonna be a while.”

“You’re sure?”  You asked, “You look busy.”

“Nah, Bucky’s just trying to fix something he can’t fix,” Clint said.  “You want a drink?”

“A beer would be amazing,” you said and took a seat on the couch.

“You fix fing?”  Geo asked.

“Yeah, that’s right.  I’m fixing these?”  Bucky said, showing the little boy the Widow Bites.  Steve gave Bucky a look that was slightly disapproving but he didn’t actually say anything.  Bucky wasn’t sure he was good with kids.  He always felt a little awkward, like he was going to say or do the wrong thing.  He did like kids though.  They didn’t know what he was and they were true to their emotions.  If they didn’t like you, you knew right away.  Maybe showing the Widow Bites to a toddler was a terrible thing to do, but he seemed interested and you didn’t say anything, so Bucky figured he can’t have done anything too bad.

Clint handed you a beer and introduced you to everyone as Geo looked at all the pieces of the Widow Bites carefully like he really understood what was going on with them.  “They rent the place two floors below this one,” Clint explained.

“Geo loves Lucky, so Clint lets us take him to the park when we go and he doubles as my guard dog,” you added.

“So what is it you do?”  Steve asked.

“Oh, this and that,” you said, cryptically.  “I sometimes do shifts at a coffee place down the street.  I babysit.  I do some temp work here and there.”

“That must be difficult,” Steve said.

“I make do,” you said.  “Geo’s dad died and I do what I have to to get by.”

Steve frowned.  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged.  “Thank you, I’m sure you understand loss.  Given… everything.”

“Dis go dare,” Geo said, pointing at one of the wires and moving his finger to a circuit board.

“Yeah?  I dunno, buddy,” Bucky said, not sure how to tell a toddler that he could just randomly solder pieces of a weapon together.

“Goes dare,” he insisted, climbing into Bucky’s lap.

“You might as well just do it,” Natasha teased as she lounged back on the recliner.  “It’s not like he’ll make it worse.”

“Alright,” Bucky said.  “You keep your hands back okay?”

“Otay,” Geo said, putting one hand on each of Bucky’s arms.  Bucky carefully soldered the wire into place and powered the tasers on.  They started up fine and when he gave the to Natasha and she tested them out they seemed to work fine.  Bucky looked from you to Geo and back at Natasha with the tasers.

“Did … did you just fix them, pal?”  He asked.

“Uhh… he… kinda has a knack for things like that,” you said, putting your drink down.  “Hey, Geo, maybe we should go.”

The way you reacted reminded Bucky of a prey animal who’d realized they’d just gotten themselves cornered. Your eyes flicked to the exits and back to your son.  “Hey,” Steve said, gently.  That commanding but soothing tone coming to him instinctively.  “You’re alright.  You’re safe here with us.”

“Yeah, hon,” Clint agreed.  “If you can’t trust Captain America, who can you trust?”

You seemed to relax back in the chair and Geo climbed off Bucky’s lap and toddled over to where Lucky was lying and lay down against him.  Steve looked at the little boy and then at you.  “If you need to talk to anyone… or you need any help.”

You shook your head.  “It’s… fine.  I’ve been dealing with it.”

“Dealing with what exactly?”  Steve asked.

“You ever read the book ‘Firestarter’?  Or see the movie?  The movie had Drew Barrymore in it?”  When Steve’s blank look never changed.  “No, of course not.  Why would you?  Anyway, it’s like that.  And … well, less attention the better.  So thank you, but I’m fine.”

Steve looked you over and gave a nod.  “If you ever change your mind…”

“I know where you are.  And I appreciate the offer,” you stood up and threw your beer bottle into Clint and Natasha’s recycling bin.  “I better take him back home.  He’s gonna pass out.”

Bucky looked back over at Geo who now had his eyes closed and was curled into Lucky’s side.  You picked up the little boy and he snuggled into your neck and opened and closed his hands on your back.  “Thanks again, Clint.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Clint said getting up and opening the door for you.  “He likes going out with you.”

“I’ll see you,” you said and hurried out of the room.

“Way to go,” Natasha teased.  “You scared away our only normal friend.”

“What did she mean by the Firestarter thing?”  Bucky asked.

“See, that’s new,” Clint said, flopping down on the couch. “I just knew she was a widow.  Firestarter is a story about this couple that goes through a bunch of medical testing at college and then they have a kid who can light fires with her mind.  And the people who did the testing on them start chasing them around the country to get the kid.”

Steve stiffened up and pulled out his phone. “You didn’t know she was on the run?”

Clint shook his head.  “Just a widow with a kid.  I have heaps of single mom tenants.”

“Clint likes to offer them cheap rent and then they’re so grateful they sleep with him,” Natasha explained.

“Hey now!”  Clint spluttered.  “Don’t make me sound like an asshole.  I offer them cheap rent ‘cause they are usually getting back on their feet.  Plus they’re often divorcees and they feel safer in the building two Avengers live in.  Can’t help it if some of them start hanging around and making me food and then one thing leads to another.”

“Maybe I should do some checking up on that,” Steve said.  “If she’s in trouble, we can’t just ignore it.”

“She obviously doesn’t want to be noticed, maybe you should just leave it alone,” Natasha said.

“We’re authority figures.  I can understand why she might not trust that we can help,” Steve said.  “But you and I both know we can.”

“Fine!” Natasha said, holding up her hands in defeat.  “Do what you like.”

“Did you really sleep with her?”  Bucky asked, getting up off the floor and moving to the recliner as Steve tapped around on his phone.

“Her?  No.  Just something that’s happened a few times with other tenants.  Nothing planned,” Clint explained.  “She’s cute though, right.”

Clint wasn’t wrong.  Bucky did think you were attractive.  You seemed nice too, the fact you trusted Geo with him meant a lot to him and the way you didn’t make a huge deal about Steve.  A lot of women always made a huge deal of Steve.  Not that Bucky could blame them for that too.  He’d been harboring a crush on Steve that stretched way back before most women even looked twice at Steve.

“You’re really okay with that, Tasha?”  Bucky asked.  Natasha and Clint didn’t exactly have a conventional relationship.  It wasn’t really one he was used to seeing but they seemed happy.  He kept expecting jealousy to rear up but they just spoke about how they each slept with other people like it was no big deal at all.

“Yeah, of course,” Natasha said.  “Gotta let go of the idea monogamy is the only possible happily ever after, James.  Some people find happiness alone and in themselves, some find it in the beds of strangers, some with one loving partner.  And some with multiple.”

“And some people like to shack up with their best friend and get up to all kinds of shenanigans,” Clint added, moving from the couch to the recliner with Natasha and curling up with her.

“Find what it is that makes you happy,” Natasha concluded.  “Besides sleeping with one person for the rest of my life-” She mimed yawning and Clint laughed and snuggled into her more.

“If only…” Bucky muttered as he looked at Steve.

Steve looked up from his phone puzzled and raised an eyebrow at him.  “What's that, Bucky?”

“Nothing, go back to being a snoop,” Bucky grumbled, once again ignoring the clear opportunity to come clean about his feelings.

“You want us to set you up with her, Buck?”  Clint asked.  “She's really fun. She and Geo come up a bunch.  We eat pizza and play videogames or take the dog out.  She's artistic too and snarky.  And Nat even likes her.”

“It's true, I do,” Natasha said.  “She brings us coffee and croissants from the place she works.”

“Then what would she want with me then?” Bucky asked, almost folding in on himself.  Clint gave him a look that both said he understood and that he pitied him and Natasha scowled at him.

“James,” she said.

Bucky knew he had to deflect quickly or he'd get a lecture about being worthy of love, and he was really not in the mood for that.  He quickly waved a hand in Steve’s direction.  “Set her up with Steve.  He's the one worried about her past and she treated him like a normal person.”

“Oh that's a good point,” Clint said, nudging Natasha.

Natasha picked up a cushion and threw it at Steve.  He caught it on reflex and looked up at him. “How about we organize dinner for you and her?” Natasha suggested.  “Then you can try and get her backstory in person in a less aggressive fashion.”

“That's a good idea,” Steve said, completely oblivious that he was being set up on a date.  “Set it up.”

Natasha smirked at Bucky and winked.  Bucky smiled back and hoped that it hid the little flare of jealousy he just felt raise it’s head.

// NEXT

#SSB2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

[sunriserose1023]

Cold and Broken

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader WARNINGS: Language, injuries, hypothermia, one-sided conversations WORD COUNT: 3682 SQUARE FILLED: Huddling for warmth for @star-spangled-bingo​ and Damaged vocal cords for @badthingshappenbingo​

“Hang in there. Just a little bit more. Come on.”

You nodded, clinging to Bucky’s metal arm. You were dragging your right foot behind you, one arm clutched to what you were sure were broken ribs. You couldn’t speak, since the HYDRA operatives you’d been tracking had been enhanced—something you weren’t expecting—and one had nearly crushed your throat before Bucky got the upper hand on him. 

A muscle in his jaw twitched every time he glanced back at you, because as soon as his eyes met yours, they’d flick down to the still spreading dark purple bruises on your neck. You’d tried to pull your suit higher, but without a scarf, there wasn’t much you could do to hide. 

Speaking of a scarf, it was fucking freezing. Snow swirled all around you, the cold biting through your suit. Holding onto Bucky’s metal arm was like clinging to a block of ice, and you were honestly afraid your fingers may be stuck to it. You really wished you’d listened to Steve and gone with at least the fingerless gloves. 

The HYDRA base had some sort of technology that made your comms die almost instantly, and even escaping the base—leaving no survivors behind—hadn’t changed anything. You had faith that Steve or Nat or maybe even Clint would figure it out soon and come save you, but there was no way you were waiting around all the blood and bodies, and there was no way you and Bucky could just sit outside and wait in the blizzard you were currently trudging through. 

You swallowed and gave a hoarse whine, and Bucky glanced back at you, jaw muscle twitching before he nodded. 

“Little bit further. Can you make it?”

You nodded, wincing as a pain shot through your body. Bucky blew out a breath, pulling you closer, turning to face you.

“There should be a safe house right behind those trees. Can you make it that far?”

You looked out towards where he was talking, your face falling when you saw the distance to the trees. You took in a deep breath and winced, eyes meeting his. You were trying—really, you were—but you were exhausted. Every inch of your body hurt, and Bucky nodded. 

“It’s okay. You’ve done so good. Here.”

He turned around and you shook your head, gripping his flesh shoulder. He glanced back at you and shook his head, snow flying from his hair. 

“You can’t walk that far. I can get us there quicker than you putting yourself through more pain. It won’t be pain-free, but let me carry you.”

You exhaled, staring into his blue-gray eyes, then nodded. You gasped as you climbed onto his back, doing your best to breathe through the pain, but tears were in your eyes when you were finally settled. 

“I’m sorry, kid.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around him and tapping the side of his neck. Bucky nodded. 

“Just hang tight.”

You put your head down, face in his hair as he started walking. It jarred you at first, but you grit your teeth and soon got used to the rhythm of Bucky walking. You could feel his body heat through his suit, and you closed your eyes as your chest and stomach started to warm. 

“Y/N? Hey. Hey, don’t fall asleep. Come on, kid.”

You blinked heavy eyes open, glancing around. You lifted your face from Bucky’s dark hair, sliding off his back and landing on the front porch of a cabin. You looked up at him and he nodded, twisting the doorknob and walking inside. You waited by the door, stepping further inside when you couldn’t take the cold anymore. 

“All clear.”

You sank against the wall, rubbing shaking hands together and blowing into them, wincing when that hurt both your ribs and your throat. Bucky walked into the room and saw you, and he walked over to loop your arm around his neck, picking you up and carrying you to the sofa. He sat you down and threw the blanket on the back over your shoulders. You nodded to him and tried to smile, and he gave you a forced smile back as he knelt before you. 

“I’m going to start a fire, okay? See if I can’t get you warm.”

You poked a numb finger into his chest and he rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

You poked him again and he gave a soft laugh. 

“You’re shivering so hard I’d think that couch was a vibrator if I sat beside you.”

Your eyes widened and Bucky laughed again. He patted your knee and stood up, and you tried to pull the blanket tighter around you. 

He had a fire going in no time, the logs crackling and popping as the flames burned through them. Bucky lifted the sofa and pushed it closer to the fireplace, and you held out your hands, wincing as you reached for warmth. Bucky grabbed a few more blankets and surrounded you with them, and you’d at least stopped shivering. You still felt cold, so you knew Bucky must feel the same, but he wouldn’t stop moving for you to ask. He did find a pen and a notepad, so you were at least not gesturing anymore. 

He always glanced your way whenever he made it into the room, whether to throw another log on the fire or check your blanket nest or—his best idea yet—finding a pot in the kitchen and filling it with snow, boiling it over the fire so you’d at least have something to drink. 

You held a cup of the cooled snow water in your hands, wincing every time you swallowed. Bucky walked into the room and you tapped your pen against the notepad, getting his attention. He lifted his eyebrows when he looked at you and you held up the notepad. 

Would you PLEASE sit down?

He huffed out a breath. 

“I had to check every nook and cranny around here, make sure we’re safe.”

You scribbled across the notepad. 

You did that 3 times already. Relax. 

Bucky sighed. He narrowed his eyes at you and you raised an eyebrow at him, and he finally acquiesced, walking over and sitting beside you on the sofa. He exhaled, and you reached over, patting his flesh arm. He turned and grabbed your hand, shaking his head. 

“Jesus, Y/N. You’re freezing.”

You pointedly looked at the blankets around you and nodded at the fire, but Bucky shook his head. 

“It’s not enough. You’re going to catch hypothermia. And with your ribs broken the way they are …”

He swallowed, and you raised an eyebrow. Bucky shook his head, unfastening the buckles on his suit. Both of your eyebrows jumped to your hairline when he shook off the jacket, pulling the tank over his head and standing before you in some serious shirtless glory. You blinked and he started unwrapping blankets from around you. You shook your head and he hung his, letting out a breath before lifting his head and staring into your eyes. 

“Your lips are blue. Don’t even try and start with me.”

You opened your mouth and he glared at you. You shut your mouth, unwrapping the blankets around you and giving a full-body shiver. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open when you looked to Bucky, who was cursing under his breath, now clad in just his boxers. 

“Buck—“ “Don’t talk. Christ, you sound like you’ve gargled glass.”

You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. 

“Body heat is the quickest way to warm you up.”

You opened your mouth and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. You leaned forward and grabbed the notepad, handwriting shaky this time. 

I don’t think I can take my suit off.

Bucky’s lips moved as he read the message, and you watched him swallow before he nodded. 

“Can you stand? I’ll help you.”

You nodded, gasping and shivering when you were free from the blankets. Bucky helped you stand, made sure you were steady on your sprained ankle—at least, that’s what you hoped it was—then leaned around you, picking up the sofa and pushing it closer to the fire. 

He came back and stood before you, and you pointed to your back. He moved a bit, finding the zipper at your neckline, slowly unzipping your suit. You shivered, giving a hoarse moan when the chill in the cabin hit your now bare skin. Bucky unfastened your bra before you could say anything about it, stepping in front of you and pulling you to his chest. You gasped, moaning brokenly before burrowing closer to him. 

“Shit, baby. You should have said something. God, you’re freezing.”

You nodded, putting your face in his neck. Bucky cursed again, rubbing his flesh arm up and down your back. 

“My damn arm …”

He sighed, and you wobbled a bit, both of his arms coming around you to steady you. 

“Easy. Here, let’s sit down.”

You nodded, letting him lead you to the sofa. You sat down, hunching over towards the fire, moaning softly when that tugged at your broken ribs. Bucky fixed blankets around you, then crawled onto the sofa behind you, pulling you to his chest. You gave a low keen, and Bucky shushed you, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your arm before pulling the blankets around the two of you. 

You sat like that for a while, huddled together in the blankets by the roaring fire, Bucky’s flesh arm gently caressing you while he tried to keep his metal arm away from you. You leaned your head back against his and he turned his head, touching his forehead to your temple. You let your hand drift down to the back of his, slowly tracing letters. 

B A B Y

“‘Baby?’”

You nodded, tapping his wrist. Bucky moved his head to your ear, growling the words there, making you giggle. 

“Are you having delusions? Hearing things? You may be worse off than I thought.”

You shook your head, reaching up and scratching his stubbled chin. He sighed, shifting a bit, pulling you closer. 

“I guess I let it slip, huh?”

You nodded, shifting your position, sitting sideways in his lap, head on his shoulder. He sighed again, resting his head atop yours. 

“I just … I didn’t mean … “

He blew out a breath. 

“It took me off-guard how cold your touch was. I didn’t realize how cold you still were. The damn serum or whatever I’ve got keeps me from getting too hot or too cold, but I should have been thinking about you.”

You shook your head, clutching his flesh arm. He glanced down at you, licking his lips. 

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded, widening your eyes and shaking your head. Bucky smiled, cupping your chin in his flesh hand. 

“You don’t have to be scared. And you don’t have to stay awake for me. You’re warming up. I’ll keep watch, keep an eye out for the quinjet. Rest.”

You nodded, sitting up and moving until you were backwards in his lap, your soft breasts pressed against his chest. Bucky gave a soft groan, pulling you closer. Within seconds, you were asleep, wrapped in his warmth, and Bucky stretched out on the couch, twisting until you were laying beside him. He tucked as many blankets around you as he could, putting your back to the fire, staring at your sleeping face, the few wispy hairs that had escaped the bun on top of your head that Nat must have helped you with. 

Bucky sighed, feeling his own eyes grow heavy. He blinked and widened his eyes, staring into the fire. You snuggled closer to him, and he let his arms hold you tighter. Surely someone would notice the smoke from the chimney. If not, they’d see his multiple SOS from around the house and come find them. 

He shifted a bit on the sofa, holding you close, resting his head atop yours. He wouldn’t be any good to you exhausted. Just a few minutes of shuteye is all he’d need, and he’d be back in fighting shape. His eyes slid closed as one of the logs broke in the fireplace, sending sparks flying up the chimney and a burst of heat towards your back. 

“Shit. I found them!”

Steve dropped his shield as he ran to the couch, breath visible when he exhaled. 

“Damn it. Come on. Come on, guys.”

He unwrapped blankets from the bodies on the couch, neither of which were responding to his pleas. He untangled the last blanket to discover you on top of Bucky, both of you clad only in your underwear. Steve reached a shaky hand to press two fingers under your jaw, giving a breath of relief. He moved his hand to Bucky’s neck, giving a breathy laugh when he felt the slow throb of Bucky’s heart. 

“Goddamn it, Steve. Give us a status report!”

Steve sat back on his heels, one finger going to the piece in his ear. 

“They’re alive.”

Breaths of relief seemed to echo in his ear. He shook his head, speaking again as he tucked blankets back around the two of you, surveying your bodies as best he could 

“Y/N has severe bruising to her neck.” “How severe?” “From ear to ear, Tony. God, her throat looks horrible.”

The comms were quiet, until Tony spoke up again. 

“What about Barnes?” “No visible bruises. They’re both alive, but unresponsive.” “Probably hypothermic.” “Definitely. Looks like they had a fire going and they’re huddled together under a ton of blankets, but they’re still cold.” “Together?”

Mumbles sounded in his ear and Steve rolled his eyes. He glanced out the window and spoke again. 

“Looks like the jet could land fairly close to this cabin.” “We’re almost there, Cap. Think you can get them out yourself?”

Steve pursed his lips, then nodded. He started to try and pick you up, pulling you away from Bucky, but Bucky weakly grabbed onto you, holding you close and giving a quiet grunt. Steve let you go, watching Bucky calm a bit and smiled. 

“On second thought, I may need a little backup.”

“Y/N? Hey. Can you hear me?”

You did hear something, but it sounded like you were underwater. 

“Come on, honey. Open your eyes.”

You didn’t want to. It was nice and dark and warm where you were, and you wanted to stay there. 

Wait. 

Warm?

You groaned, feeling a gentle pressure on your hand. 

“Easy. Take it easy, Y/N. Take it slow.”

It felt like a chore, and honestly took a lot of work, but you finally opened your eyes. You turned to see Tony sitting beside your bed, a soft smile on his face. 

“There you are. Hi there.”

You blinked and he nodded. 

“How you feeling?”

You lifted a shaky hand to your throat and he nodded. 

“Yeah you, uh … You had us all worried. Your vocal cords were damaged pretty badly, but with as quiet as you’ve been … still, Dr. Cho wants you to rest your voice as much as you can.” “And that’s why I’m here.”

You turned your head to see Clint at the foot of your bed. He smiled at you, moving his hands as he signed while he spoke. 

“They knew you were pretty good at sign language, so we decided to have me translate until Cho gives you the go-ahead to talk again.”

You raised an eyebrow and Clint grinned at you. 

“Hey, I can do it. I won’t even lie and tell them you’re saying nothing but bad words.”

You smiled, turning your head and giving a deep sigh. You patted your side, noticing then how bandaged up you were. You looked back to Tony and he nodded. 

“Four, five, and six are broken on the right, eight and nine on the left.”

You looked to Clint and finger spelled F-O-O-T. He nodded. 

“Broke your right ankle.”

You let your head fall back to the pillows and he smiled. 

“Please. I’ve had worse.”

Tony didn’t need an interpreter when you held your middle finger up to Clint, the two of them laughing softly. You looked back to Clint, fingerspelling another word. He gave you a soft smile. 

“He’s alright. They had a time warming him up, but he’s doing better now.”

You furrowed your brows, hands slowly moving. Clint watched for a moment, then nodded. 

“Yeah, you both were badly hypothermic when we finally got to you. There’d been a fire, but it was long burned out.”

You shook your head and Tony patted your shoulder. 

“It took us almost two days to find you.”

You looked back to Clint, motioning again. 

“He’s okay, babe. I promise.”

You signed again and Clint’s eyebrows raised before he slowly nodded. 

“Yeah, I’ll get him.” “Barton, if you’re going to translate, you’ve got to do it both ways.” “She just said she wants to see him. I said I’d get him.”

Tony rolled his eyes and you smiled at him. You nodded and he sighed. 

“Don’t scare us like that again, got it?”

You nodded, and he leaned up, kissing your forehead before standing up and opening the door. 

“Goddamn it, Barton, I said I’m fine. Ain't nothing wrong with my legs.” “Clearly something’s wrong with your ears, though. Cho said take it easy—“ “And that means I can’t even walk?” “Stop being such a whiny baby. Nothing’s wrong with her ears.”

Clint pushed a wheelchair into your room, and you smiled at the sight of a clearly grumpy Bucky. His face softened when he saw you, leaning forward and taking your hand when Clint rolled him close to your bed.

“Hey, sunshine. How you feeling?”

You shook your head, pushing your hand away from your chest and Clint laughed. 

“Lousy, she says.”

Bucky held your eyes for a minute, then spoke. 

“Hey, Barton? Can you give us a minute?” “Oh, I’ve been hired to translate.” “I think I can handle her for a few minutes.” “But I —“ “Clint.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. Clint looked to you and you nodded, and he raised his eyebrows before he turned and walked out. You looked to Bucky and he sighed. He shook his head, reaching out and laying his hand on yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head and he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“No, I … I should have taken better care of you. I fell asleep and—“

You sat up, wincing with your broken ribs, laying a finger against his lips. Bucky closed his eyes, reaching up and taking hold of your hand. You smiled, resting back against the pillows. There was a whiteboard and a marker on your bedside table, and Bucky grabbed it, handing it to you. You wrote for a moment, then turned the board around for him to read. 

You saved me. 

Bucky swallowed, shaking his head. You nodded and he blew out a breath. 

“But I should never have fallen asleep. I should have kept the fire going, made sure you were warm.”

You underlined the words, forcefully motioning the board towards him again. He hung his head and you set the board aside, scooting closer to him and reaching out to hold his face in your hands. He lifted his head and you felt him swallow before he shook his head, moving closer to you until his lips were touching yours. 

You swear your heart stopped, but your brain kicked in and you kissed him back. He broke away and settled his forehead against yours, giving a sigh. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

He laughed when you pinched his side and he nodded, never moving his head from yours. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. I should have, before I almost let you freeze to death.”

He yelped when you pinched him again, pulling his head back to glare at you. You smiled, lifting a hand to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch and you took his metal hand, lacing your fingers with his. Bucky glanced down at your joined hands and nodded. 

“Tony said he’s going to work on some upgrades. Temperature regulation or something. Maybe some way we can cover the metal with something smoother? Or warmer? I didn’t really understand the intricacies of what he was saying.”

You nodded and rolled your eyes, and Bucky smiled. 

“Right. It’s Tony. Who can understand him? Besides Pepper?”

You mouthed “Pepper” at the same time Bucky said her name, and the two of you shared a smile before Bucky sighed. 

“I really want to kiss you again.”

You raised an eyebrow and he smiled as he ducked his head. 

“I don’t know what I’m waiting on. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand from his and settling back against your pillows. You motioned with your head and his eyes widened. 

“What about when your audience comes back in?”

You grabbed the whiteboard and scribbled on it, turning it so Bucky could read. 

They found us wrapped up together in our underwear. If they’re surprised by us making out, it’s their own damn fault.

Bucky laughed when he read your message, then nodded. He climbed up onto the bed with you, laying on his side, brushing your hair away from your face. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

You shook your head and he nodded, focusing on his hand in your hair. 

“I’m probably going to be a mess sometimes. Just … don’t give up on me?”

You reached up to hold his wrist, grabbing the whiteboard again. 

I’m not going anywhere. 

Bucky smiled, nodding his head. His eyes met yours and you set the whiteboard aside, then looked into his blue-gray eyes again. You mouthed the words, careful to make no sound. 

Kiss me.

Bucky grinned, nodding as he moved closer to you, the two of you huddled together once again, this time for a different sort of warmth.

#SSB2020 #star spangled bingo 2020 #bad things happen bingo #marvel reader insert #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #marvel fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #avengers fic

[lbibliophile-mcu]

Sticks and stones may break my bones... but words turn me into a mindless killing machine.

So Bucky takes matters into his own hands.

---

For: @whumptober2020 - day 24: You’re not making any sense @star-spangled-bingo - 4:4 Losing a sense @buckybarnesbingo - K4: Sticks and stones [fill details below the cut]

BBB2020 Fill details

Title: Preventative Measures Collaborator: lbibliophile-mcu Square Filled: K4: Sticks and stones Ship: na Rating: T Major Tags: image edit, self-mutilation, ear trauma Summary: Sticks and stones may break my bones... but words turn me into a mindless killing machine. So Bucky takes matters into his own hands.

#ssb2020 #bbb2020 #whumptober #no. 24 #you're not making any sense #mcu #ca:cw #image edit #blood tw #self-harm tw #self-mutilation tw #hearing loss #ear trauma tw #bingo fill #bucky barnes

[psycho-nyan]

I live only for Kirbyroth memes now

#sephiroth #kirbyroth #ssbu #kirby #ssbultimate #super smash bros #ssb2020 #i'm so fucking happy

[barnesandco]

Ache and Burn

You and Bucky decide to record a memory to replay when he’s away and you miss the feel of each other. 

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 908. Square filled: “Filming Having Sex”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: PLEASE STOP READING IF YOU ARE NOT 18+

A/N: Expect a truckload of stories during the coming days as a parting gift to 2020 (and an effort to complete the bingo). 

Shooting star, smoldering as he falls from where he holds himself above you on his elbows, onto your torso, pressing you deeper into the mattress with a kiss that burns like the glow of an angel halo, Bucky Barnes moves his mouth against you like a sun going supernova. 

You gasp and arch and seek the friction of his boxers against your bare skin, and he rewards you with a chuckle, one you can feel thrumming where your hand holds his neck. Your hand presses him closer to you, and his beard tickles your skin.

“Easy, baby, I want to take my time tonight,” he murmurs, moving to your ear, nipping the lobe then laving over it gently as the fever-pace with which your fingers tangle in his long locks increases and you grow more wanting by the second.

At a contrast to his languid, luxurious kisses -- now making their way down your neck and over your chest in wet, hot motion -- you bite at his collarbone, looking down sharply when he chuckles darkly against your stomach. Here, too, his beards scratches your more sensitive skin, and you arch into the delicious burn. Playful blue eyes meet your own glittering irises. “And I want you,” you say forcefully, determined, and Bucky nods.

“Alright, honey, you can have me. I just want to taste you,” he says, well aware of the effects the words will have on your already trembling legs, as he moves lower until he is situated at the apex of your thighs, stroking the skin there with patient thumbs, colder metal cooling you and the calloused skin of his human hand raising goosebumps.

The chill of his hand is nothing compared to the electricity that runs a wildfire up your spine when his lips meet your folds, the velvet flesh glistening with arousal already. Bucky’s hands tighten over your hipbone as you move forward, desire mingling with the heat in your belly to create a solid mass of lust in you that aches to be let loose.

His beard burns against you in earnest now, the sensation hot and fierce on the inside of your thighs, your skin tingling and made sensitive by the sharp scratch of his stubble.

The languorous movements of his tongue have your hands forming fists against the bed, but it isn’t enough, so you reach for Bucky’s hair. At that, he looks up, his blue eyes, glistening in low lamplight, full of mirth and desire. “Take a picture, it lasts longer,” he jokes at the rapture in your expression, before leaning down to flick his tongue over your clit.

Your hands freeze in his hair, and you go just a little rigid as the words register. “That’s a good idea,” you say, voice tight with pleasure and hope. Bucky looks at you, fully pausing now.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you think, by the excited look on his face, that he wants to. This is not something either of you have done before, aside from the rare shirtless selfie, a risque text or two, but now, the air between you crackles with tension. The added, unspoken context of how he is about to go for a long term mission, and how that is the reason why he wants to savor this moments, hangs, suspended between you, a weight you do not want to address. 

However, the notion of having something of him to hold on to, this intimate moment, this tender soon-to-be-explosion, is something you want to hold onto in more than memory alone. 

So you tell him, “I want to if you do,” and he smiles like there is nothing he wants more, does your starlit man, whispers a yes with a kiss on the inside of one thigh, and a soft nip on the opposite. After a squirm and laugh, you reach for the phone on the bedside, and his eyebrows raise and a devilish grin quirks his lips before his mouth disappears from your view entirely when you open the phone. Hands shake and struggle to keep hold of the device when he resumes his efforts on your slick folds.

The camera captures the glint of his eyes when he looks up, and gives you a wink through the lens. You lower it and Bucky rises on his right elbow, lifting his left hand to your silken center, and you buck up towards it. The camera shakes in your hands as you gasp when his lips lock around your clit. His fingers curl inside you and consistently stroke over the spot that lights you up inside.

And then, there is fire. Your hands tighten around the phone and your heels dig into Bucky’s back as you arch up, brought to a shuddering peak. Fire races through your blood and the moment is a singular, pulsing flame.

-----

A week after Bucky leaves, you’re scrolling through your camera roll when you happen upon that video. Heat rises on your face when you press play and Bucky’s face appears, moving with a single-minded ferocity at the meeting of your thighs. There is a second where his eyes lift to look straight into the camera, sapphire shimmering in low light, lips pink and full, and beard glistening with your arousal.

So you lay down on your bed, inhale the scent of Bucky’s cologne still lingering faintly on the pillows, and let the recollection of desire take you again.

#SSB2020 #ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

[avintagekiss24]

listen before i go > bucky barnes

|| pairing: bucky barnes x black!reader

|| word count: 6,630

|| warnings: angst, heavy angst, smut, sex, bucky barnes’ trigger words, cock warming if you look close

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​​ SSB2020 N5: needy clingy sex

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo​​ C1: angst

|| summary: you and bucky just can’t say what you want to say.

|| link: ao3

|| note: sad boi hours are still commencing. this one is gonna hurt, dudes. please heed the warnings. i think i said i don’t like posting on sunday’s, and here i am posting two sunday’s in a row. what are ya gonna do? title inspired by billie eilish’s listen before i go. don’t hate me!

line divider by @writeyourmindaway​​

Tears leak from your eyes. You cover your face with your hands as he shoves his clothes into his old duffel bag. Say you’re sorry. Don’t let him leave!

“Bucky-”

“Don’t,” he says curtly, zipping up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder, “You want me out, I’m leaving.”

You don’t want him out. You don’t… or do you? Yes. You do. That’s what you told your friends. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you told him. He has to go - he has too. This isn’t working... right? Emotion wracks your body again as he storms past you. Your shoulders shake as the sadness consumes you. Your face breaks, your heart sinks, your cries clog your throat, choking you. 

You don’t follow him. 

-

Bucky stops at the door of your apartment, his hand on the knob. He turns his head, just a little, listening to you cry. He closes his eyes, cursing himself. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to leave you. He should give it up - running around the world, fighting aliens and robots and god knows what else. He’d give it up for you, he would. He should. 

He walks out the door and slams it behind him.

----------

It’s been a while, maybe three weeks? Four? You’re not really sure. You’ve busied yourself to keep from thinking about him. You signed up for a cooking class, and a dance class, and picked up a few extra shifts at the bookstore you volunteer at sometimes - just to stay busy. It’s worked for the most part. Between work, your friends, and your new hobbies, you barely have time to think about Bucky Barnes. 

That’s a lie. You know exactly how long it’s been. Four weeks. You think about him - not often, this part is true - but you still think about him. Mainly at night, when you’re alone in your big room and your big bed. It’s weird to you now, your bed. Foreign. You never realized how big it was until he wasn’t in it; the whole room really, it’s just so big. 

The two of you never made it official, moving in together, but he was there more often than he wasn’t. His broad, heavy body weighing down the mattress, or barely fitting in the shower, but you loved having him here. You always felt safe; consumed by all things him when he was here. Now it’s just empty - quiet. Just you and your little house plant, that he picked out, of course. You just didn’t have the heart to throw it away. 

Just like you don’t have the heart to throw him away - his memories. 

Not yet. 

Not entirely. 

That’s why most nights you stare at your phone, your thumb hovering over his name. You’ve tapped it a few times, his name, but always panic as soon as it starts ringing. You tap on the little red phone and throw it into the chair in the corner of the room. You roll over, away from it, just in case it illuminates from an incoming call or text and stare out at the moon, until the emotion just can’t be held back any longer. 

You’re lying again. You cry yourself to sleep most nights. 

So, this is why you make yourself busy.

----------

It’s been awhile. Four weeks, two days. The girl behind the bar looks like you, kind of. Well, enough to remind Bucky of that soft, warm smile of yours. He remembers it like it was yesterday. It was usually in the morning when you’d give him that smile. You’d have your face buried in the pillows and sheets, little slivers of skin poking out from underneath here and there. He loved to watch you sleep. 

He’d do anything to be able to wake up next to you again. 

Anyway, it was usually early, early in the morning when you’d smile at him the way that bartender is smiling at him now. You’d be half asleep, not really coherent enough to even know who you were smiling at, but you’d shift next to him - curl right into his body, and just smile. Softly. Sweetly. Then you’d take a breath, a deep one, tighten your grip around his waist and fall right back asleep.

He’d fall right back asleep with you. 

“You doin’ okay?” The bartender asks, smiling at him again. 

Bucky drops his eyes to the glass in his hands as he spins it slowly. She doesn’t look like you up close. He picks up his drink and finishes off the last drops before he slides it in her direction, “One more.”

She winks at him, “You got it.”

She’s flirting with you, Bucky. He used to not care when women were flirting with him. If he’s telling the absolute truth, he still doesn’t - he should. It’s been four weeks and two days after all. 

She’s not you. 

She kinda looks like you, smiles like you, but she’s not you. 

He doesn’t want a similar version of you. 

He wants you.

She slides the now full glass of whiskey towards him, Bucky catching it with just the tips of his fingers. He can feel her eyes on him as he lifts it to his lips and takes a slow sip before he nods slowly, staring at the glass. He slides his eyes towards  the flirtatious bartender and smirks, “I’m Bucky.”

“Tamera.”

----------

It’s Friday night, so that means it’s sushi class night. Steve decided to come with you this time, he’s been trying to get Sam to try it for the longest time - figured, maybe Sam would feel a little more comfortable with it if Steve made it. You and Steve have always gotten along really well, which surprised you because, you know, he’s Steve Rogers; rigid and uptight. He’s not that uptight, Sam’s still working on the rigid thing, though. 

The two of you have been having fun. It’s nice seeing Steve be not-so-good at something for a change. Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, but your hands are sticky and covered in rice, so you bounce off to the sink to wash them quickly. You pull out your iPhone, expecting to see a text from your sister, MJ, but find a notification from Apple News.

Avengers bad boy, Bucky Barnes,…

Your lips part as you read his name. You glance over your shoulder, you’re not really sure why, as if everyone’s eyes are going to be on you because you're reading up on your ex-boyfriend. You take a breath. You shouldn’t care what Avengers bad boy, Bucky Barnes is doing, but you want to know what Avengers bad boy Bucky Barnes is doing. God, you hope he’s not hurt. 

Don’t look. It isn’t your business anymore. You turn on your heel, shoving the phone back into your pocket, but can’t seem to take a step away from the sink. You just - fuck, maybe he’s hurt. He’s probably done something stupid again, he just got that new arm not three months ago. Shuri is gonna kill him. 

It’s still not your business, even if the fucker is hurt. You still can’t move. You place your hand on your back pocket, feeling your phone, debating with yourself. You shouldn’t fucking care - but you do. So you pull it out and tap on the notification, taking you to the original TMZ article. Your blood runs cold. 

Avengers bad boy, Bucky Barnes, seen leaving an uptown bar with mystery woman 

Your mouth goes dry as you read down the page. Your breath hitches in your throat when you get to the pictures. His fingers curled in hers as they move down the street. Smiles on their faces. Then his arm is over her shoulders. Then -

You blink back the sudden flood of tears furiously as your chin starts to tremble. He’s kissing her. He’s got her up against his apartment building, his hands cupping her face. Her eyes are closed and his head is tilted - his body is crushed up against hers - just like the two of you used to do. He used to pull you close, so tight into his body as the two of you would wind your way through the city. Then, right when you turned the corner onto his street, he’d whirl you around him, and push you up against the building. He’d push his hands up your shirt, pinching, grabbing, his lips crushed to yours. 

Now he’s found someone else. He’s kissing someone else the exact same way he used to kiss you. You can’t help but read on, seeing the pictures of them leaving together in the morning - hand in hand again. It’s over. All the nights you’ve spent staring down at his name on your phone, trying to call him, wanting to call him… you should have called him. Maybe he wouldn’t be with her. 

It’s over. 

You and Bucky are really over. 

“Hey,” you don’t even really hear Steve when he walks up to you, “Hey, you okay?”

He follows your eyes to the small screen in your hands and tips it towards him, clearing his throat as he skims the last few lines of the article, “Lets not - come on, let’s take a break, huh?”

He ushers you outside and immediately draws you into his chest, rubbing your back, resting his chin on the top of your head, “Oh, honey.” He sighs softly as you sob. 

It’s really over. 

----------

It’s Friday night. No, actually it’s Saturday morning; 2:32am. Bucky sits on the edge of his bed, his head hanging as he rubs his forehead with his hand. He picks his head up just high enough to glance over his shoulder at the sleeping woman behind him. Tamera. It’s the second night in a row that he’s had her and she’s still not you. 

She doesn’t feel like you - her body, her mouth. She doesn’t sound like you, she doesn’t move like you… she’s not you. No matter how hard he tries to pretend that she is you; she’s not you. He blinks and hangs his head again as his thumb hovers over your name in his phone. He needs to hear your voice, especially now. He wasn’t… ready for this. He wasn’t ready the first time, but he forced himself and hated it. He forced himself again tonight and not only did he hate it, he hates himself. 

He should have called you weeks ago. 

He should have texted you and apologized and asked if he could come back because that’s all that he really wants; to just walk through your front door, back into your apartment and your shared life as the proud parents of a small plant. He should have called you weeks ago. If he had, he wouldn’t be here right now, with Tamera in his bed, pain in his heart, that nagging voice in his head. 

Call her now. Tell her you’re sorry. 

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t feel bad right now. He did what every other person does, he moved on. He shouldn’t care about what you think anymore - but he does. He knows how you feel about these kinda things. You weren’t this kinda girl, the one who just goes home with some guy named Bucky after eye fucking him for half the night. Not that you’re a prude, not that you shame anyone, it just isn’t you - these random hook ups. 

He liked that about you. That you were kind of old school. Reminded him of the good old days, back in the thirties. Innocent dates, sneaking little kisses so nobody would see, those little giggles that filled his ears when he pushed a little further every time he saw you. He’s always enjoyed a little chase. He enjoyed chasing you, and when he finally caught you, he still found himself fantasizing about you. Every damn day.

Even now. Even with someone else underneath him, he still thought about you - he had to, or else he couldn’t have… 

He bites the inside of his lip before he lets out a deep sigh. Your name stares up at him from the soft lighting of his phone. He needs to hear your voice. He doesn’t want to be in this apartment, in this bed, with this woman. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, curled around your little, warm body, his fingers pressed into your flesh, your warm breath splashing over his face. 

He swallows. His thumb starts to tremble as he holds it over your name. 

Call her now. Tell her you’re sorry. 

He closes his eyes, “Fuck.”

He cuts his eyes towards the nightstand, staring at it until it doesn’t even look like a nightstand anymore. 

He throws his phone into the chair in the corner of the room.

He stands and moves into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before he flips on the water of the shower, turning it as hot as he can. 

He’s gotta get that woman’s smell off of him.

----------

It’s been four months since that Friday night sushi class. You’re now a sushi rolling expert - which, you are pretty proud of. You got a promotion at work. You have a kitten. You and MJ have a Hawaiian vacation coming up over Christmas. Things are… brighter, to say the least.

There’s still moments. You’ll be at work, or waiting in line at the coffee shop and a brief thought will streak across your mind. I wonder what Bucky’s doing? You don’t think about it for long - not anymore. You’re finally starting to get to the point where you really don’t care. You made the right decision that night, asking him to leave. That life - his life - wasn’t one that you wanted to lead. You didn’t want to have to hide away in some upstate safe house every time some villain got wind of your romance. 

You didn’t want to stay up all night long, worrying about him as he kicked and punched his way through aliens or robots or whatever the hell decided to come to earth that day. You don’t want to waste days waiting for him to drag his tired, beaten body out of bed after returning from a mission. That life wasn’t - and isn’t - for you. You made the right decision. 

“Here you go, doll,” the barista says, smiling as he hands you a vanilla Frap.

Doll. You haven’t heard that in four months. You smile widely, “Thank you.”

You head back out onto the street, sipping on your coffee as you turn up the music to your airpods. The Cottage on the Beach, from the Atonement soundtrack. One of your favorite movies. It’s tragic, but beautiful - the movie, the soundtrack, and your life. You’re getting to the beautiful part, you’re sure of it. 

You’re heading back to your apartment after getting lucky at work and having two of your afternoon meetings canceled. Instead of taking the train, you decided to walk - another way of keeping yourself busy. You turn down fifth avenue, also deciding to window shop on the way home, and slow your pace as you move past Saks, eyeing a gorgeous pair of pumps in the window. They would look great on your feet while dancing in Hawaii, that’s for sure. 

You stop, pulling out your phone to take a picture to send to your sister, when a voice sounds behind you, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Hey.”

You snap your eyes from your phone to the window in front of you, almost too afraid to turn. You take a breath, shifting your eyes around the glass window as if you aren’t exactly sure if you heard it or not, you are listening to music after all. Maybe you - 

“Hey, can you hear me?”

You turn quickly - and there he is. Blue eyes, fluffy, short hair, stubble covering his cheeks and chin. The leather jacket that you loved so much on his broad torso. He’s slimmed down a bit, but he always did fluctuate, unlike Steve, which you always thought was kinda weird. 

He smiles at you, a wide smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle on the sides, “Hey, I thought it was you. How are you?”

You nod quickly, “I’m um, I’m fine. Hi,” you laugh a little.

“You look… great,” he says, looking you up and down, “Really great.”

“Thank you,” you answer softly, tilting your head down as you tuck some of your hair behind your ear, “You.. you look nice too.”

He shrugs, tearing his eyes from yours to glance off across the street, “Ah, you know. I’ve lost a couple pounds.” 

You nod again, “Yeah, I can tell.”

He snaps his eyes back to yours. You stare at each other for a couple of seconds, both of your minds racing, wanting to say so much. 

I miss you. 

I love you. 

Please let me come home. 

Please come back. 

----------

Bucky blinks at you as you duck your head away from him again. Steve’s words play back in his mind from all those months ago. You didn’t see her that night, Bucky! She was crushed seeing those pictures. Crushed. He couldn’t get the word out of his head for weeks afterward. Crushed. You were crushed seeing those pictures. 

He never wanted to hurt you. He should have known better. He shouldn’t have left the hotel with her. Fuck, he shouldn’t have went to the hotel bar in first place. He should have called you, like he wanted to. Maybe, the two of you could have avoided all of this. 

Now that he has you here, he doesn’t want you to leave. It’s awkward between you. He watches as you shift nervously, not able to keep your eyes on him for long. Constantly pushing at your hair and then tugging at your blouse. It makes him sad. He doesn’t want you to be nervous around him - unsure of him. He still doesn’t want you to leave, though. He’ll deal with the awkwardness.

“Do you wanna get a drink?” His mouth moves before his brain can keep up with it. 

He watches as you shift again nervously, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, “No, I -”

“Please?” He’s nearly begging, “Just,” the words drop away as he runs his hand through his hair, “So, we can talk?”

“There’s not really anything to talk about, Bucky.”

----------

You end up in the bar of the Marriott Hotel with him. He could always talk you into doing shit you didn’t want to do - because after a while, he always made you feel safe. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you, so you just did what he asked you to do. He orders a bourbon, you get white wine. You both sit at the bar, facing straight, not looking at each other, your wine glass placed at your lips, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He takes a drink and sits the glass down softly, bowing his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, after a while.

You finally turn towards him, “For what?”

“For,” he shrugs, “I shouldn’t have - I don’t know. I’m just sorry, for everything.” I’m sorry for leaving you. 

You look back down at your wine glass and your fingers, “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I should have asked you to stay.  

“I could have been more discreet. Those fucking paps are everywhere, I gotta remember that.” Please forgive me. 

You shrug a little, you should have known Steve would tell him, “It’s,” you dip your head, “It’s okay. We’re adults, we can… do whatever we want.” I forgive you. 

It grows silent between the two of you. You’re both looking at each other now, eyes bouncing back and forth. His eyes then slip down to your lips and fixate on them for a few seconds before they move back up to your wide eyes. Then, suddenly, his large hand is on your cheek, his thumb rubbing along your bottom lip. 

His hand is so warm. 

You blink as his hand caresses your face - gently. Just like he used to. He tilts his head a little as his lips part, his thumb still dancing over your bottom lip. His eyes still bounce, softly, between yours, reading you, just like he always could. His eyes dip again to your mouth, and his lips, they, they quiver - just slightly. His fingers wrap around the back of your neck and he’s pulling, pulling you into him. 

You moan into his mouth almost as soon as his lips are on yours. It’s so familiar, his lips, his mouth, his tongue. For the first time in months, you finally feel like yourself. You lean into him, kissing him back, humming and moaning. It gets desperate - quickly. To the point where he’s standing, both of his hands cupping your face as he kisses you hard. Your hands slide around his waist to pull him closer as you inhale him. 

He pulls you up on your feet and pecks your lips once, twice, three times. He grabs your hand and pulls your towards the front desk, lacing his fingers with yours as he asks for a room. Your heart pounds in your chest and ears as you rest your head against his back, shielding yourself from the clerk’s prying eyes. 

Bucky digs in his pocket, grabbing his wallet and throwing his card down before scribbling his name on the receipt. The clerk slides the key cards in Bucky’s direction with a smile and drops his attention back to the small computer in front of him. He’s seen this too many times to care. 

You keep your fingers twisted with Bucky’s as you wait for the elevator. Neither one of you look at each other as you stare at the illuminated numbers as they descend. The doors open as the soft ding sounds and you both step on, Bucky slamming his finger on the round number ten. Neither one of you say anything as the metal box carries you up into the hotel, slowing and then stopping at your floor. 

You let Bucky guide you down the hall, stopping at room 1022. He presses the card against the reader and the door clicks, popping open slightly. Bucky pushes through, pulling you with him, only letting your hand go to close and lock the door behind you. You walk into the room, your eyes scanning. Your eyes land on the bed. It’s a big bed. It looks soft. 

You inhale sharply when you feel Bucky’s chest crush against your back. His fingers slither around your waist as his lips press against the back of your neck. You close your eyes and push your hand up and into his hair as you let your body melt into his. You tilt your head towards the ceiling as he starts to sway the two of you back and forth slowly, his tongue sneaking out from behind his lips to lap at your warm, sensitive skin. His metal hand moves up into your shirt, inching along your skin until it cups your breasts firmly, making you moan, really moan for the first time. 

You love that arm. 

His digits push into your bra, rolling your nipple softly as his teeth sink into the crook of your neck. You jump, grunting deeply as your body tightens. God, it’s been so long. 

His free hand snakes down to your jeans, popping the button and pushing down your zipper. It slithers in, his flesh sliding into your panties and between your slick folds. You jolt forward at the sensual touch, bent at your hips as his fingers start to massage your sex. Your mouth hangs open as you draw in ragged breaths, your hips pushing forward, anticipating his next stroke. He bends forward with you, groaning into your ear as he rubs your clit - quick - just how he knows to do. 

He pushes his fingers inside of you and you push back up straight, reaching back to pull on his hair. He pumps them hard as he pinches your taut nipple, his breath hot and heavy against the side of your face. He pushes his hips into your behind, wanting you to feel him, feel how much he wants you - how much he’s missed you. 

He tugs on your earlobe with his teeth and you whimper. The pain mixing with the pleasure his fingers bring. You don’t want his fingers any longer. You want him, all of him. You want to scream his name as he fucks you into the mattress, hour after hour. You want to drag your nails down his long, sinewy back. You want to feel his cock stretching you, spreading you, spearing you. 

Bucky apparently wants the same. He could always read your mind, it seemed. He pulls his hands away from you to strip you down, tossing your clothing to the floor without a care. He pushes you onto the bed once you’re exposed and bare, flipping you onto your back by your ankle. He pulls you down to the edge of the bed by your calf and pushes his knees into the mattress as he starts to disrobe himself. 

You sit up, wrapping your legs around his and bite down in your bottom lip as you send your eyes up to his. You place your hands on his hips, raking your fingers down his back as soon as his polka dotted shirt falls to the floor. You drop your eyes to his hands as his fingers start to fumble with the thick belt holding up his black jeans. You moan a little as you watch him, his skilled fingers moving slowly - - dropping the belt to the floor with a thud before popping the button and pushing down the zipper. 

You hiss when his jeans fall. Dark hair peeks out over the band of his Hugo Boss boxer briefs and you can’t resist any longer. You lean in and press your plump lips to his warm skin, placing soft kisses along his sculpted stomach, breathing in his scent. He lets out a deep breath as his metal fingers skim over your shoulder and cup your chin softly. He pushes his index finger into your chin, pushing your head up so the two of you can link eyes once more. Your lips part as you stare up into his stormy eyes - blinking only when his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip. 

He kisses you quickly, holding your chin all the while. He pulls away, but not far, his lips still brushing the tip of your nose as his eyes move around your face. He always did like to look at you. He cups the back of your head and lays you onto the mattress, spreading your legs with his knees. You hold onto his shoulders as you fold your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles together as you feel him start to press at your opening. 

When he pushes, and you start to spread for him, you slam your eyes closed and dig your nails into his thick flesh. You whimper as he sinks into you slowly, his weight pushing you into the mattress. Once you’ve swallowed him - his hips are flush to yours - you wiggle your hips and push your heels into the small of his back, wanting him deeper, even though it isn’t possible. 

Agonizingly slow, he pulls out of you - his mouth dropping open as he watches. You wrap your hands around his forearms as he withdraws, and then plunges back in with a little force. You push upward with the thrust, releasing an airy grunt as he fills you back up. He kisses you again, hard, desperate, as he starts to fuck into you, his hips pushing and pulling with a rhythm all their own. 

You’ve always loved the way Bucky fucks you. It was instant, from the first time that the two of you were together, he just knew you; knew what you wanted, what you liked. It’s kind of dirty, the way he fucks you. Even when he’s being sweet, and gentle, it’s still a little obscene - crude. The darkness in him comes out when he fucks you. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He’s ruined you for other men. 

Your hips dig into the mattress with each of his deep thrusts. You’re loud, grunting and mewling within minutes - he feels so good. He always feels so fucking good. You keep your eyes on him as he watches you, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your mouth, then down to your bouncing tits. He’s always loved them too. He cups your left breast with his metal hand, squeezing gently as he runs his tongue over his teeth. He leans down and sucks your tit into his mouth, swirling his tongue over your hard nipple. 

He bites down and your hips jerk into his as you gasp, pushing him deeper. You yelp as the pain and the pleasure rip through you, making your toes curl and your fingers jab into him even harder. 

“God,” you rasp, your face twisting with lust as he drills into you. 

You shut your eyes again and you get a flash of her. His arm thrown over her shoulder, pulling her into his body. The smiles on their faces. His body crushed up against hers in front of his apartment building. You fling your eyes open, gasping a little as your mind starts to race. Don’t do this. Not now. Please. Just -

He probably fucked her just like this. Just how he’s fucking you right now. Your scent is gone from his sheets, his pillows, replaced by hers. You focus in on the ceiling as the intrusive thoughts pull you out of the moment. 

Your lips part. 

Your chin trembles. 

----------

Bucky’s missed you. Your body, your noises, these perfect, pretty tits. He’s dreamt about this since the night he left your apartment - having you again. Making you scream. He pulls your breast into his mouth, sucking on you just how you like. He bites down and you buck into his cock, driving him deeper into your pussy and he shudders. You feel so goddamn good around him. 

“God,” you rasp, your full voice hitting his eardrum just right, drawing a groan out of him. 

He releases your nipple with a smack, leaning back up and resting his weight onto his palms that press into the mattress on either side of you. He feels your tight grip loosen, just a tad, your shrieks get quiet and then disappear all together. He sends his eyes back up to yours and his hips halt instantly. 

You’re crying. Your small hands cover your face as your body is wracked with emotion. All of the air is sucked right out of the room. What’s worse, is that he doesn’t even have to ask why. He just knows. Bucky exhales as his own face twists at the sight. He pries at your hands, trying to pull them away from your face, “Baby,” he whispers, “Don’t. Don’t cry. Please, baby.”

He watches as you turn away from him, pressing your face into the pillow, still trying to hide, “Baby,” he tries again, his voice shaking, “Look at me.”

He pushes your head to face him, his own emotion choking up in his throat. He shakes his head, his breath getting shaky, his eyes filling with tears, “I’m sorry.” He whispers as his own tears start to fall, “I’m so sorry.”

He drops his forehead to yours and kisses you hard, “Baby, I’m sorry.” He sobs, “I’m sorry, don’t cry. Please don’t cry, baby.”

I never meant to hurt you. Just say it. I never meant to hurt you, I love you. 

Say it, Bucky.

Just say it. 

“Stay with me, baby,” he whispers, wiping away the tears that streak down your cheeks, “Stay with me, stay here. Please.”

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

Say it!

----------

Bucky kisses you hard, “Baby, I’m sorry.” He sobs, “I’m sorry, don’t cry. Please don’t cry, baby.”

You can’t help it. It’s just different now. He’s not - yours anymore. You have to share him with her. Your face is wet with your tears and his, your body crushed to his body as he holds you tight - so tight. He begs you not to cry, not to think about it, to stay with him, here, in this moment. You want to. You just want to feel good again. You want to feel like yourself because God knows this has been the most alien four months of your life. 

You grab his face in your hands and kiss him, moaning into him as the sobs still wrack your body. You just want to feel good. You want to stay. I want to stay. You rock your hips into his, trying to coax him to move again. He does. He pushes his hips into yours as he kisses you again, his lips plump and salty and soft from the tears. You wrap your arms around his neck and close your eyes as he nuzzles into the side of your face, still murmuring his apologies.

His hips push harder and faster, like he wants to fuck the sad right out of you - and right out of himself. He keeps his face buried in your neck, his hands underneath you as he cries and you cry, your dull orgasm starting to gain steam. You push your fingers into his back as his muscles tense and flex. You cup his ass, squeezing his flesh as it bounces with his hips. 

You feel his teeth on your skin, nipping and nibbling before he rests his forehead to yours again. His mouth hangs open, his hot breath washes over your face as his lips tremble softly. You slam your eyes closed and just give in -  into him, into the emotions, into the sadness, into the moment. 

You squeeze your legs around him and let it consume you. You come, hard, your body shaking, your toes curling, your breath hitching as it courses through your veins. You cry out, your wails filling the room as Bucky continues to slam into you until he too succumbs to the pressure. You feel his cock throbbing inside of you, jumping with each spurt of cum. He fills you up, up to the brim, stuffing you full of his seed. 

He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to yours. You run your fingers along his spine as his breathing calms and his body starts to relax. He stays tucked inside of you, his cock warm and still stiff. This was always your favorite part. Sure, the fuck was good, but this is what you crave. The closeness. The stillness of him. His skin pressed against yours, his weight holding you to the bed. The feeling of his heart beating against you. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Say it.

----------

You didn’t say it. 

You should have, but you didn’t.

You did say that you would meet him for dinner, so that the two of you could talk, really talk this time. You’re nervous, but you’re here. Despite not understanding why you wanted to come, MJ helped you get dressed, soothed your nerves. She told you to call her if you need her - I owe that metal armed asshole a punch in the mouth. 

-

You tap your fingers against the table, biting the inside of your cheek, glancing around the restaurant as you wait. Your foot dances underneath the table with nerves. Why are you so nervous? You know him, you love him. You just need to say it. Just fucking say it and this will all be over. There’s no need to keep living like this when you don’t have to. You want him, you need him. You just need to tell him. 

-

You nibble on a piece of bread. You check your phone again. He was supposed to be here. Twenty minutes ago, Bucky was supposed to be here. You wring your hands together harshly, pushing your thumb into your left palm over and over again. Your eyes dart around the restaurant and focus on the door. 

He’ll be here. He’s just… running late, is all. He’ll - he’ll be here. 

-

You check your phone again. No call. No text. He was supposed to be here, forty minutes ago. You close your eyes and rub your forehead, trying to push back the emotion that threatens to spill out. It didn’t mean anything. You whimper as the thoughts start to race around your head. Last week meant nothing to him - he used you. No. No, that’s - that’s not the Bucky you know. He wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t, he’s just - Fury kept him late today, is all. He’s coming. 

He is. 

-

You push out into the night an hour and twenty seven minutes later, tears rolling down your face as you bring your phone to your ear, “MJ,” you sob, “He doesn’t love me anymore.”

“What?” You barely hear her, “What did he do? Where are you?”

“He doesn’t love me anymore.” You openly cry, “He never showed up. He doesn’t love me anymore, MJ.”

----------

“Bucky!” Steve shouts angrily, pushing through the front door of his friends apartment, your cries and MJ’s seething voice still ringing in his ears, “Goddamn it, what in the fuck do you think you’re -”

He stops in his tracks. His eyes skirt around the empty apartment as he stands perfectly still. Steve snaps his eyes towards the floor when a soft light illuminates from it. He moves towards it, bending to pick up Bucky’s phone. Five missed calls, two voicemails, one text message, all from you. 

I fucking hate you. Don’t ever come near me again. 

Steve’s eyes scan your message as his lips part. He glances towards the bathroom. The light is still on. He squints as he picks up on the sound of the water from the sink still running. His eyes fall on Bucky’s wallet that still sits on the nightstand before he eyes the phone in his hands again.

He turns on his heel and rushes out of the apartment, taking the stairs two by two, “Sam,” he says as soon as the sleepy man answers the phone, “Something isn’t right.”

----------

Bucky slams his head back in the cold, metal chair that he’s strapped down to. He pushes his arms against the clamps that hold him in place, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t break free. 

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.”

“Please don’t.” Bucky begs, tilting his head towards the ceiling, “Please don’t do this.”

“Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.”

Bucky screams as he starts to struggle, twisting and turning, bucking and fighting against the clamps around his wrists and stomach. He’s not strong enough. He can’t break them, “Please!” he screams, “Please don’t! Please!”

“Benign. Homecoming. One.”

He starts to sob. He slams his eyes closed as he tries to remember your face. Your smile. Your smell. Your soft skin against his. He should have told you he loved you. He should have begged you to let him come home. He should have never left you. 

“I love you.” He says aloud, “I love you baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He cries, the tears streaking down his cheeks, “Please don’t hate me.”

I love you!

I love you!

I love you!

“Freight car.”

Bucky blinks. 

Tears still roll down his cheeks, but he isn’t actively crying anymore. He hears a pair of boots walking slowly around him, the soft thwump of a book closing as the mysterious man approaches his side. 

“Soldat?”

“Я готов отвечить.”

Ready to comply.

#SSB2020 #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bbb2020 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #you x bucky #bucky x reader #reader x bucky #bucky x black!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #black reader #bucky barnes x black reader #bucky #avintagekiss24

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Mothra

Summary:  Mission complete and you’re hiding out in a mountain cabin awaiting your next extraction window. What better for you and Steve to do to pass the time than fuck each other’s brains out?  It’s all going awesomely until you’re interrupted.

Words: 1.4k

A/N:  Written for @stuckonjbbarnes​ 250 follower celebration, dialog prompt:  “You whined that he was alive, and you whine now that I killed him.”  “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” (In bold and underline)  and combined with @star-spangled-bingo​  SSB2020 square filled: “I’m just trying to sound tough” (In bold).

Thank you to @sassy-pelican​ for reading this through for me <3 I had a lot of fun writing this smutfest.  I hope you enjoy.

Warnings:  INSECTS / MOTHS. Graphic depictions of sex.  Rough sex.  Mentions of past angst.  Bad language. 18+ only!

Ref IMG for Mothra - don't click if you don’t like big ass insects!

Sweat beads in your hair line, threatening to trickle forth on a path that will take it down your temple, over the line of your jaw and down the taut curve of your neck.  Breaths are expressed as sighs and moans, your sweat-slicked throat exposed to the breeze from the window, exquisitely cool in contrast to the heat flushing your whole body.  Why is a cabin way up in the mountains so damn hot?

Steve tugs harder, his hand fisted in your hair pulling your head back, making you arch into an impossibly acute angle as he pounds you from behind.  The depth of his thrusts and his punishing pace is obnoxiously punctuated by the wet slap of his skin meeting yours.  He’s so deep it’s painful, the tip of his cock glancing against your sweet spot just enough to make it good for you right before he’s slamming your cervix ruthlessly.  You’re sure your ovaries are already mush but it hurts so fucking good all you can do is not piss yourself.

Hands gripping the crumpled sheets that have seen too much action in the last two days to be sanitary, thighs quaking as you ride the ridge between euphoria and the strained tension of seeking it.  You’re a mess, but you’re his mess.  He hasn’t said so much but you’ve been together for months.  The chemistry between you before the Chitari attack on New York exploded in a frenzied rut afterwards.  It was as much survivor’s guilt as it was a celebration of your continued existence, and you’d been fucking ever since.

Steve grunts.  A momentary break in the rhythm of his thrusts tells you he’s getting close, the swell of his cock against the heat of your cunt a prelude to your next orgasm; it’s been building for a while, struggling against the numbness of previous orgasms but it’s almost there now, right on the edge.

You cry out, a breath held too long escapes like a wail and your pleasure climbs further, crawling under your skin until there are tears in your eyes.  It hurts but it’s exquisite and he knows he has you, he knows you’ll come when he does and that drives him crazy.  That connection you have, that symmetry, it’s always been there in the way you work together, the way you fight, the way you take his cock like no one else ever has.  It’s not love, but he needs you and he knows you need him too, and that’s enough.

“You like that?  Huh?”  He grinds out through gritted teeth, the aggression left over from your last mission is still there, not quite fucked away, yet.  “You like it when I fuck you raw?”

You do.  You like anything he gives you.  From the tender care and caress of love-making to the sharp pain of pinched and slapped skin, and being used and fucked so hard you can’t remember your own name.

“Sir, yes Sir!”  You wail through the pleasure, unable to stifle the noise the way he has you arched back.  Breath ragged and throat raw from panting, you grin when he loses control; a surprised gasp of pleasure – you have never called him ‘Sir’ before, but he seems to like it.

“Fuck yes!  Take my cock!”  He all but roars as he makes you feel every inch of him.

The spasms start and you’re almost there, grunting and growling together as he starts to come.  You can feel it, the pressure of his spunk being forced deeper with each thrust.  You tighten even more, cresting the wave of pleasure with a high-pitched keening noise you never knew you could make.

Suddenly you’re pitched face-first into the mattress, empty and panicked as your orgasm slips away like water down a drain.  Steve is spluttering and flapping his hands in the air, knocking the light so it casts erratic shadows around the room.

“JESUS-FUCK!”  He shouts, hoarse and angry.  You’ve never heard Steve swear anywhere except when he’s buried in you balls deep.

Tears are filling your eyes; the come-down from your failed euphoric high isn’t pretty.  “What the FUCK, Steve?”

You watch him stumble off the bed and crash to the floor, struggling backward with his glistening erection slapping his thighs as he shuffles on his hands and ass.  He looks terrified, backed up against the cabin wall scanning for some unknown horror.  Anger gives way to your autonomic danger response.  Purely on instinct you snatch up your handgun and aim where he’s pointing.

“It’s still alive!”  He wheezes, wide-eyed with terror.

“What is?”  You search frantically past the swinging lightbulb, anything that has him this scared can’t be good.  “I can’t see anything!”

“Up there!”  He squeals, cowering behind his arms and you finally see the beast; mottled brown and entirely too big to be natural.

It takes flight, dusty wings carrying it towards Steve once more in a slow attack that has him panicking more. He’s petrified and static, frozen by fright.  Who knew Steve Rogers was afraid of moths?

You jump into action. Scooping up on of Steve’s discarded gauntlets you wield it like a flail, the stiff leather of the forearm acting as the beater.  It’s a swing for the S&M hall of fame, and you strike the winged demon with as much force as you can muster.  Pitching the huge critter out of the air, you won’t forget the dull smack it makes against the leather, nor the thump against cabin wall it hits right after.

Pouncing, you pulverise the giant moth against the wood floor with Steve’s blue leather until it’s nothing but dust and mangled limbs.  Even dead it’s a chilling sight.  A shiver slinks down your spine.  You aren’t afraid of wildlife but that grotesque monstrosity gave you a case of the heebie-jeebies.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Steve asks curiously as he peeks at the dead moth.

“No, Steve,” you say flatly as you scoop the corpse up with Steve’s gauntlet, “Mothra over here is just taking a beauty nap – of course I killed him!”

“Poor thing.”

“Are you serious?”  You’re shocked by his sudden compassion.

“I never said to kill him.”

“You whined that he was alive, and you whine now that I killed him.”  You scoff incredulously.  “There’s no pleasing you is there?”

“Well-”

“Should I try to revive him?” You thrust the corpse of Mothra towards Steve, who scrambles to his feet.

“No-no-no” he cautiously moves aside, “I’m just trying to sound tough, or at least tougher.”

“I’m totally convinced.” You chuckle as you dump Mothra out the window unceremoniously.  “And now I think you owe me.”  You smirk as an idea pops into your head.

“But-”

“Twice!”  You stalk him backwards towards the bed, a predatory glint in your eyes.

“I don’t-”

“Once for the moth,” you back him up until his calves hit the frame, “and once for the ruined orgasm.” You push him and he falls, bouncing on the mattress with a wolfish grin.  The realisation of what’s to come exciting him once more.

“Alright soldier,” Steve props himself up on his elbows to watch you climb up his body, “I’ll give you what you want.”

“Not this time.”  You crawl up him until you’re straddling his chest. “This time I take what I want.”

He moans as you settle yourself on his face, his mouth smothered by your mound.  The mess between your thighs is slicking his jaw and cheeks but he doesn’t seem to care as you grind yourself on him.

Licking and sucking and eager to please you, Steve devours you like his last meal.  And as you look down the flat plane of your stomach to watch him you can’t help but smirk at the embellishment he’s sporting; a shimmery dusting of grey on his left cheek - Mothra’s kiss.

A light laugh escapes your lips as you race towards your climax.  One final thought before you lose all coherent thought: Captain America is afraid of moths.

#ssb2020 #dani250 #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #captain america fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #cap smut #mothra #cloudy's writing #smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut

[avengerscompound]

Running to a Standstill - 7

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  1767

Rating:  E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ - Poly Fic

Warnings: none

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers.  While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 7

Bucky had a problem.

There had been a strange level of domesticity between you, he, and Steve since you'd moved in.  It reminded him of when he and Steve had lived together before the war.  That was problematic in of itself because Bucky couldn't remember a time when he had been more completely and hopelessly in love with Steve than when he would wake up and make pancakes while Steve sat on the fire escape smoking one of his asthma cigarettes and drinking hot water in the hopes it would settle his stomach.  Bucky would pretend they were married and he was about to go out and earn a paycheck while Steve took care of the house, or that they were planning their wedding and living in sin.  It didn’t even matter that two guys couldn’t get married back then, it was always what he imagined.  He would stare at Steve’s lips whenever he wasn't looking, always so pink and plump, even when his anemia was at its worst and he’d imagine what it was like to taste them.  What they’d feel like against his own and he’d imagine pulled that bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled back.

Now he was making pancakes for Steve, and you and a little kid and thinking how much this was like a family, and pretending like you were his wife and that was his kid.  Or maybe Steve was the one he was married to because you could do that these days.  It didn't just have to be a fantasy.  Except for the fact he wasn't with either of you, you were with each other.  You'd even started sleeping in Steve’s bed.  And god, if you both didn't deserve to be happy, which was one thing Bucky definitely didn't have in common with either of you.

So that was a problem.  But it wasn't the problem.

The big problem Bucky had was you both kept coming to him for advice.

Every time one of you came to him to ask some kind of relationship advice it felt like a little piece of him died.  It chipped away at the hope he had that maybe one day he might get this with someone he cared about because if he cared this much about you and Steve and Geo then who else was there for him?  It also made him hate himself a little because it was Steve, and Steve deserved to be happy.  The guy had practically given up on a life outside of Captain America and Bucky was honestly proud of his best friend now he was taking a chance of having romance and family too.  So every time one of you came to him and asked for advice he would grit his teeth and give it because it was the right thing to do.  But he was jealous and he hated himself for that green-eyed monster.

Lately, the questions had been about sex and he knew from the things you each asked it hadn't happened yet but it would soon and all Bucky could think that when it did that was it.  He wasn't getting that for himself.  Which was maybe what he deserved.

He came out of the bedroom after putting Geo down.  You and Steve had gone out again and he’d agreed to babysit.   Sam was sitting on the couch eating a slice of leftover pizza.

“You’re looking pretty grumpy for a guy who just read the little prince,” Sam said, as Bucky flopped onto the couch.

“Why are you here?”  Bucky asked, ignoring the dig at him.

“Forgot Steve was going out and we just got some intel back,”  Sam answered, getting up and going to the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky answered, watching Sam move around Steve’s apartment with a comfortable ease.  “What was the intel?”

Sam came back over, handing Bucky the beer as he took a seat again.  “There’s word of a designer drug being sold in Madripoor.  Gives people temporary superpowers.”

“Shit, really?”  Bucky said.  “Guess we’re going to Madripoor.”

“Guess so,” Sam agreed.  “It’s not exactly known for lawful activity though, so we might be just going into another dead end.  I think the army lead is better.  They were definitely manufacturing that shit for the army.  What are you so surly for anyway?  The kid give you a hard time?”

“No,” Bucky said.  The way Sam didn’t pause between topics made Bucky feel like he’d been railroaded.  “He’s a good kid.  I kinda like babysitting.”

“Then what is it?”  Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Bucky grumbled.  “It’s nothin’.”

“Oh don’t give me that, Sergeant Grumpy,” Sam teased.  “Something’s bothering you.  Spit it out.”

 Bucky sank back into the couch and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands.  He knew he should just tell him.  Sam had a tendency to bug people until they coughed up what was bothering them.  Besides, maybe just saying the words out loud might make him realize how ridiculous they actually were.  “Just jealous, I guess.”

“I am awesome,” Sam teased.

“Not you, you dumbass,”  Bucky snarked.  “This -” he waved his hands around.  “Them.”

“You mean the domestic thing?”  Sam asked.  “Or you just want to date someone, ‘cause I could set you…”

“No.  Not anyone… them,” Bucky said, the frustration he was feeling coming out through his voice.

“Her?”  Sam asked.

“You’re not listening, Sam,” Bucky snapped, pulling his hair.  “Both of them.  This.  All of it.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a while, he just stared at Bucky like he’d grown an extra head. “Wow,” he said eventually.  “Do they know?”

“Fuck, I hope not,” Bucky said.

“How long?”  Sam asked.

Bucky scratched his head slowly, letting his fingers drag over his scalp and tug out the knots in his hair.  “Steve since we were kids.  Probably started getting feelings for him when he was about fifteen, I guess.”

“And he really doesn’t know?”  Sam asked.

“Either he doesn’t know or he does and he’s been pretending not to, to save me embarrassment,” Bucky said.  “And fuck, Sam, if it’s the second I might as well just end it.”

“Don’t joke about shit like that, Buck,” Sam scolded. “That’s serious.”

Bucky huffed and took a long drink of his beer.  “It wouldn’t be so bad, they both deserve some fucking happiness, but they keep asking me for relationship advice.  You know how fucking hard it is to tell them what to do to make each other happy when all I want to do is have that myself?”

Sam nodded and took a drink of his beer.  “Think you might need to talk to them, man.”

“What?”  Bucky yelped. “And have them keep giving me pity looks?  No thanks.”

Sam shrugged.  “Maybe one of them feels the same way about you?”

“That’s worse!”  Bucky groaned, letting his head fall back against the back of the recliner.  “I don’t want them to break up and then be mad at me for being the cause of it.  Besides, it’s fucking ridiculous.  I’m a fucking monster, no one is looking at me like that.”

“Oh cut the shit, Buck,” Sam scolded. “You’re as worthy of happiness as any of us here.  Maybe more given what you’ve been through.  You just gotta get your head in the space where you’re ready to accept it.”

“You sound like my fuckin’ therapist,” Bucky grumbled.

“Good,” Sam said.  “That means you’re listening to them.”  He sat forward in the chair and looked directly at Bucky.  “Tell them.  Then at least they know to go talk to Nat about relationship advice.  Why they’d be asking you anyway, is beyond me.”

Bucky knew he was right.  Almost all the advice he’d given to both you and Steve was based around communication.  Talk to each other.  Tell each other how you feel.  It was only reasonable to take the same advice himself.  He just didn’t want to make things awkward between the three of you.

“Buck,” Sam said, and Bucky’s eyes flicked up, meeting Sam’s.  “You never know.  Things are changing.  People are more open to different things.  Maybe telling them will work out better than you think.”

Bucky looked at Sam not even sure what that meant exactly.   Sam got up and patted Bucky on the shoulder.  “I’m gonna head to bed.  Talk to them.  And don’t forget to tell Steve about Madripoor.”

“Yeah.  Alright,” Bucky said.  “Thanks, Sam.”

Bucky sat up with the TV on but not watching it after Sam left.  He didn’t know what Sam had meant by things changing and how it might work out better, but his mind kept flicking back to Natasha telling him to let go of the idea of monogamy being the only way that people could get their happily ever after.  That some people had none and some had many.  Maybe… maybe Bucky could get lucky and have both of you and the family.  But maybe he had to be okay with getting nothing too.  It wasn’t fair to hinge his happiness on you or Steve or anyone else really.  He had to heal too.

But first, he needed to talk to you and Steve about how he was feeling because he definitely wasn’t ever going to be happy if he resented the two of you for coming to him for help all the time.

He was tidying up and turning on the dishwasher when the door opened.  Both your lips were puffy from kissing and you’d obviously had a few drinks.  Now was a terrible time to bring up anything.  It was late, and if you were tipsy you couldn’t be making relationship decisions.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, warmly.  “How was your night?”

“Did Geo behave?”  You added, coming over to him and kissing his cheek.

Bucky smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course.  We had pizza and played some games on his tablet and then I read to him and he fell right to sleep.”

“Thanks for watching him,” Steve said.  “We appreciate it.”

“Sam stopped by, got a new lead,” Bucky said as he stalled for time.  It was easy to tell that you and Steve wanted him to leave so you could both head to bed.

“I’ll check it out in the morning,” Steve said.  “Thanks again, Bucky.”

Bucky nodded and let out a breath.  “Right,” Bucky said.

Steve looked at Bucky and furrowed his brow.  “What’s wrong?”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets.  Late at night after you’d just gotten back from a date was probably not the best time to do this, but he felt like it was now or he’d chicken out and it would be never.  He’d end up being the best man at the wedding.  He took another deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets.  “We need to talk.”

// NEXT

#SSB2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

[sunriserose1023]

The Weight

Surprise! Here’s my first entry for the @heamarvel​ Harlequin Hoopla! 

PROMPT: Secret Baby WORD COUNT: 3277 PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Female Reader WARNINGS: Language, angst, secrecy, fluff SQUARE FILLED: Uniform for @star-spangled-bingo​ SUMMARY: Steve’s faced with a massive choice. Does he let go of the biggest secret he’s ever kept, or does he let go of the shield? Which one can he stand to lose?

Steve glanced at his watch, exhaling audibly. Tony closed his eyes, then placed his hands on the table as he leaned forward. 

“You got somewhere to be, Cap?”

Steve looked over at him, eyes flicking around the table at the rest of the people in the meeting. He gave a shake of his head. 

“No. No, I … nope.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, but nodded. 

“Okay, so we ship out at 2300 hours. See you all at the jet.”

The room buzzed with noise as everyone got up to exit the conference room. Steve walked over to Bucky, motioning with his head towards the hall. Bucky nodded, following Steve, and when the door had closed behind him, Bucky turned to shake his head. 

“You can’t go on this mission.” “Well, I can’t bow out.” “Yes the hell you can! What are you going to do if—“ “You know I wouldn’t ask this if I had any other option, but …”

Bucky’s blue eyes nearly bugged out of his head. 

“I’m not sitting this mission out! Don’t even ask that.” “But Buck—“ “Don’t ‘Buck’ me. This is the moment, Steve. Where you nut up and tell them or else pray something kills you out there before … you-know-who gets ahold of you.”

Steve huffed out a breath, shaking his head. 

“If I try to back out, they’ll know.” “You’re an idiot if you think everything will be fine if you head out on this mission.”

Steve lifted a hand, rubbing it along his chin. 

“It will be fine.”

Bucky just stared at him, a look of disbelief on his face as he shook his head. 

“It’s cute that you believe that.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Steve hung his head. 

“If there was any—“ “There is. Look them in the eye and say ‘Sorry, I can’t go.’” “And what about when they want an explanation? What am I supposed to tell them then?” “Here’s a novel idea: how about the truth?”

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. 

“You know it’s not that simple.” “Then make it simple. Do you understand exactly what’s happening here?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. 

“Of course I understand.” “Do you? Because I don’t think you do.”

Steve sighed again. 

“If I had any other choice—“ “See, that’s the thing. You do have a choice. You just tell yourself you don’t so you won’t have to feel guilty. Well, let me tell you something.”

Steve’s eyes widened as a delicate finger poked his chest. 

“If you step on that jet tonight, I swear to God, that’s it.”

Steve’s blue eyes widened. 

“You are not hitting me with an ultimatum.” “Yep. Sure am.” “You can’t—“ “You are talking about leaving the country for an indeterminate amount of time when I am this close. It’s not happening, Steven.”

He blinked, giving a shake of his head. 

“This is my job. You realize that, right?” “Do you realize that if you leave tonight I’m taking it as you’re leaving me? This is it, Steve. This is the one thing I asked you to be around for.”

He glanced away and you blinked, then shook your head. 

“You know what? Forget it. Go ahead and go. Have fun on your trip; try not to die.”

Steve hung his head as you turned and walked away. He followed you into the bedroom, watching you lug your suitcase from the closet and toss it onto the bed. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. 

“What are you doing?” “What does it look like, Captain?”

He almost flinched at the venom in your voice. 

“Baby—“ “Do not ‘baby’ me! God!”

You glared at him, shaking your head. 

“Don’t you come in here and try to butter me up. I’m not giving in on this. If that makes me a bitch, fine. I’m a bitch. But this is the one thing, Steve. This is the one thing we can’t get back, and call me selfish, but I want you there.”

You stomped over to the dresser, going still as your hands flew up to cover your face. 

“Damn it.”

Steve closed his eyes when he heard your first sob. He exhaled, then walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You shook your head, letting your hands fall and grip his wrists. 

“I know it’s asking a lot. But please … please don’t leave me right now.” “If I don’t go, they’re going to get suspicious.” “So let them. They’re a bunch of spies, Steve. They should have already caught on.” “What if I get Bucky to stay?”

You groaned, pushing out of his arms, turning to face him. 

“I don’t want Bucky. I want you.”

You shook your head. 

“The worst part of all of this is I don’t even think you really want to be there.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Of course I want to be there!” “Then why are you fighting me so hard?!”

He just stared at you and you shook your head again, tears welling up in your eyes. 

“You just don’t want your friends finding out? Do you know how cheap that makes me feel?”

Steve closed his eyes. 

“We’ve been over this.” “I know. We’ve run the fucking topic into the ground. You want to keep me safe or whatever, but all I feel is you want to keep me as your dirty little secret.” “That’s not—“ “Well, congratulations. I feel dirty every time you leave.”

Steve stared at you. 

“How can you think that? How can you feel that, especially now?” “Look at our life, Steve. You won’t take me around your friends, who also happen to be your coworkers. You won’t take me out on dates.” “You said you were okay with that.” “Well, that was before now.”

You stared at Steve, who just stared back at you. After a silent battle of wills for a few moments, you nodded. 

“You’re going to go, aren't you?”

Steve didn’t say anything, but you nodded again. 

“Well, I meant what I said. Try not to die, okay?” “Y/N. Y/N, wait—

The slamming of the bathroom door cut him off. He took in a deep breath, hanging his head, reaching a hand up to pinch at his nose. 

“You’re a goddamn idiot.”

Steve ground his teeth together as he adjusted his gloves, glaring at Bucky. 

“Just shut up.” “No, I’m not going to shut up. Do you know how huge this is? And you’re just going to miss it?”

Steve whirled to face him, barging into Bucky’s personal space. 

“Do you think I want to do this?” “Honestly? Yes.”

Steve stopped, face a mask of confusion when Bucky shook his head. He lifted his metal hand and let his pointer finger tap against the star in the middle of Steve’s uniform. 

“You’re hiding behind that shield. Yes, this is your job, it’s what you took the serum for, blah blah blah. But Steve … you have a chance at a normal life here. Something you’ve been harping on for the last couple of years. Ever since you met Y/N, come to think of it. And you’re just going to let it slip through your fingers?”

He shook his head. 

“You really think I’m hiding behind this shield?” “No, Steve. I know you are.”

Steve glanced at the shield he had propped against the wall, ready to be picked up and strapped onto his wrist at a moment’s notice. 

“I’m not hiding. This is my job. This is who I am, Buck.”

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. 

“If I were to go ask Y/N right now, is that what she’d say? If I said “who is Steve Rogers,’ would she say he’s a shield and a star-spangled uniform? Or would she say something like you’re the love of her life? That you’re smart and funny and okay in bed?”

Steve closed his eyes, a half-smile on his face. Bucky gripped his shoulders, squeezing until Steve was looking him in the eye. 

“I know you want to protect her. I know you think if all those people know then it makes her vulnerable somehow, but come on. Don’t do this. Don’t go on this mission out of some stupid sense of duty. You’ve got a bigger duty to worry about.”

Bucky gave a sigh, shaking his head as he let his arms drop. 

“And to be quite honest? You know I’m with you until the end of the line, but … I don’t know if I can respect someone who can turn his back like you’re doing.”

Steve went still and Bucky shrugged as he turned and walked away. Steve turned his head, eyes on the mirror as he studied his reflection. 

His uniform had always been something he’d taken pride in. He wore the star on his chest with honor, proudly sported the red, white, and blue because he was a tried-and-true patriot. But now …

All of a sudden ... the suit felt suffocating. The star seemed to mock him, it’s location over his heart somehow aching. He glanced towards the shield propped up against the wall, his arm giving a phantom ache as he thought of picking the shield up. 

“Captain Rogers, the team is assembled at the jet. They’re waiting on you, sir.”

Steve swallowed, looking at himself in the mirror. He nodded. 

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

He walked over and picked up the shield, straightening his shoulders and making his way to the jet.

“There he is! Mr. Punctual finally decides to show up. Come on, Cap. We’re wheels up in two.”

Steve nodded, stopping at the base of the ramp.

“Tony, I’m not going.”

Tony turned to face him, the rest of the nosy team poking their heads around. Sam came to stand beside Tony, Natasha on his other side. Steve nodded to them. 

“You can handle this.”

Tony shook his head. 

“Have you forgotten you’re the captain? I know I talk a big talk, but you’re the boss here. We listen to you. They’re all just dying for one of your rousing speeches.” “Someone else is going to have to give it this time.” “What the hell, Cap?”

Steve looked around, seeing Bucky’s knowing smile. He nodded to him, then tossed him the shield. Bucky caught it easily, and Steve smiled at him. 

“Bring it back in one piece, would ya?” “I got this, punk.”

Steve rolled his eyes, stepping back from the ramp. He nodded, then turned and walked away. Tony stared after him, shaking his head. 

“Well, fine. Just fine. Buckle in, people.”

Steve burst through the door, hearing your gasp and seeing popcorn fly from the couch. You jerked around, eyes widening when you saw him standing there in his uniform. 

“What the hell, Steve?!” “I’m an idiot. I’m so …”

He walked over and knelt in front of you, shaking his head and taking your hands as tears sparked in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I even thought of leaving. There’s no …”

He shook his head and you took his face in your hands. 

“But you didn’t.” “I just knew I’d come back to an empty house. I was so scared you’d be gone.”

You nodded. 

“I thought about it. But I … I’m just tired, Steve.” “I know, baby.” “Don’t ever do that again.” “I won’t.”

You ran your hands over the padding of his uniform, fingers brushing over the bumps of hidden Kevlar and different materials designed to keep him safe. You shook your head and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. You let your hands move back to his face, freshly shaven and smooth. He didn’t move his mouth from yours, speaking against your lips and making you smile. 

“Do you want me to clean up the popcorn or take you to bed?” “Popcorn can wait. I don’t think I can.”

Steve gave a quiet laugh, nodding as he stood up, helping you to your feet, one hand in yours, the other against your back as he walked with you to the bedroom. 

Two months later, there was a knock at the door. Steve stood up from the couch, yawning widely as he walked to the door. He opened it and his eyes widened. 

“Guess who’s back and ready to hear an explanation?”

Steve sighed, narrowing his eyes at Sam and Bucky over Natasha’s head. He nodded, stepping back and holding the door open. When everyone was inside, Steve shut the door and stood with his back against it. Bucky moved his metal hand to his chest. 

“They made me bring them here.” “Throwing us under the bus right off the bat, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged and Steve nodded. Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. 

“A house in the country, Steve? A born-and-bred Brooklyn boy like you?”

He shrugged his shoulders and she narrowed her eyes. 

“And what’s with the beard? Did you sit out on this mission just to let yourself go? Speaking of, Tony’s ready to fire your ass, you know that, right?” “I don’t work for Tony.” “Well, who do you work for? Because as of right now, that’s pretty damn hard to tell.” “Excuse me.”

Natasha whirled around at the distinctly feminine voice, eyes wide. You smiled at the group of people in your living room, pushing the sleeves of Steve’s sweatshirt down your arms. 

“Can you keep it down? I’m going to try and take a nap.”

Steve nodded, and you walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. Natasha turned to face him, eyes still wide. 

“Who was that?” “If you’d just come have a seat—“ “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Steve looked to a smiling Bucky.

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” “Immensely.”

Natasha whirled to face Bucky. 

“You knew?”

Bucky nodded, wincing when Natasha punched him in the arm. Steve nodded. 

“Sam, you’re unusually quiet back there.” “Just taking it all in.”

Steve smiled. 

“I think this is something easier shown than talked about. Come with me.”

Natasha marched after him, and Bucky clapped Sam on the shoulder as they walked down a hallway, stopping at a closed door. Steve had a soft smile on his face as he pushed it open and Natasha gasped. 

The room was airy and light, gauzy curtains blowing in the gentle breeze coming in through the open window. The floor was covered in plush carpeting, the walls painted a light blue. Natasha’s mouth stayed open as she surveyed the room, a hand flying to cover her heart when she saw the white crib against the wall. She walked over and peeked inside, blinking back tears when she saw the swaddled baby sleeping there. 

She turned to Steve and shook her head. 

“There’s a baby.”

He gave a soft laugh. 

“Yes, there is.”

Sam and Bucky huddled around Natasha, a smile coming to Bucky’s face. Sam slowly shook his head. 

“This is why you couldn’t go on the mission.”

Steve had his hands in the pockets of his sweats, nodding his head. 

“This is why I’m not going to be doing much avenging anymore.”

Bucky was grinning when he looked over his shoulder at Steve. 

“What kind is it?” “Jesus. It’s not an ice cream flavor, Barnes.”

Steve gave a quiet laugh at both Bucky and Sam, then nodded to Bucky. 

“It’s a boy.”

Bucky gave a quiet laugh. 

“I owe you twenty bucks.”

Steve nodded and Natasha left the crib, walking over to stand in front of him. 

“You didn’t tell us.”

Steve nodded as he looked down. Natasha shook her head, looking back over her shoulder at the crib. 

“Why did you keep all this a secret?”

Steve sighed. 

“I thought if people knew, then Y/N would be in danger. And then when she got pregnant, I was terrified that someone would find out and take her from me. She was okay with keeping the secret, but as time went on and she got bigger … I don’t know. She didn’t want to be a secret anymore. She tried to get me to tell you, to tell the team, but I … I let my fear control me.”

Sam shook his head. 

“You’ve got to know that we’d do whatever we could to protect her.”

Steve nodded. 

“I didn’t want to ask that of you. If I’d have gone on that mission, I would have lost them. Y/N dug her heels in and gave me an ultimatum: that mission was the last straw. But it wasn’t until he was born that it became clear to me.”

Steve walked over to the crib, watching his son sleep peacefully in the presence of his closest friends. 

“I should have told you, given you some clue that I wasn’t just abandoning you guys. I was just too scared to face it.”

Sam shook his head, walking over to Steve, gripping  his shoulder as he looked down into the crib. Bucky came and stood on Steve’s other side, and after a moment, Natasha walked over to stand beside Sam. Sam smiled, laying a hand on her shoulder. 

“Does he have a name?”

Steve smiled. 

“Ethan. Ethan Grant Rogers.”

Bucky clapped Steve on the back, and Steve smiled. Natasha swallowed, then spoke softly, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Can I hold him?”

Steve smiled and nodded, reaching into the crib, big hands cradling the infant as he passed him into Natasha’s waiting arms. She settled, gently patting his bottom, staring at the baby. Sam looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“He’s beautiful, Steve.” “Looks just like Y/N, thank god.”

Steve elbowed Bucky, who gave a quiet laugh. Natasha murmured in Russian to the baby, and Sam nodded to her. 

“What did you say?” “She’s welcoming him into the world. To the family.”

Sam glanced back at Bucky, who shrugged. 

“Don’t want to get rusty.”

Sam shook his head and Natasha murmured some more, calling him sweet pet names that made Bucky smile. He murmured to her in Russian and she murmured something back that made him blush. Steve shook his head, reaching out his hands. 

“Please don’t corrupt my son.”

Natasha smiled as she handed the baby back, and Steve cradled Ethan in his arms, shifting him to his shoulder. Everyone smiled when the baby snuggled up against Steve’s neck, and Steve glanced to the door to see you standing there. 

“I thought you were going to take a nap.” “I wanted to make sure you weren’t creepily watching him sleep again.”

Steve smiled as you walked over, looping an arm around his back, gentle hand moving to Ethan’s back. 

“He should be getting hungry soon.”

Steve nodded, and you glanced around the room, at the two new faces and the one who’d figured out the secret a long time ago. 

“Would you like to stay for dinner? Steve has completely mastered the art of the takeout order.”

Sam laughed, sharing a glance with the rest of the room. He nodded, holding out his hand. You shook it, introducing yourself to him and then Natasha. Ethan started to squirm and fuss, so you took him from Steve, swaying as you walked, patting his bottom and talking low as you left the room.

Sam shook his head when you left the room, and Natasha turned to Steve. 

“Tony’s going to have a field day with this.”

Steve lifted a hand to scratch at his neck, a sheepish look on his face. 

“I was thinking maybe we just wouldn’t tell him?”

Bucky let out a laugh. 

“Oh no, buddy. This secret’s definitely coming out now.”

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