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#tfatws fic
coldfingers-warmheart · 6 days ago
𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐢’𝐦 ‘𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲’
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summary: he loved you and you loved him, but sometimes things weren’t all simple like that.
warnings: too much angst, some fluff, alcohol consumption (beer), cursing, smut, slight praise and hair pulling kink, unprotected sex, talk about not wanting kids, cheating, touch starved bucky, shy!bucky, possessiveness, unspoken feelings, minors dni
a/n: this just came into me it’s a bit new type for me, i hope you like it please provide feedback (reblog/comment)
You weren’t doing anything that night, just sitting on your couch, TV open so it would keep you company. You weren’t even paying full attention to what was happening, you got lost 20 minutes before but didn’t mind.
Your phone buzzed from the coffee table, you nudged your head to see who it was. His name stood on top of the text message.
“Are you up?”
Carefully written, with punctuations and all of that stuff. You didn’t need to see the name to understand who it was.
You sighed as you nodded, even though he couldn’t see what you were doing. You could already feel his presence around you. It felt so real, like you almost could smell cologne.
You sent your answer, as you stood up. Trying to clean over your mess before he would show up. You normally didn’t mind it too much, but since you were having a guest it considered s courtesy. Your mama raised you better than that...
“Sorry for keeping you occupied.” Bucky said as he barged in, and you just shook your head. Closing the door behind him.
“Relax, it’s not even midnight.” You joked as you threw yourself back on the sofa. “Besides, there was nothing good on TV anyways.” You tried to be sincere, could feel the tension since he stepped in.
“That’s a bit better to hear.” He sighed, looking around. Trying to find best place to sit.
“Sure is. So what’s the problem?” You asked; watching him walk over to your fridge. Taking out two beers.
He wouldn’t come over unless there was a problem. He wouldn’t even text unless there was a problem.
“You know, the usual. Nothing to worry about.” He mumbled, sitting back next to you as he handed you one of the bottles, after he opened it.
“Liar.” You joked, raising the bottle to your lips. The cold taste of it felt better, helped to ease you. “I’ll find it out anyways, better tell me now so I can help you.” You added, looking at his concerned expression. His shoulders were tight, hand was tightly holding the bottle too. Surprised it didn’t crack already.
“It’s about the kids. She just doesn’t understand that I don’t want any.” He said, his shoulders were down. The metal fingers playing with the label on the green bottle. “I’m not qualified enough to be a father.” You shook your head, hand going to his shoulder.
“You’ll be a great parent, Bucky. Maybe the best.” He chuckled at your comment, shaking his head.
“You’re only saying that, you don’t mean it.” You huffed as you got up. Standing in front of him. He didn’t look at you, not yet.
“Trust me, when it comes to being a parent I know better. I’m a daughter of a single parent. I know how hard it can be, but you’re not going to be alone in this. She w—“ He started laughing, and you stopped. Brows knitting together; watching his expression.
“What?” You asked, taking a gulp from your beer. You knew it just wasn’t about the kids anymore; there was more.
“You’ve just said that I won’t be alone in this, but I’m already feeling alone in this relationship. She thinks having a kid can change this situation, but I don’t think so.” Your mouth hung open when you’ve heard what Bucky had said.
After a deep breath he continued to explain how he was feeling. “We aren’t what we used to be, and sure couples can change, the form of love can change too; I get it. Unfortunately, it’s not like that anymore. It’s not love anymore. I don’t think she loves me anymore.” You felt like he stabbed you on your chest.
How can someone stop loving a human being like him?
You cleared your throat, more like tried. You stepped towards him, kneeled next to him as your hand played with the locks at the end of his neck. You knew he liked small and simple touches. They soothed him. “I’m so sorr—“ He rested his forehead on yours, letting go of a breath he didn’t know how long he was holding for. Both of your eyes were closed, taking all of this in.
“Don’t be.” He whispered. He sounded broken, and you couldn’t stop feeling broken too. You pulled back, placing both of your hands on his cheeks so he could look at you.
“I know I’ll sound cliche but everything will be alr—“ Before you could finish; his lips were on yours; kissing you passionately.
You pulled back, both of your hands are at his collar of his shirt. Holding him there. You rested your forehead on your hands. “Bucky... We c—can’t do this anymore. W—we’ve talked about th—this.” You whispered, couldn’t find more strength in his voice.
His hand went to the back of your neck. Making you raise your hand and look at him in the eye. His eyes were sparkling, built with tears. He looked so broken, you felt like you were the responsible one. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.” He admitted, nostrils grew as he took a deep breath. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?” He asked leaning in for your lips again.
This time you couldn’t find the strength to push him back. His lips tasted so sweet on yours; maybe because it was forbidden or because it felt like he was the only person who understood you.
You found yourself on his lap, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist as yours were wrapped around his neck. Fingers playing with his soft locks. The kiss was deeper, your tongues were dancing together. You were the one who broke it for air. Chest moving rapidly as you leant your forehead on his, eyes still closed.
“You’re so pretty.”
You opened your eyes, a faint smile on your lips when you felt his metal fingers on your cheek. You held his hand gently, placing soft kisses on his cold palm.
“I wish you were mine.”
You bit your lower lip, trying to hold your tears but one of them was stronger than you. A small one moved across your cheek as he was fast enough to wipe it away. “Please don’t cry.” He whispered, kissing your cheek. “I hate it when you cry because of me.”
You pulled him to your lips again, kissing him with everything you got. The saltiness of your tear was on his lip, but it didn’t stop you. You both were hungry for each other. You both needed this.
His hands went to your butt, pulling you towards him. You felt his growing bulge between your thighs, moaning into the kiss. “Please.” He whimpered, kissing along your neck, knew you liked it.
You sighed, shaking hands went to his belt. You were eager to take it off, but also couldn’t stop shaking. He placed his hands on top of yours, kissing your temple. “Let me.” He said, taking it off as you stood up. Taking off your pants and panties. He pulled you back on his lap again, making you sit down, a hand on his achingly hard cock, trying to ease down the pain.
You kissed him again, hand taking place of his while you were positioning yourself on his cock. You slowly sat down, moaning at how he stretched you out. You must have done this at least a dozen times, but you could never get used to his size.
“Shit!” He groaned throwing his head back, arms wrapping around your torso. Hugging you as he started moving his hips, fucking you.
“Fuck!” You mumbled to his neck, kissing and sucking as your fingers went to his hair. Pulling them eagerly. He moaned at the pain, you knew how much he liked it.
Your hands went to his dark henley, pushing it up with the tshirt he wore underneath. You had a love/hate relationship how he wore layers of clothes. He told you always felt cold, no matter when.
He helped you to take all of them off with the tiny blouse you were wearing. You both were naked now, your fingers played with the scars scattered around his shoulder. He whimpered under your touch. “Please.” He sounded like he was going to cry but you kissed him again. Wrapping yourself around his embrace.
“Sssh! I’m here, nothing is going to hurt you.” You kissed his temple, whispering sweet nothings on his ear. He kissed and sucked your neck, hands tight around your waist. You liked his possessive side, let him leave bruises around your body. His lips moved south, closing around your nipple, sucking it hardly. You moaned, fingers pulling down his locks but he got harder. Biting down your nipple before getting on the other one, hands kneading them.
You felt like you were going to faint from the pleasure, arching your back more into him. You looked a bit tired, he couldn’t blame you. You let him make you lie down on the couch, getting on top of you.
He looked at you in awe; can’t believe how pretty you were. “Pretty.” He whispered, and you felt the heat risen to your cheeks. Feeling yourself squirming on top of him.
You kissed along his scars, fingers dancing around them. You knew he didn’t like this, how much he hated the scars and how much he hated people to see them. You spent so much to make him believe that you had no problem about them, and he still had doubts.
He buried his face on the croak of your neck, moaning at how your walls were tight around him. “So good.” He whispered, afraid anybody could hear him. He was afraid that people would get you from him.
It was ninety years of non-stopping battles and fights were him, even some of them weren’t his. He was tired, all he wanted to do was settle down, spend his remaining time on earth in peace. But he was afraid, so afraid that he would lose you, the only piece of happiness and love in his life.
“B—Bucky!” You gasped under him, hands going back to his shoulders for support when he raised your leg by the knee, getting deeper inside of you.
He was close, and you knew it because you were not that different from him too. You pulled him to kiss you again, you just needed to feel him as much as you could. You knew this wasn’t going to end happily, but you were okay with living with the crumbles.
Your hands were on his cheeks, as you smashed your lips to his. He responded to kiss quickly, his hands were on your arms, holding you tightly like you were going to slip out from his touch. The kiss was all messy; with tongue and teeth crashing together. Like the two of you didn’t kiss for centuries.
“I want to be yours.”
You whispered to his lips. Fingers playing with his hair, it was so soft like playing with sand. He melted in your touch; eager for more.
What you told him was a wish that would never become true, but you just wanted to say it. Knew it wouldn’t change anything. Regardless, it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest.
“You’re mine, make me yours too.”
He responded, your legs were tightly wrapped around his waist. Locking him inside of you, making him not be able to move that much. “Fuck.” You whispered, his metal finger going to your clit. Your body shivered under his cold touch. Fingers pinching it as he started pounding into you, making your poor old couch creak under you. “F—fuck! Harder!” You screamed, holding onto his arms, nails digging into his soft skin. Marking his soft skin, leaving soft red shapes.
He threw his head back with a groan, you were milking him so good that he couldn’t put it into words. His eyes were closed, he already lost himself to the pleasure you were giving him. He held onto the armrest of the couch, giving you what you wanted. He was slamming right into you, almost using you like a rag doll. And soon enough you could see the stars, feeling the soft ecstasy surround your body.
“Fuck!” He groaned, trying to pull back but you felt so good all wrapped up around him. All warm and tight around him; almost pulling him in. “Please!” He begged, he didn’t know what he was begging for. He was desperate for whatever you could give him.
He couldn’t hold his release much longer. He came inside of you, burying his face on your neck; biting down your shoulder. Trying to suppress his moans.
He didn’t pull out from you immediately, he wanted to feel you around him a bit longer. He just couldn’t leave yet, he wasn’t strong enough.
You both just stayed there. Tangled around each other as he used your soft chest as a pillow. You sighed with the feeling of the release. You know the feeling of guilt will soon enough find you.
“You should get back. She will be worried.” He shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Bucky.” You whisper yelled, you didn’t know how much of a strength left in you to push him away.
“‘Told her needed some time to figure things out.” He explained. “Don’t push me back.” He whispered back. You felt tears building up again, hand playing with his hair, feeling him soften under your touch. “Please.” He wasn’t ready to lost you, not this time.
I love you.
That was what he wanted to say.
Keep me.
It just never felt right whenever you weren’t around. Those times he saw you wrapped around some boy’s arm didn’t help it too.
You nodded, letting him win this time too. But you didn’t know how much you could play this game. “Let’s get to bed then, shall we?” You whispered, knew pretty well he could hear you. “It’s getting late.” He nodded, kissing your soft chest.
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strwbrrybucky · 11 days ago
hi uh.. here is that headcanon of dry humping bucky that i can’t stop thinking about
warnings: clothed grinding, outdoor sex in a pickup truck, mention of teasing and edging
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you loved to tease bucky. didn’t matter where you were, out in public, in your house.
but he knew you had a particular bratiness to you, that you had to just tease him mostly in public. in front of friends. unknowingly to them, though
he had invited you out to hang out with some of his biker friends, you’ve heard a lot about them and you were excited to meet them
“you better be on your best behavior, doll” he growled in your ear, his low voice sending a shiver down your spine and it told you to not behave. but you nodded your head and said ‘yes of course’ while kissing his cheek
the diner you were meeting his friends at was packed, and the booth you met them at was even more crowded. the only seat in the house available to you was bucky’s lap
he gave you a warning look before you sat in his lap, the table high enough to where no one would be able to see how you positioned your ass just in the crook of his hips
you kept your promise maybe, 40 minutes into hanging out with his friends until you got antsy. he had his hands on your exposed thighs since you decided to wear a skirt, easy access you thought. he gripped your thighs in his hands, massaging them lightly while you moved your hips into him
“behave.” the gravelly voice made you blush as you looked over your shoulder, blinking obediently but having other things in mind
half way through most of his friends went out to smoke a cigarette, just to catch up. neither of you smoked so it was only the two of you in the booth. you grinded your hips against his, feeling him grow hard under your ass
his hands gripped your hips tightly, pressing a kiss into your shoulder. “keep doing this and we are leaving immediately so i can take you the second we leave.” you took that as a challenge
you turned around in his lap, looking around him and acknowledging that none of the patrons could see the two of you in the corner or the diner. not that they payed attention anyways
you rested your hands on his shoulders, pretending to smooth out his shirt as you closed the contact between the two of you and moved your hips against his, a low sigh leaving bucky’s lips
he gripped your hips to get you to stop moving, but you refused. you pushed through his hard grip, biting your lip and looking up at him, his eyebrows furrowed and a blush over his cheeks
“that’s it” he grabbed his wallet and left a tip, lifting you off his lap and grabbing your hand, pulling you out of the diner and saying a quick goodbye to his friends
you blushed, a smile on your lips as you got into his truck, him putting it in drive and sped off to the nearest empty parking lot
“in the bed, now” he looked over at you and had a stern tone to his voice. you nodded, biting your lip as you got out of the car and into the bed of the truck. the weather had been nice enough to leave some blankets and pillows in the back since the two of you loved to stargaze
you sat on the blankets, watching as he climbed in, already fumbling with his zipper and turning you over
“on your hands and knees. you wanna tease me in public?” you looked behind you and wiggled your ass as he lifted your skirt above your hips and ripped your panties off
he left a smack on your ass before pumping himself a few times, then plunging into you with no warning
“such a naughty little girl. shame on you.” he smacked your ass as he thrusted into your gripping your hips and earning moans from you
you watched as he pounded into you from behind, chanting his name as he thrusted faster. he didn’t want you to come, he wanted to edge you, tease you, teach you a lesson
“fuck bucky, you feel so good” you bit your lip as you moaned, a smirk finding it’s way on buckys lips
“yeah? like how i fill you up? well remember this because i’m not letting you cum.” you moaned as he spoke, feeling his thrusts get sloppy as he chased his high. you wanted to cum but you knew that the night ahead of you would be filled with teasing and edging.
just what you liked. you should grind on him in public more often if it meant rough and sloppy sex from him
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milliedazzledust · 16 days ago
After The Storm Comes Sunshine (Bucky Barnes imagine)
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Request: bucky fic where the reader and bucky had a huge fight about zemo making bucky act like the winter soldier. Bucky thinks that she doesn't believe he can resist going back to his old ways and its very angsty but a bit fluffy in the end
bucky x fem!reader where the two are a couple and then they get in a fight, he loses his temper, hits a wall and like scares the shit out of her
Words: 3710 words
Warnings!!!: domestic violence - mental illness
A/N: this was definitely harder than I thought it'd be to write this. Also, first time I've experienced emotional exhaustion over a story - as always don't hesitate to like/share/comment, I hope you'll like it!
She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, or make him doubt her trust. She hadn’t meant for things to escalade this quickly. They were supposed to be a united front, allies forever and always having each others back. Not strangers on the verge of breaking apart.
“I don’t know what you want to say”
She was purposely trying to keep her voice steady, to avoid the fight she knew would inevitably come. Two thousand feet above the ground in a plane was no place for the heavy conversation he was determined to have.
“I want you to stop lying to me”
“I’ve never lied to you, Bucky”
She was acutely aware they were not alone. Despite the low tone of their voices, there was no doubt Sam and Zemo could hear them.
They had just gotten out of Madripoor, with valuable intel that was leading them to Riga. On paper, the mission had been a success despite a few mishaps. In reality, the few hours they had spent inside the secret city had been torture for both Bucky and Y/N.
The Sergeant had had the perfect cover, impersonating the assassin he had once been almost too easily. Y/N had silently watched him turn into his old self, a man deprived of any emotions. And while she knew it was just an act, she couldn’t help but be anxious. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the Winter Soldier felt like second skin to him. The way he could flip the switch on and off at will scared her. Not because of what he was capable of doing, but rather because of what she could see in his eyes. For a moment he was back in survival mode, watching the world through broken glass. Any sounds or movements could trigger a violent response, as if he was suddenly disconnected, his brain wired only to fight.
“I’m not mad, Bucky” She spoke in a soft voice, hoping to appease him. “I’m not upset, or tired. I’m not annoyed, and I’m not ignoring you. If I had something to say, I’d talk to you”
He made no point in hiding the fact he didn’t believe her. Silently sitting back in his chair, he pursed his lips to keep himself from saying something he would regret later and took the small towel Sam gave him to wipe out the blood off his metal hand. She was staring intensely, following his actions, which didn’t go unnoticed. He was slowly getting upset, interpreting her words for something they were not, projecting his own insecurities and fear on her, which could only fuel his anger.
None of them spoke throughout the rest of the flight. Even as they settled in Zemo’s apartment, they avoided any interaction. The tension between them was building rapidly, almost palpable and ready to be set on fire. They were all sitting on the couch, talking about Karli and the Flag Smashers. They had just learned that a supply depot was bombed by the extremist organization. All they needed now was a plan of action.
“I have the will to complete this mission” Zemo told them. “Do the three of you ?”
“Are you asking if we’re willing to kill a kid ?” Y/N snarked back. “Is it really necessary to remind you not all of us are criminals ?”
“I bet your government would beg to differ” He smirked. “Especially when it comes to you and your former assassin of a boyfriend”
“Choose your next words carefully” The woman threatened him.
She turned to Sam, exasperation evident on her face.
“Can we give him to the Wakandans now ?” She complained.
“And give up your tour guide ?” Zemo laughed.
“Gladly. It’s either that or I’ll murder you in your sleep”
“Nobody is killing anyone” Sam calmed them down, bringing back a sense of peace in the room. “Let’s just find where Karli is”
Throughout the whole conversation, Bucky didn't say much. He quietly sat back and listened, lost in his own thoughts. Y/N rubbed her fingers over his arm, gaining his attention. He softly laid a kiss on her forehead but remained in the same position, palms crossed on his lap. He looked stressed, his hair was extra messy where he had probably been running his hands through it a lot, and his gaze was miles away from her.
“Maybe you should sit this one out” Y/N suggested, leaning against him.
“What ?” He answered in surprise, staring down at her.
“You don’t look alright,” She confessed. “It’s… I’m starting to get worried”
“Of course you are” He rolled his eyes. He suddenly got up, needing to put some distance between them to keep his temper in check. He couldn’t understand why he was starting to get so mad at her.
She followed him in the kitchen as he poured himself a drink, their company long forgotten now. “Is there something wrong ?”
“Why would there be something wrong ?” He replied with teeth clenched. “All of this is just… perfect” He really was trying to hold back his rage.
“Don’t start, Bucky” She warned her lover.
“Don’t start what ?!”
“Can you just …” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What ? Stay back because you think I’m incapable of controlling myself ?” He quirked a brow, raising his voice.
“Do you really need an audience for that ?”
He didn’t even acknowledge Zemo or Sam’s presence. He didn’t care. His exasperation was building up and he was glad he and Y/N were on opposite sides of the kitchen table.
“You want to talk ? Okay - let’s talk” She conceded, bracing herself for the harsh conversation they were about to have. “What’s going on with you ?”
“With me ?” He repeated, clearly upset. “I’m not the one with trust issues, Y/N”
“What is that supposed to mean ?” She breathed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Don’t play coy with me” He let out a disgusted laugh. “I know you think I’m weak, I know you think I’m nothing more than… him” For a second his voice broke but he was quick to regain control.
She looked over the table with slight astonishment, taken aback by his words.
“You don’t think I can resist it, do you ?” He whispered, clenching his jaw to keep his emotions at bay.
“Where is this coming from, Buck?” She mumbled incredulously, stunned by the unexpectedness of this situation. “You know that’s not true, I’ve never …”
“Stop lying!” He yelled, making her flinch in the process.
Something was definitely wrong, somehow she could feel it. Irrational anger was building in the pit of his stomach and he was close to losing touch with reality, believing whatever lies his demons were creating in his mind. His brain had suddenly started running a mile and hour, unknowingly stealing his sanity in its frenzy, while his anxiety kept being magnified, so loud it was getting hard to hear himself think clearly.
“I’ve seen the way you looked at me back there” He was spitting venom. “You were waiting for the moment I would blow up”
“No, no! That’s not true,” She promised, shaking her head. Her voice was so small and her face tight with worry.
He rapidly closed the distance between them, moving like a predator ready to close a trap of its prey. When finally he was in front of her, she couldn’t help but feel vulnerable, at his mercy. She found herself stuck with her back against the wall. She couldn’t move or escape him.
“Oh c’mon, admit it Y/N!” He threw his hands up in exasperation and shouted almost hysterically. “You’re waiting for him to come back, you’re waiting for powerless words to trigger me and turn me back into a monster! Because this is all I am, right ? All I ever was to you ! A broken record you can’t fix ! One more fucking lost cause you keep carrying around, too weak to fight back !”
She opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words, hurt by the violence behind each of his sentences. She hadn’t noticed Sam had gotten off the couch when their conversation had turned into a confrontation. He warily stood close, ready to step in.
“Okay, buddy” He interrupted his friend, trying to calm him down. “That’s enough”
It wasn’t a suggestion, or even a warning. He was silently giving him the order to back off.
“It’s alright, Sam. Let him speak” Her eyes didn’t leave the man she loved as she talked. She could already feel the tears on her face and the ache in her heart as she watched him explode in a fireworks of emotions.
“I wish I could turn it all off, turn you off!” He yelled, pointed a finger in accusation at her as enraged words poured out of his mouth. “Make you disappear so I won’t have to see disappointment on your face anymore, because despite how hard I try, it’s never enough for you!”
His voice rang with authority and menace. She swallowed the lump in her throat, taking the hits in silence, wiping traitor's tears away. He sounded deadly, so much that her stomach clenched in fear for the first time.
“I know you’re angry, but…”
She saw the changes, the reaction to her statement, realizing instantly when he switched from rage to pure hatred. His body suddenly stiffened as his face radiated danger.
“I’m not angry!” He snapped, shouting so loud she thought for a moment he was about to hit her. “I’m in pain!”
She held her breath, waiting for the blow. Her eyes involuntarily shut, unable to watch the display of violence. She flinched when she heard the crash echoing next to her ear but never felt the power of his metal arm. He had hit the wall next to her with so much strength there was a hole. She whimpered and looked at the scene, then at him, shocked. His jaw was tight, his pupils dilated and he was breathing hard. He tried to take a step toward her, but he stumbled, almost fell. She stood there, frozen on the spot, eyes wide opened.
This was a scream from deep within that forced its way from his brain to his hands, as if his soul had unleashed one of his demons. It was safer, easier to choose violence. To choose the Winter Soldier. This was a truth he would never admit to himself, how much this outburst had everything to do with sadness disguised in anger and scars that just wouldn’t heal.
“Bucky, get away from her!” Sam reacted quickly, interposing himself directly between them. His tone had lost its calm but not its power.
“I… I didn’t mean to… I… I wasn’t going to…” The Sergeant stuttered, keeping his eyes on the woman he had almost wounded.
She wasn’t listening, she couldn’t. She was shivering like a leaf, arms up in defense in a desperate need to protect herself.
“Y/N…” He called in a small, broken voice. He tried to reach for her but she coiled back.
“Bucky, please” Sam called again with more force this time. “Go outside, walk it out”
The man took his gaze away from his girlfriend, looking at his friend with desperation.
“I wasn’t going to…” He started to explain but had to stop. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think after what he had just done. “I would never hurt her, Sam”
“I know, Buck” He nodded, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know, but I need you to leave”
He averted his eyes once again toward the woman he loved.
“I got her,” Sam promised. “Go.”
The moment he disappeared, Y/N collapsed on the ground. Her whole body seemed to have grown cold and when her vision became blurry, she realized she was about to lose it. A hand above her mouth to quieten the frightened cry threatening to escape her lips, she tried to take a deep breath. She felt lost, crushed even. She was used to violence, but not like this, not by someone she loved and trusted.
Sam sat next to her after a quick check up, gently leaning her head against his shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright, Y/N/N”
“I’m sorry we made a scene” Her voice was barely a whisper. She was still in shock.
He chuckled. “Are you kidding me ? Shit was getting boring out here”
He knew she would be okay when he saw a small smile on her face.
“I need to ask you something, Y/N/N. Something personal” He hesitated for a short moment.
She raised her head but didn’t talk, waiting for him to continue.
“Has he ever lost his temper with you before ?” He was dead serious and looked awfully worried. “Has he ever …”
“Hurt me ?” She finished.
“No. He’d never do that, Sam”
“Good” He chose to believe her. “Because super soldier or not, I would kick his ass if he ever tried to lay a finger on you”
He knew Bucky would never forgive himself if anything happened to her because of him, he loved her too much for that, but he was also aware that a broken soldier could easily become a deadly threat.
“What do you need me to do?” He asked his friend.
“Go finish the mission, take him with you” She muttered. “Make sure he’s alright”
He didn’t want to leave but the woman was stubborn. She wouldn’t give him the choice. So instead, he settled to carry her shaken body to the couch. She was unable to stop her body from shivering, the trauma was far too recent.
“Are you sure… ?” He questioned her once again, not liking the idea of letting her by herself in this state.
“Go, Sam. I’ll be fine”
He sighed and kissed her forehead before leaving. Zemo was still in the room, watching from afar with a curious interest. He hadn’t hushered a word, but as Sam left the apartment, he walked toward the woman and quietly set a tray with a cup of tea on the table in front of her.
“Cherry blossom tea,” He explained, gesturing to the hot beverage. “It had… soothing properties, it’ll help calm your nerves”
She looked up in surprise as he offered her a small smile and started to follow Sam. He stopped once he was by the door, turning once again toward the woman.
“If I may,” He caught her attention, glancing at the hole the angry man had made moments ago. “He chose to hit my wall, even at the peak of his rage. The soldier he once was would’ve never hesitated to choose you” And with that he was gone.
She stayed sitting there for a while before deciding a shower would help, but even the hot water was useless to calm her nerves. She felt terrible, all she could see in her mind was his devastated face when he kept repeating he wouldn’t hurt her. Her head was throbbing, her whole body aching, and the tears couldn’t stop falling. She was numb, she needed him.
She took one of his T-shirts out of his bag and pressed it against her face, inhaling deeply. A little whimper left her lips because it smelt like him. Like home. She slipped it over her head and climbed into their bed, hugging herself tightly. She somehow felt guilty, like it was her fault, like she could have prevented it from happening. This was a loop in her mind, running over and over and over again, the same words he had spoken ‘I’m not angry, I’m in pain’ - How could she not have seen it before ?
She laid there for the rest of the day, tired yet unable to sleep. Her thoughts were too loud to ignore, too painful to shut down, and the bed felt empty without him. She brought her knees up to her chest, letting the torrent of her tears soak through his shirt, and clenched her fists, not knowing whether to be mad or just sad.
She hadn’t even noticed Bucky was back, standing behind her against the door frame, his heart breaking at the sound of her distress. Too scared to come closer, he stayed back and listened to her cries, letting his own tears fall down.
He pursed his lips and swallowed his apology. His broken pieces were scattered all over his mind and he couldn’t think straight. The constant memory of his hand breaking that wall kept playing in his head, not because of the violence of that action, but because of the fear he had seen on her face, the pain he had been able to read through her eyes. He felt sick just thinking of the damages he could have done. No matter what she would say, he would never forgive himself.
“I’m sorry” He chose to be the first to break the heavy silence.
He moved toward her and sat on the side of the bed, facing her. His arm slid around her waist, something he had a habit of doing, but she flinched. It was a pure reflex, a defense mechanism, and she knew the action had deeply hurt him when he coiled back. Her eyes refused to meet his, instead she chose to stare blankly into the dark space of their room. He sat with his hands on his lap, not daring to move a muscle. They were next to each other but miles apart, almost turning into strangers once again.
“If I could take it all back…”
“Don’t speak” She cut him.
Her heart sank and her stomach tightened when she took a quick glance at him. He looked terrible. His blue eyes appeared weathered, like he had aged another hundred years in the course of a day. His hair was disheveled and his stare had something haunting. It bothered her, it was almost like she could finally see the shadow of his demons hidden underneath, only visible when the man was on the verge of breaking apart.
“I’m fine” She reassured him.
“But I’m not” He was closely studying her face, like she would get up and disappear in a second if he dared to move.
She grabbed his hand, this time surprising him, and dragged him on the bed with her. They laid there for a moment, appreciating the proximity, silently rediscovering comfort in each others presence, until Y/N absently started playing with his fingers. It was only a distraction to appease her nerves, but he enjoyed the serenity brought by that simple physical touch.
“It was never a question of trust, Buck. You’ve got to know that” She whispered. “I’m not scared of you”
“I’m not sure I believe that”
She waited a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke again.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t. That’s a lie” She admitted. She refused to look at him but had his undivided attention. “If you really want the truth - the ugly, painful truth - then yes, I’ll admit I’m terrified. But it was never of you”
She stopped her movements and entwined her hand with his metal one, bringing it close to her heart.
“We both know it’s still here, somewhere too deep for us to see. Roots of what they did to you” Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper, almost as if the words would hurt more if they were spoken too loud. “We both know he’s gone into hiding but never really left you. And even though the words hold no power anymore, those tiny breaks they carved into you are still there. Wide open. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of him when you talk in your sleep, or when your eyes suddenly turn too cold. Sometimes… sometimes I feel his hands, and not yours”
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she felt him squeeze her fingers. Still, she didn’t look at him. She wouldn’t bear to see the pain on his face, the hurt brought by the power of her sincerity.
“It feels like you’re drowning, about to take that last breath that will let all the water in. I see you struggling every day, Buck, trying to learn how to live without him. And it’s what he represents that terrifies me”
“Why ?” He muttered.
“Because he’s your familiarity. No matter how much you don’t want to admit that, he’s everything you’ve ever known. This life we gave you back is terrifying, to a point none of us will ever understand. So, I’m worried you’ll get overwhelmed and finally give in to him. Because that’s when it’ll stop hurting, that’s when it won’t be so scary anymore. He’ll be here to dull your pain, make you forget there was ever a choice to make. He’ll create a false sense of peace to cage you in, and I am no match against the power he still holds over you”
“I can resist it. I’m not weak, Y/N” He only answered.
“Never said you were. It takes a special kind of strength to wake up every single day and go fight an invisible battle with an enemy only you can see. That’s not what I’m getting at, Buck”
“Then what are you saying ?”
“I’m saying if you want to heal, you have to stop pretending it doesn’t hurt” She said. “Stop pretending he’s gone”
“What if I do that and he takes over ?” He whispered, voice strangled by tears waiting to be shed. “What if I hurt you ?”
This time she turned on her side to face him.
“You mean what if he hurts me ?” She corrected him.
“Same difference”
“Not to me”
She gently brushed a finger over his face and he closed his eyes, enjoying the soft touch. She moved closer to him, laying her forehead against his temple. He took the opportunity to slide an arm around her waist, almost bringing her body on his chest.
“We’ll get him out” She promised. “One day the Winter Soldier will only be a distant memory”
“How can you be so sure ?”
“I have faith in you”
“I don’t”
She chuckled.
“That’s alright” She conceded, laying her head on his shoulder. “Until then, you’ll just have to trust me.”
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clints-lucky-arrow · 2 months ago
Call It A Night - Chapter Three
Choice: Bucky Barnes (x F!Reader)
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Summary: After a night of drinking and partying in Madripoor, your small group returns to Sharon’s apartment. Caught between the attentions of three vastly different men, a choice has to be made. Which one do you want?
In this choice chapter, the answer is the brooding Bucky Barnes.
Alternate Endings. Smut. Alcohol. Jealousy. Explicit Language.
18+ ONLY.
WARNINGS: Wound Tending. Blood. Cursing. Explicit Vaginal Sex. Slight Choking. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex (Female Receiving). Rough Sex. Bucky’s Damn Arm. Unprotected Sex. Use of the word ‘cunt.’ 
✨Previous Chapter (1)✨
Ko-Fi: Buy Me a Coffee
Word Count: 10.3k
Likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated.
A/N: Enjoy it, you thirsty bitches (and I say that with the utmost affection because I too am a Thirsty Bitch).
**If you are new to ‘Call It A Night,’ this is a fic with alternate storylines. This chapter is Bucky Barnes’ smut chapter. The Helmut Zemo and Sam Wilson smut chapters are also completed. To follow the layout of the story, you can visit the masterlist here, and see what else is upcoming in the series.
I hope that you like it!
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There’s no response to your knock. No noise from within. Just silence. 
Part of you considers surrendering the attempt. He was in a foul mood earlier, and if he's not answering now it's likely because he is not in the mood for visitors. That probably extends to recently drunk visitors (who just can't leave things well enough alone) knocking on his door at three o’clock in the morning. Yet… you can't just bring yourself to walk away, and in all honesty, you're mentally kicking yourself for not going earlier.
There's no denying that you've been a horrible friend these past two months. It's quite likely that you abandoned him when he probably needed someone most. As much as you try to push off the reality of your actions, they all but gnaw at your insides. It was easier to shove it all down when you were an ocean away. Now that he's here and so obviously not okay, it's much harder to pretend that your choice was innocent and the effects unexpected.
Steve would be disappointed in you.
That reality is tart and bitter on your tongue, coupled with your own pain at Bucky's upset. Why hadn't you gone after him in the moment that he retreated to his room? It is so apparent in hindsight that he would not be alright. Not after what happened earlier in the bar. What Zemo made him do.
That knowledge spurs you to give another loud knock. There's no answer again. Not even a shout for you to leave him alone. It’s strange. He’s usually vocal enough about things like this. With that thought in mind, you decide to take the silence as permission to enter. 
If only to ensure that he truly is alright.
Hinges creak as it swings inward, and you step into the space. 
It’s dim inside. The only source of illumination is one of the two bedside lamps turned on. Light creeps across the room, fading as the distance grows. His room is less elegant than some of the others on offer, but he had accepted it without complaint. While the bed is still large, the headboard is less ornate than the one in your room. A simple sheet of wood unmarred by any intricate lines. 
However... The duvet is missing. It's the first thing that you note. While the linens underneath lay undisturbed, there's no blanket lumped over the bed. A quick glance over your shoulder reveals it's crumpled form creeping up from where it lies in the ground, peaked just on the other side of the sofa. There's no one in sight, but the implication is clear. He's sleeping on the ground.
Fuck. That knowledge stirs the guilt again. It rises up, gnawing relentlessly at your insides. Reminding you that you’re partly to blame for the state that he’s in. That it’s your job to handle this. To provide some semblance of comfort. But you’ll need to find him first, in order to do that. Your gaze scans the rest of the room, but there's no one in sight.
It's then that a distant noise reaches your ears. The soft hiss of falling water. Your eyes fall to the left, to where another door lays slightly cracked off to the side. A light is on inside, spilling outward in a faint golden glow, and tendrils of steam curl out from the opened sliver. The realization has a dry lump catch in your throat.
He's taking a shower.
You nearly turn to leave, until your brain registers another sound. His low voice, murmuring a string of muffled curses. He sounds annoyed, but not 'ready to regress into the Winter Soldier' agitated. Curiosity draws you closer, but you're not about to sneak up on him. Especially not if he's already in the shower. Plush carpet sinks under your bare feet as you approach cautiously, and the air grows a little more humid as the proximity grows.
Your voice rings questioningly into the air. "Bucky?"
A pause halts the murmured rambling inside. He's finally heard you. You hesitate, still a few metres away from the bathroom door, averting your eyes unless they catch sight of something private. Something that would linger in your mind for weeks to come, and probably never leave again. There's a rustle, and then the bathroom door swings wide.
Bucky’s familiar form emerges, wreathed in soft shimmers of steam. That signature scowl curls his stubbled jaw, and those deep blue eyes are a little darker than usual. Not as soft in their regard for you. Yup. He's still annoyed about earlier. That much is obvious.
However, none of that is what you immediately notice. What registers instead is the fact that while still clad in his trousers, no shirt covers his firm, muscular chest. Those lean abs are on full display. And Christ, they are sending your mind straight to the gutter. That is, until your rapt gaze catches on the weeping line of red along his collarbone. Blood. Not much, but it stems from a cut as long as your forefinger. Worry jolts through you almost immediately, rising tart in the back of your throat.
"What happened?" The words spill out before you even think them. You're across the room in a flash, reaching for him with concerned hands. 
His metal arm lifts, fending you off. Refusing to accept anything that could be construed as pity. 
"Must have been cut during the bar fight." His words are curt, brisk. Unwilling to show any weakness.
You dodge under his warding hands anyhow, rising in between those strong arms and his solid chest. The proximity doesn't even register to you, but his jolted inhale of surprise echoes dimly in the back of your mind. Your attention is solely focused on the wound, however, as alarm continues to beat purposefully within your chest. 
"And by cut, do you mean stabbed? Seriously Bucky? You were walking around all evening like this?!"
A defensive twists tugs his lips into a pout. "I didn't notice it earlier. Blood must have washed off when I showered before the gallery party."
It's then that you notice the transparent first aid kit clasped in the hand down by his side. It's closed over so that he could carry it out by the handle, but the clasp atop the case is unlocked, and inside the packs of bandages have been pulled open and now lay in a haphazard tangle. Reaching down, your fingers seize it from his before a protest can leave his throat.
As he begins to argue, to refuse your help as you had known he would, your hand simply lifts into the air before his face, stopping him. It works. Just as it always does. Just like it had when he tried to protest about you coming to Madripoor in the first place. You have no idea why he listens to you in the way that he does, but it's useful at times like this.
"Sit," you command, brisk tone allowing no room for any further argument. 
With a sigh, he does. Springs let out a muffled groan as he drops to the mattress, bouncing slightly with the momentum. Shoulders hunching, his hands fall to grip the edge of the bed in pointed disapproval. His head averts as you step closer, eyes fixing on a point somewhere off to the side. Agitation is all too obvious in the taut set of his perfectly chiseled jaw. 
While you had been worried earlier about regression - that the events of tonight could have the Winter Soldier rising to the fore - the upset in his eyes is still very much Bucky-esque.
Opening the kit, you first lift the alcohol wipes free. There are a few bloody spares already in there, showing that he had already cleaned it previously. However, the cut is still weeping crimson. After so long, it’s probably a sign that suturing is required. Super-soldiers heal quicker due to their fast metabolism, but it is still not immediate, and you’d rather close the wound to avoid any dirt or bacteria getting in. 
“You need stitches,” you mutter quietly, rifling around to grasp the plastic wrapped instruments. “Really, Barnes. You should have come to get me earlier.”
‘Barnes.’ It’s what you call him when slightly irritated. He knows it, and so those shadowed cobalt eyes lift to yours, as deep and searching as oceans. His tongue darts out, crossing his lower lip in a form of hesitant thoughtfulness.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “I’ve already dragged you into enough problems.”
“Helping you out is not a problem,” you reply, sliding the needle out into your hands.
It glints silver in the dim light. The point is sharp, and should slide through his skin with ease. While stitching up one of your friends is not exactly how you wanted to end this rather eventful day, it’s not like you could simply leave it be.
“I’m not so sure that you mean that.” His response comes after a stretch of what you realise to be awkward silence. 
There’s a tension to his tone. One that when coupled with his words, causes you to pause in trying to thread the suture through the slitted top of the needle. Head tilting to the side in confusion, your attention flits back to him. 
“Why not?” Uncertainty couples your question.
Those broad shoulders rise and fall in another shrug, and more blood leaks from the wound at the motions. “Because you left. You went away, and it was because it all got too much. I… I don’t want you to leave again.”
It takes visible effort for him to say those words. To tell you aloud that he wishes for you to stay. You can only imagine how hard it is for him to be that vulnerable with someone. 
A breath draws into your chest, composing yourself before you continue. “Taking that job was a mistake. And I can promise, I’m not going anywhere again. I don’t want to go anywhere again.”
It’s the truth, and he must see it in your eyes, as the faintest hint of a smile curves his lips. Noting your responding smile, Bucky swiftly averts his gaze. You take no offense, understanding the meaning behind the action. He wouldn’t want you to see exactly how much that statement means to him. Even 106 year old men need to play it cool. Not that he usually manages to do so with any degree of success. Emotions are still something that he struggles with, and those that he harbours for you are slightly more potent than most.
Needle in one hand, your other lifts a clean antiseptic wipe from the pack. He lets out a slight hiss as you draw it over the harsh lesion, gathering up the spilling droplets of blood in the process. Your lips purse to restrain your slight chuckle, not wanting him to think that you’re laughing at him. And you’re not. Not exactly. 
Just at the fact that here is a super-soldier who spent all evening walking around with a stab wound, and yet it’s the alcohol wipes that make him flinch.
“Something funny?” he rumbles softly, having caught the flash of amusement all the same.
Your eyes assess his expression. There’s no hint of annoyance there. It seems that your earlier assurance has somewhat improved his mood. Only then are you aware of how warm his skin is underneath your touch. The way that the contact prickles, and the air grows a little heavier as you realise that you are holding his gaze and not looking away.
A cough huffs from your throat as you readjust yourself. The blood-splattered towelette flutters back into the empty side of the opened kit laying open on the bed. Your fingers trace across the gaping skin underneath the mark, trying to figure out exactly how to do this. Hesitancy wells within, conjured to life by the desire not to hurt him further. As if he senses it, calloused own fingers gently seize hold of your hands, clasping them between his.
"Just do it. I trust you.” The words are little more than a murmur, but sheer honesty burns through each syllable.
The sound of it causes a lump to catch in your throat. He releases your hands, setting his own back down to re-clasp the bed, situated evenly on either side of his body. Due to the position, you have to shift closer. Moving to stand slight over one of his legs. Allowing the dim light to wash over you. 
Part of you wonders if you should move away. Go to turn on the main lights overheard to brighten the space and make it easier. And yet... You can’t quite make yourself. Doing so would only serve to kill this bridled tension slowly starting to wrap around you both. One that screams with each little shift of either of your bodies. There is an air to it feels too expectant to shatter. As if it is building to something. 
And so, you abandon common sense to take a step closer. His eyes track each twist of your expression as your fingers settle purposefully over his skin. The needle pierces through the edges of the wounds. Bucky doesn’t even flinch. Just continues to watch as you lean even more over him, feeling the sides of his firm knee brushing against your bare thighs. It’s hard to ignore the sensation, but the fact he is still bleeding is a good distraction.
You work with practised precision, combining the needle and forceps to pull the suture cleaning through him. It’s hardly the first time that you’ve had to stitch a wound. Sam was awful for getting them while on the run. Every other week, he had boasted a new cut. Despite your annoyance with his carelessness at the time, it has made you somewhat of an expert at patching people up. The stitches are neat and even, drawing his skin together in a much cleaner line than before. 
Satisfaction wells as you finish your work, ending in a clean knot that should not break. Not under normal pressure, anyways. Considering the type of excursion that brought you here, it’s likely that something will happen sooner rather than later to snap them apart. But with any luck, he should be completely healed within another day. 
Your hands grasp another antiseptic wipe, and dab it over his skin to pick up any remaining smears of red. Afterwards, you use another to clean your own hands. His eyes remain on your face all the while. Watching. It’s hard to ignore the heat that his gaze brings. How it stirs something with a single, lingering look. 
Bucky doesn’t even need words to make you nervous. Not when he is sitting there looking like that. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Now that you don’t have suturing to distract you, it becomes impossible to ignore him.
To brush aside the fire in your veins at his proximity. 
Slightly trembling fingers clumsily tug open another packet. It’s a thick plaster, yet light and fluffy. The adhesive strip peels off easily, and then you are shifting in once again. His chest rises as your stomach brushes into his shoulder. His skin is scorching - nearly burning - underneath your hands as you smooth the plaster over his skin.
His stubbled chin is tilted backwards so that smoldering gaze can drink in each flicker of expression on your face. That tightness rises in your throat again. You all are too aware of your position once more. How you are nearly straddling one of his legs as your fingers shakingly smooth the line of the plaster over the top of a firm pec. Everything in you fights to ignore the smooth lines of his chest. An effort that is growing harder by the second. 
It’s so fucked up. He’s been injured. Binding his wounds shouldn’t be making you aroused. And yet... Those eyes are too much to bear. Full of heat and lust, and a burning desire only exacerbated by the events of the day. By your earlier words, and the insinuation of that promise.
He’s so close, and that realisation is torture. This distance that you’ve tried to maintain for so long has been for both of your benefit. The draw that exists between you is nearly magnetic, and once you allow him to pull you in, there’s no chance of ever going back. Part of you wants to push back against the rising tension, nagging at you to walk out. That this isn’t right.
It’s not the first time that you’ve been caught in a moment like this. Every time beforehand, you had managed to draw away. To shatter it with some awkward joke, or friendly comment. And it wasn’t because you weren’t interested. 
You had been trying to do it for him. To allow Bucky the time to heal himself first. So that he could find his way back to the man that Steve had told you so much about before diving into whatever this could be with you. However, standing before him now, a sudden realisation occurs.
Bucky is never going to be the man that he once was. Not after everything that he’s been through. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t know the man used to be. However, you do know this one right here, and there’s no denying that you came to this room for a reason. Because he is the one that you want.
No matter what that entails.
Your eyes lift, searing into his with a new intensity. A change ripples over him as he notes the look. There’s a new attention in his gaze, a purposeful rise to his chest. One hand slowly lifts from where it curls along the edge of the bed, rising to lightly settle on the small of your back. With a small tug, he shifts you closer. 
His leg flexes slightly, knee rising to brush upwards between your naked thighs. There is the barest hint of pressure skating across the strip of your underwear, right across the growing damp spot of your core. The contact almost draws a gasp from your lips. Your fingers tighten uncontrollably, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. A low sound - something resembling a growl - comes from the back of Bucky’s throat. 
Those cobalt eyes are ignited with intensity, drinking in each minute shift of your expression as he repeats this moment, lifting his knee to rub against your centre more purposefully. This time, there is no restraining the small whine that escapes your lips. 
“Do you like that?” His voice is barely more than a whisper. 
You don’t answer. Can’t even find the words to do so. His fingers are nearly scalding against your back, burning through the thin fabric of the dress that Zemo brought for you and causing your mind to spin. That other hand - glinting silver in the dim light - also releases its hold on the edge of the bed to slide up the side of your leg. Next thing, his grip tightens around the back of your knee and jerks it forward to land atop the mattress. The action leaves you hovering above him, nearly straddling his lap, with your faces mere inches apart. 
His slow exhale washes across you. Unable to stop themselves, your eyes slowly drop to his lips. Those cold metal fingers lift from your knee to draw light patterns on the inside of your thigh. You can’t help but ache for him to move higher.
“Do you like it?” he asks again, and that searing gaze demands an answer.
There is no more holding back. Not when his mere touch is causing your heart to beat faster, and the delicious smell of him is relentlessly addling your mind. You’re sick of trying to restrain yourself. Tired of holding back, of stopping each impulse that had ever urged you to reach for him. Each whisper that had encouraged you to touch him in the way that you’ve longed to for far too long. 
You all but groan in response, and the words are a soft surrender. “Yes.”
That arm across your back tightens. You sense the movement before it happens. One moment you are hovering above him, and next his body is covering yours as the sponey mattress sinks beneath your back. Bucky is braced overhead on his vibranium arm, and the length of his firm body is situated between your legs. The front of his trousers press against the throbbing point between your thighs. The contact only flares at the need building within your core. 
That want is only made worse when something warm stirs underneath the fabric. Knowing that it is his hardening cock, another soft moan leaves your lips. It’s impossible to restrain the mental images that fill your mind. The thoughts of it pumping blissfully between your folds, and drawing broken cries from your lips. 
Bucky’s quiet voice calls you back to reality, murmuring your name. The way that he says it - almost reverently - causes your heart to lurch inside your chest. You know how much he cares for you. It’s spoken in every action that he takes, every longing look that he casts in your direction, the softer timbre that creeps into his voice when addressing you. 
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs softly.
That warm hand slides out from behind your back to lift, allowing his fingers to trail smoothly down the side of your face. Caressing the soft skin that they find there. His words could be taken as sexual, but you somehow know that it’s not quite how they are intended. Maybe it’s the nervous crinkle at the side of his eyes, or the slightly uncertain note wavering the words, but Bucky is searching for more direction than where to simply place his touch.
He’s asking you to make your choice. 
To release him from a binding deadlock, in one way or another. To finally put the agony of indecision to rest, so that everyone can move on. Can move forth. 
Yes, or no.
Him, or Sam?
It’s a question that has plagued the three of you for a while. One that you’d never been able to answer before this moment. However, it swims before you now. Clear as the light of day. Deep as the blue of his eyes.
“I want you.”
The smile that draws over his lips is wordlessly elated Unparalleled to any expression of happiness you've seen him boast so far. You can't help but feel that painful hitch of your chest jolt once again. A faint cloud of disbelief draws your lips into a shy smile as you watch him from underneath lowered lashes. 
Given the circumstance - the fact that he's lying on top of you, pressed down between your legs - you shouldn't be feeling as bashful as you are now. Yet, under that mesmerizing cobalt gaze, it's hard not to feel strangely vulnerable. The way that he looks at you… It throws your mind for a loop. Even after all this time it's hard to believe that this man - this handsome, beautiful man - so obviously and completely adores you.
There's no more time to be scared. No room in your mind to feel nervous. Not when he slowly leans down to brush his lips against yours. 
The kiss is gentle at first. Soft. Waiting to see just how you respond. Your hands lift from where they had still rested on his chest, running lightly up to tangle in his dark hair. Pulling him in, pulling him closer as you open your mouth to him. Your head is spinning. It's impossible to think of anything but Bucky. How warm he feels above you. The taste of his mouth and the firm heat of his body as he presses firmly down against you. How the hand that had stroked down the side of your face moves to languidly grip your neck, and the rougher sensation that jolts within your cunt as his hips flex, the hardened lump in his trousers grinding into your already throbbing core. 
The sensation has you moaning again, tugging lightly on his hair. He uses that advantage - your mouth falling open in the low murmur of pleasure - to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours. The movement is slow and knowing, sending another wanting tremble through your body. His easy grip on your throat tightens, and he breathes in the responding gasp with a small, pleased chuckle.
Determined not to give him the satisfaction of rendering you utterly useless under his touch, your hands move to either side of his face as your teeth seize his lower lip in a playful bite. Something akin growl rumbles from the back of his throat at the action - low and lusty as you tug it down in a sharp bite. That grip around your neck tightens, and Bucky shoves you down with a growl. Your head thumps back into the mattress as those fingers tighten further around your windpipe. 
They shift to the side, quickly replaced by the sensation on his mouth on your jawline. His teeth catch on the skin, nipping and whispering. Dropping to your neck before continuing their slow, demanding descent. The bed creaks as Bucky shifts, knees settling against the mattress so that he can hover more fully above you. So that he can easily move down your body. His mouth ghosts teasingly over your skin, trailing down past your collarbones to whisper against the rise of your chest. 
It’s hard to focus on anything but him. What he’s doing. What may come next. Reality is blurring like a drug, wrapping you in a tight haze of desire until all you can feel is the blood thundering through your veins and the tingling sensation of his body sliding over yours. 
That hand releases your neck, planting itself down securely against the bed as he continues. Lips brush over the smooth fabric of the dress as Bucky passes by your navel, inching ever lower. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, but one hand falls away to grasp the undersheet, in a desperate bid for an anchor. It’s hard to believe that after so long this is really happening, but you want to centre yourself in the moment. To burn every little detail into your mind.
He stops upon reaching the pit of stomach, gaze flitting up to you. Looming over you on all fours, the mere sight of him makes your throat tighten further with pure desire. A throb comes from your core, only aching harder as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
That husky voice washes across you. “Are you sure that you want to do this?” Under the weight of his heated gaze, only a breathless nod is manageable in response. The traces of a grin curve his mouth as he lets out another murmured command. “Then shift upwards.”
With wordless obedience, you do. Bucky follows the movement with ease dominance, allowing you to pull far enough away so that he can lower himself between your legs with ease. Eyes remaining fixed upon your face, he sinks down. You can feel his shoulders brushing the edge of your thighs, and then his head is disappearing under the hem of your dress. His hot breath brushes against your already soaking cunt, and it takes everything in you to keep from squeezing your legs together. 
There is no stopping the urge when his tongue laps over the increasingly wet strip of panties. Back arching, another cry escapes your lips. A pleased chuckle answers in response as his hands rise to restrain your thighs. Bucky’s head lifts, skirting upward to grasp the band of your underwear between his teeth. They peel away from your skin, whispering down your legs until he reappears from underneath your dress. 
Those eyes burn into yours - holding your gaze - as his mouth slowly opens and the panties drop from his lips. His mouth curves slowly into a knowing smile as his hands fall, working smoothly against the front of his trousers. A rough clink fills the air as his belt opens. Surging into a sit, you reach to help with the zipper. That metal hand is around your throat before you can, shoving you forcefully back down on the bed. Same as he did earlier. 
The meaning is clear. He wants you to stay down. Trapped writhing underneath him as he dominates you. Pleases you.
There is the rough noise as his trousers drop, kicked off with utter precision. A distant thud sounds as the opened first aid kit topples from the edge of the mattress also. You can hear it spilling across the ground, a mess that no one is bothered to stop and clean right now. Not when Bucky is towering above you, looking like a god, shifting closer with that predatory light in his eyes.
Heat surges against your bare, aching cunt as his erection - still tented by the fabric of his boxers - presses into your core as he leans down. His mouth captures yours in a rough kiss again. Braced above you on just a single forearm, you can feel all of him pressed against you. However, your spiralling mind is trapped on one point in particular, lost in the all-consuming insinuation. 
The covered head of his cock is nearly throbbing in anticipation and you can feel it align perfectly with your folds as Bucky shifts even closer to hungrily command your mouth’s attention. You are utterly lost in him. Unable to think of anything but the shivering sensation of his clothed tip nudging your folds apart. A feeble whimper spills out in response, fingernails clamping into his arm in a silent beg. The need to have him inside of you is nearly overwhelming.
Your hands slide down his body almost desperately. This time, Bucky makes no move to stop you as they slowly drag his boxers downwards. You can feel the tension in the fabric as his cock strains against the fabric. How the elastic band tries to hold it in place, to keep it sheathed as you pull them the final distance down, and finally allow it to spring free.
His lips will not allow you to pull away and take in the sight. However, you can feel it in your hands. Long and thick, and completely perfect. Bucky’s dick is almost pulsing in your grip. The sensation is pure heaven, and sends another delicious tingle straight to your cunt. Your fingers slide experimentally down the shaft, feeling the smooth ridges lining his length. Precum has already gathered on the tip, and so his foreskin slides back with wet ease. 
You can only imagine just how glorious it will feel inside of you. 
Breaking away from his lips momentarily, a whispered plea spills from your lips. “I want you to fuck me.”
His groan vibrates through his entire chest. You can hear the longing in the sound. So over-burdened with lust that it seems almost painful.
There’s no more stopping as your hand shifts his tip back to your entrance. The bare touch of it against the lips of your aching cunt is nearly enough to have another begging moan spill from within. However, you don’t have to. This is a moment that you both have waited long enough for, and neither of you can hold back any longer.
The plaster on his shoulder brushes your chest as he shifts, momentarily placing his weight upon his knees as he rises. The arm that had braced against the mattress lifts, travelling down to seize hold of one of your calves. Touch insistent, he lifts it to drape just above his hips. Angled around his back to help hold him in place. 
Fabric shifts as the hem of your dresses lifts, bunching above your hips. Dark cobalt eyes burn into yours all the while, brimming with excitement and lust. Those soft lips brush over yours as he leans down again, flexing his other hold on your neck until another strangled gasp catches in your throat. The sound draws another small grunt from his chest, the arousal twisting his face into the ghost of a snarl.
Part of you can’t help but wonder if he was always into choking, or if it is relatively new. A remnant of his time as the Winter Soldier. Either way, it doesn’t matter. His commanding touch is exciting you, sending jolts of heated arousal burning through your veins. You want him to fuck you. Hard, and in any way that he desires.
His cock throbs against your folds. You can see that raw, unbridled lust reflected in his own eyes. The building could go up in flames, and neither of you would care. Both of you are utterly lost. Consumed by the moment, and unable to pull away. 
Those eyes bore into yours, sending every other thought flying from your mind. Demanding that there be nothing but him. Now. Forever. Always.
“I love you,” he confesses, and pushes himself inside before you can answer.
The gasp that escapes your throat jars with his own broken moan. Searing pleasure washes through you as his cock slides deep within your aching cunt. Your hands clamp on his side, fingernails digging into either side of his waist as he pulls out to thrust back in again. He buries himself so deep that you reach the brink of crying out almost instantly, toes curling in a mixture of strain and bliss. Every inch of him is palpable inside of you, pulsing deep within your core. 
“Fuck,” he whispers jaggedly, and dimly you can’t help but realise that you’ve never heard him curse before. Not like this, in a tone so filled with filthy lust that it sends another rush of slick straight through your core. “You feel so good.”
You can’t even respond. Can’t even begin to cultivate the beginnings of a reply. Not as his cock twitches inside of you, throbbing wildly with need. With an uncontrollable urge to thrust into you again. Over and over, in purposeful, unrelenting strokes until you are a writhing mess underneath him, unable to bleat nothing but his name.
And so, he does. 
Your shattered encouragements come in cracked whimpers as Bucky begins to stroke his dick into your soaked cunt. The sounds are filthy. A mixture of skin against skin, and the deep, wet noise of his cock sinking repeatedly within you. It starts off slow, as if he is trying to hold back. To not allow himself the freedom of doing all the things that he could. All the things that he wants to. 
The pace picks up soon, as his control starts to slip a little further with each glorious impalement of his dick. A growl forms on his face, gritting his teeth as he hover above you. Each snap of his hips causes those fingers to swiftly tighten around your neck, in rhythm to the harsh rocking of his perfect body. 
But still, he manages to cling to his control. Unwilling to allow himself to spiral completely over the edge, to lose himself in the feel of you. It doesn’t mean that he’s gentle.
His thrusts are hard. Powerful. Ridiculously enhanced by both the super-soldier serum and his own lust. You can’t help the whimpers spilling with each forceful stroke as Bucky buries himself inside of you, a growl rumbling from between his clenched teeth. Can’t focus on anything but how his cock spears relentlessly through your folds over and over again, jolting to life a simmering heat that pools within the wet centre of your core. One that creeps deliciously into the pit of your stomach before prickling across your skin, whispering that he’ll soon stroke you up to your peak, and then hammer you right over the edge. 
The smell of him - a deep, seductive musk of leather and metal - laces your senses, and the scent surges further as he leans closer to press his mouth hungrily into yours again, metal fingers tightening further on your neck as he does. The squeeze leaves you dizzy, gasping for air, lost in the feel of his body against yours. How each movement is so controlled. Strong and confident. As if knows exactly what you need from him, and just how he’ll give it to you. 
What he wants is absolutely clear. For you to know that he is buried inside of you - owning you, possessing every inch of your body and mind -  and that he will fuck away the thought of any other man that may slip through your thoughts. Not that it matters. 
You can no longer think of anything but him, and how utterly glorious he feels inside of you. It’s a heaven crafted out of sin, and you could stay there forever. All that you need is the feel of his hard cock stroking your tight cunt. Those blue eyes - a colour so deep and powerful - are nearly black in appearance as they bore down into yours. The stare is hard and unwavering, almost daring you to look away. 
His upper lip is curled in a snarl, and the warm fingers that fall to hold your thigh around his waist clench hard enough to bruise. A strained grunt leaves his lips as he thrusts harshly again, pushing you further into the bed. The delicious sensation of his cock pounding directly into that spot has a strangled gasp burst from within. The nails of one of your hands dig into his side as the other claws into the undersheet for some semblance of feeble hold. He continues to work himself into you until you are flushed and gasping, throbbing from within and all over. 
His name spills from your lips in a broken moan, distorted by his harsh grip. “Bucky.”
The sound of it seems to do something to him. However that firm cock still remains buried inside of you, throbbing with a relentless ache that leaves you nearly writhing as he draws back slightly, stopping to breathlessly watch you from above. Those stubbled cheeks are flushed in vibrant arousal, and his muscled chest lifts in a little more strain than usual. His lightly tanned skin is glistening - not sweating due to exertion - but with the obvious strain of holding back. 
Yet… the mounting haze of unbridled lust swimming in the depths of his eyes leads you to believe that this may not be the case for much longer. 
That metal hand releases its hold from around your neck. A full gasp of air rushes back into your lungs, sending another wave of dizziness through your already lust-fogged mind. Your core pulses around him, and the need to fuck down upon his cock is almost too much to bear. However, you manage to hold back. Just marginally so, as those increasingly shadowy eyes are silently commanding you to.
The tip of index fingers skates along the bare skin of your neck as it rises from your throat, trailing goosebumps in its wake. Although still clad in the dress, you can’t help but feel utterly naked underneath his silent and intense stare. Completely at his mercy. 
That light touch lifts off your skin, and a bated breath whispers free of your lips. As if its presence was a wait that had kept you still and subdued. His glinting fingers settle pointedly on the headboard above, grasping it firmly as the digits flex. Bucky shifts even closer, and the roll of his hips draws another wanting moan from the back of your throat as his tip brushes against that pulsing spot within once again.
A growl rumbles from his chest in response. One that signals a breach of control. That lets you know his pool of restraint starting to leach dry as a desire to do more wells in its place. A mounting, uncontrollable urge to leave you gasping and crying out as he pounds every inch of his withheld need into your waiting core. 
Underneath his sturdy hold, the wood groans in protest at the tightening grip.
A warning. An insinuation of what’s to follow. That his remaining resolve is nearing the point of shattering. Just like the straining board above. And God, every part of you just wants it to. You want to feel him pound his stress into you, releasing all of this stress and tension, until there is nothing left but him.
Your eyes lock on his. Those black pupils are blown out of proportion, flared with pure desire. Raw hunger flickers within, warring with the last vestiges of remaining hesitancy. His tongue darts, tracing his lower lip as he watches you curiously. Almost nervously. Wondering how far you’ll let him go. 
Chin rising, your eyes narrow on his defiantly, burning with challenge. “Make me scream, Sergeant Barnes.”
And with the words, something inside of him snaps utterly. 
That handsome face twists into a violent growl. His cock shears back inside of you with enough force that the bed slams into the wall. There’s no stopping, no gaining back the loud gasp that bursts from your chest. It happens again before you even have time to recover, the action leaving your lungs blank, refusing to work. 
His thrusts are brutal and precise. Bucky pounds in and out, burying himself inside of you, right up to the hilt. As if he wants to feel all of you. As if he wants you to feel all of him. And God. You do. You fucking do.
Every inch of that glorious cock pulses within. Stretching your walls and filling your cunt, deeper than anything that you’d ever felt before. Bucky doesn’t falter. He doesn’t stutter, or miss the mark. Every single snap of his hips leaves you crying out, writhing helplessly underneath him as he works himself inside of your trembling core. 
His harsh tip is jolting against that rough patch deep inside of you, stroking to life the harsh simmer of an orgasm underneath your skin. You can feel it rising, washing over your body. Prickling your skin and blurring your mind until nothing exists but the harsh lines of his face hovering above, drawn in feral concentration, and the godly feel of his cock hammering through your singing folds. 
Your cries are growing louder now. So much so that a dim self-aware part of you knows that it can probably be heard beyond this room. Everyone else might be aware of exactly what Bucky is doing to you, and yet, there’s nothing within that cares anymore. Not when he is losing himself inside of you, hovering over you, looking like a dream.
His eyes are flashing, alight with burning arousal as he drinks in each twist of your expression, each loud noise that bursts from your lips. The headboard shrieks again underneath his hold as he uses it and his grip upon your thigh to fuck into your arching body. His lips are twisted into concentrated growl, and that face - so carnal and utterly possessive, hitching as a snarl tears from his throat - is what sends you utterly spiralling. 
You climax violently, loudly, aware that you’ve never made a damn sound like this when orgasming before. The release tears through your body - white-hot and searing - washing everything else away until all that you can feel is the boiling heat in your veins and the thud of your heart pounding in your chest. 
Overhead, Bucky cries out in response to your climax. The wood shatters underneath his hand, clenching as your release pulses around him. He throws himself forward, body covering yours as splinters rain down to pepper the bed around you. You can feel some fragments sliding across his back, falling down his sides and brushing past your hands as they do. Still, he does not stop fucking. 
His thrusts are just as harsh as before, but maybe a little more wild now. He’s approaching his own peak, and it’s only a matter of time. Jilted snarls ring out in your ear. Those bruising fingers leave your thigh, skating up between your bodies to grasp hold of your throat once more. His grip is demanding as he twists your head towards his to breath another harsh kiss into your mouth. Your tongue laps needily against his, and a groan tears from his lips in response. 
Pulling his face from yours, that forehead buries in your shoulder as he continues to thrust inside of you, desperate to maintain the momentum for as long as possible. To prolong this for as long as he can. 
Your fingers thread in his hair, whispering jarred encouragements as his cock strokes you again. Gasps are pouring from his lips. The stroke of his hips is growing more erratic with each passing moment. He leans down - weight falling more fully atop you - and his hand shifts, searching for a hold. 
He is everywhere. Inside of your body, haunting your mind, filling each and every one of your senses.
You are vaguely aware that his cock feels harder than before. Pulsing. A sign that he is so close to the edge. Striving for release, and yet struggling to get all the way there. And God, you want this for him. You want him to be able to let go, utterly and completely, within your arms. To know how much you care about him. How much you need this with him, and only him.
And so, you make it clear in the only way you can. By uttering his name. His real name.
The whisper - one filled with so much more affection than you could ever otherwise convey - is what has him erupt within you.
His cry rings in your ear. Metal shrieks as his hand rakes down the mattress. Sheets tear off to the side. Fluff and fragment springs burst free as his fingers tear it apart while he releases into you with a shattered moan. His cock is throbbing, shooting hot spurts of cum that threaten to burn your insides. 
Each violent jerk of his hips leaves you gasping, his tip brushing harshly against that rough, aching spot inside of your cunt once again. His cum is pouring out against it, and it triggers something within. The sensation is enough to push you right after him as well. Another orgasm rips through your body. 
Bucky responds involuntarily as your walls constrict further on his surging cock, and that hold on your neck strains to the point of pain, stealing every semblance of breath from your lungs. There is no doubt that there will be bruises forming tomorrow. Ones that even make-up will not be able to hide. 
His face hovers over yours, mouth twisted into a lingering gasp, eyes closed. He looks beautiful. Glorious. Like he belongs in this moment, spilling himself within you. It’s enough to take your breath away, but you do not have any left to be stolen. Not when his grip is still tight around your windpipe. A choked splutter comes from the back of your throat. Bucky’s hold releases instantly in response, and you suck in a grateful breath, almost wheezing.
“Are you alright?” he asks, a little hoarsely. There’s a hint of sheepishness crossing his face, replacing the trembling remnants of arousal. When you don’t respond, his tone grows more urgent. “Hey. Are you okay?” 
One arm wraps around your waist, gently rolling you both until you lie atop him now. Your hands are bunching against his bare chest, pressing down as you fight to catch your breath, locked in a coughing fit. Careful fingers stroke down the side of your face, pushing strands of hair behind your ears and rubbing reassuring circles on the tops of your arms as you slowly begin to gather yourself. Watering eyes lifting, your head dips in a wordless nod as your lips lift in the beginnings of a wry smile. 
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pulling you down into his chest. 
His softening cock has slipped free, and you can feel his release begin to drip from you. The warm cum is sticky upon your thighs, falling to smear across the skin of his stomach. If he minds, there is no outward sign of it. Just soft concern as his hand runs through your hair, cupping the back of your head to guide you down into another kiss.
His mouth is softer. Sweeter. Less demanding now that he has been satisfied. Despite the slight ache in your neck, a sort of elated giddiness has flooded your entire body. One that leaves you both smiling and close to giggling as you lean into him, lips whispering against his own as your fingers trail lightly down his bare chest, ignoring the slight hiccup that still hitches your lungs.
Bucky shifts, straining upward to meet your mouth fully. The motion has something brush your legs, where they are braced against the matrress on either side of his body. Confusion surges as you glance down. It’s only then that you truly take in the state of the bed. 
A jagged line is all but torn down the centre, created by the path of his vibranium arm as he strove for a hold while climaxing. Fluff and fragments of metal springs rise up from within, lining the space haphazardly. They rest in a pool of splintered wood chips, a result of the shattered headboard. Thin shavings are stuck in your hair, and you can’t help but think that it’s an absolute wonder that they didn’t get anywhere else.
A small chuckle leaves Bucky’s lips as he takes it all in. “Shit. You should shower. I’ll try to clean some of this up.” There’s a hint of pride to his tone. As if the mess pleases him, somehow.
While a shower does sound appealing, there is something else that you wish to talk about. Given that the haze of lust has passed, the memories are slowly flitting through your mind once more. Your thoughts are fixing on one in particular, regarding the words he had said upon first pushing himself inside of you.
Despite the nervousness welling, you attempt to broach the topic. “Bucky? About what you said earlier-”
His handsome face flares with something akin to panic, and a finger rises to press against your lips, cutting you off before you can continue. “ It’s alright. Don’t feel like you need to say it back. That’s… that’s not why I said it.”
“But I-”
“Please. I just needed you to hear it.”
A silent overture swims in his eyes, stifling the words that you were about to utter. The thing is, you do want to say it back. However, his face is heated in embarrassment, and that slightly defensive set is back in his jaw. Something in you whispers that now is not the right time. That he’ll only take the assurance as a response due to obligation. 
When you say the words, you want him to know that they are true. RIght now, a little voice in the back of your mind whispers that it’s not the proper time. That when the moment comes, you will know it, but it’s not now.
“Okay,” you surrender with a small sigh.
His hand grips your arm, helping you clamber off him to step unsteadily down onto the ground. Your legs still are a little shaky from the sex, those residual tinges still having yet to fade. The rest of you just feels deliciously satisfied. Bucky sits up, gaze appreciatively tracking your body as you take a step back, reaching down to pull your dress off as you do. The fabric rises up your chest, stirring your bra with it. It falls onto the ground, and that admiring gaze grows darker once more as he takes you in, standing before him in your underwear. 
“Are you planning to join once you’re done cleaning up?” Your head tilts to the side as you voice the question coyly, allowing your own eyes to scan admiringly down his naked form.
“I’ll be in very shortly,” he replies a little stiffly, voice starting to take on that familiar growl. 
Your brow raises as a slight suspicion infiltrates your mind. It’s only confirmed when your attention falls back to his cock. His dick is slowly swelling once more, visibly hardening as he continues to watch you pointedly, noting your reaction to the insinuation of a second round. Your throat goes dry at the mere concept.
Caught in this moment, you can’t help but wholly disagree with Zemo. Super-soldier serum is a fucking blessing.
“Looking forward to it,” you reply huskily, before turning to leave.
The shower is still going. Given everything going on, both of you had forgotten to turn it off. Sharon’s water bill is going to be astronomical, but that’s not your problem. Zemo had said that he’d take care of the cost of your stay. It’s about time that he truly earns his keep.
Surprisingly, the water is still warm when you step in. Splinters wash away from your hair, falling to the ground in a swirling pool before washing down the drain. Your skin is covered in a layer of sweat, a result of the hard orgasms, and a faint speckle of dust, courtesy of the shattered remnants of the bedframe. 
You start to wash, using the supplies already contained in bottles lining the shower shelf. Sharon’s apartment is like a hotel, and you can’t help but think that she hasn’t done too badly in Madripoor. Of course, having to live in exile is not in any way ideal, but this just seems like a little more than simply scraping by.
The door creaks open behind you. Turning, your gaze falls on Bucky. He’s still naked, half-swollen in another bout of arousal, and that light is back in his eyes. His steps are purposeful as he approaches, pulling open the shower door and sliding in. You smile at him from over your shoulder, before lifting your face to let the water flow over your skin.
That firm chest heats your back as he looms up behind, head lowering so that his lips press against the curve of your neck. Water soaks into his fine hair, flattening short dark strands over his forehead as his hands fall to your hips. For a moment they simply rest there, swaying you slightly in a silent dance, and then he slowly begins to turn you towards him.
Those deep blue eyes fix on your neck, stroking lines across the skin found there. Instantly, you know what he’s looking at. Bruising has already started, patterning your throat. Marking the encounter. It’s a little over, but not overwhelmingly so. And in a strange way, you can’t help but enjoy the reminder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, voice nearly lost under the sound of falling water. As you go to reply, to tell him that it’s fine, those hands gently begin to press your body back. You allow him to guide you until the firm, cold surface of the shower wall blocks your retreat. Out from underneath the water, a slight chill rushes across your skin. It turns into a full blown shiver as Bucky sinks to his knees. “Let me make it up to you.”
His hands slide down your body. One grips the back of your right leg, lifting it so that it rests over his shoulder. Prickling runs across your skin as delicious anticipation begins to simmer once more. A small moan escapes your lips as your head falls back, readjusting yourself obediently so that your stance is a little wider. The motion allows Bucky easier access to shift closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair as excitement tightens your throat. Sensing your response, Bucky’s gaze lifts to your face again, and his mouth curves back into that mischievous smirk,
Attention remaining to watch your reaction, he blows experimentally. The sensation of his breath is washing over your exposed cunt as your chest hitch, hands tightening to tug in his soaked locks. He laughs, pleased at the response, before leaning to lick a firm stripe up your cunt. 
The curse that blurts from your lips is vulgar. It’s accompanied by a small cry when his tongue strokes out again. The tip swirls over your clit, teasing that swollen bud of nerves in a soft flick. Steam rises all around you, building a light sheen across your skin. You can feel the water pooling around your toes, warming your body. It is nothing compared to Bucky’s tongue as he laps again, those eyes still lifted to watch every shift of emotion on your face. 
He alternates between teasing, and giving exactly what you need. Enough to leave you gasping and mewling, tugging on his brunette locks and all but rutting yourself against his mouth. Each pointed caress of his tongue leaves you trembling, and each purse of his lips as he sucks on your clit has a loud cry bursting from your lips. 
Bucky seems to relish in every little sound. Drinking them in like he does the slick starting to pour from within. He’s utterly focused on his task, an expert in this particular kind of torture. Within minutes, his careful motions have you at your peak, but he does just enough to prolong the encounter. To not push you over.
It’s only worse when his other hand slides up. The vibranium finger sliding inside of you is almost too much to bear. You nearly cum right there, even though his mouth had pulled away at the motion. A second finger is soon added to the first. Tremors are running over your skin, a sign that your body cannot take much more of this. Recognising this, Bucky slowly leans in again, pressing his mouth against your throbbing core.
His fingers work themselves within you, curled to hit that rough spot inside. When they brush against it the first time, a weak keen bursts from your lips. That tongue continues to draw firm patterns over your clit, and that pit of heat in the bottom of your stomach starts to bubble even higher. You can feel him working on you, inside you, and it’s absolute heaven. 
Your breaths are coming in small, jagged pants. The peak is coming. Rising in the distance until you can feel your body beginning to lift. Bucky starts to slow, to tease you away from the edge again. Your pleading gasps ring out, begging him not to. Whimpering for him to bring you there. And so, with a low moan that vibrates deliciously against your cunt, he does.
Those hands marginally increase in speed, speeding you onwards towards the edge. Looking down, you can see the glinting silver digits sinking in and out. Something about the sight just drives you wild. Your hands are tangled in his hair, threatening to tear it by the roots, but still he doesn’t stop. That tongue laps against your clit. Sucking and teasing until your entire body is wracked with needy, endless shudders, and all that you can whine out is his name. His whisper comes again, barely audible over the water, murmured into your soaking cunt.
“I love you.”
The orgasm that rips through you nearly brings you to your knees. Bucky all but has to catch you, metal fingers disappearing from inside of you as his strong arms slam into the wall, holding you upright. You’re aware that you’re leaning forward, one hand bracing against the wall for a hold as he continues to fuck you with that glorious tongue, foot shuddering against the ground. Bucky’s mouth everywhere. On your clit, sliding between your folds to dip his firm tongue inside of you, lapping at the release. 
Quakes of pleasure rock through your body, causing your mind to spin as he continues to campaign. His face is buried between your legs, drinking in each shudder and spasm as you moan and rut greedily into him. You can feel his stubble chafing against the insides of your thighs. The friction only causes you to climax harder, waves of release washing through your body. Small cries spill from your lips. Louder at first, but stretching out as the release starts to ebb and fade. Eventually, all you can do is gasp weakly, and allow your head to fall back against the wall once more. 
Below, Bucky lifts your leg off his shoulder with a chuckle. Shower water runs down the sides of his face, but you know that the wet patch shining upon his chin is all due to you. He stays on his knees for a moment, just to make sure that you can actually stand, before clambering to his feet. Warm hands cup your chin as he pulls you in for a lingering kiss. The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and he is sure to flick it forcefully against yours. A silent demand that you taste yourself. 
You can only moan brokenly, especially when you feel something hard digging into the pit of your stomach. Hands lifting to tangle in his hair, you press your body against his demandingly. Sure, you’ll likely be extremely sore in the morning. But you can’t get enough of him. Never. 
His strong hands wrap around your thighs, boosting you up and into the shower wall. Setting your back firmly against the tile as he slowly sinks you down upon his hardened cock, drinking in the gasp that spills from your lips as it slides through your folds. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him against you, and it all starts over again.
And as he pounds into you up against the shower wall, your eyes catch on something spreading over the soaked bandage on his shoulder. A smear of bright, fresh crimson. Fuck.
He’s going to need more damn stitches.
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A/N: This killed me. I am dead. I hope that you all enjoyed my demise, because this was HARD. If you liked it, please do let me know in the comments, my ask box, or anywhere, really. I thrive on validation.
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cosmicloki · 3 months ago
𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬
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summary: john walker is flirting with you in front of bucky and he won't take it pairing: bucky barnes x female!reader word count: 2k warnings: john walker (yes, he is a warning), jealous!bucky, some angst, fluff.
english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
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You snorted as you dropped between Bucky and Sam, your gaze on everything but the big jerk dressed as Steve sitting across from you. And by the time the vehicle started to move, you knew that you had regretted getting into it in the first place.
"You know we just saved your asses, right?" John Walker, the clown himself, questioned, shooting you an almost mocking look.
"We had everything under control." You replied dryly, finally joining your gaze with his blue one, crossing your arms over your chest. You frowned when you saw how he blatantly moved his eyes from your face to your chest and vice versa, and Bucky could see it too as he immediately tensed sitting next to you.
"And if 'having everything under control' means getting your butt kicked out, of course, you had everything under control." John joked, but seeing that none of the three invited passengers smiled at his words, he sighed. "We're on the same team, guys, c'mon. I don't know why you act like you hate us."
"We're not on the same team, man." Sam was quick to reply, as calm as ever. You found it incredible that he could maintain his composure even in such stressful situations.
"And we do hate you." Bucky added, you nodded at his words.
"My point is, we could work well on the same side." John leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees and by the time his eyes landed on you, you knew some disgusting statement was coming. "And we could use an avenger of your caliber, sweetheart." You raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "You have a hell of potential, but I can see you don't work well with these two. Maybe you're on the wrong team."
John smiled widely when he saw a smile rise on your lips as well and when you approached him, he approached as well.
"Uh, I wouldn't recommend doing that." Sam muttered under his breath seeing John's closeness to you.
"I'm going to give you two seconds to retract all the bullshit you just said if you don't want a broken nose." You said in a low tone against his ear still with that dark smile on your lips and Bucky smiled totally satisfied at Walker's expression, who looked truly terrified for a couple of seconds.
Your lover's vibranium hand rested gently on your thigh, trying to calm you down, which worked almost automatically. He knew how much the subject of the shield and Steve affected you, even as much as him.
The fake Captain America cleared his throat, straightening his body to sit well. "Look, I'm not trying to replace anyone, okay?"
"Oh, so is that why you're dressed exactly as Steve Rogers?" Sam answered wryly, raising his eyebrows at him.
"I'm not Steve Rogers, I'm Captain America."
Sam, Bucky and you laughed, the three of you looking at Walker in disbelief.
"You know that carrying that shield around doesn't make you Captain America, right?" You questioned in a cold tone.
Bucky, still with his hand on your thigh, dedicated himself to gaze intently with narrowed eyes at who, until now, had easily proven worthy of being his potential enemy. He quick noticed how John Walker's disgusting eyes traveled over your body, sometimes stopping at cuts that had ripped open your suit from the previous fight.
And God he wanted to break his therapist's rule number two so badly.
John Walker finally glanced at Sam, pointing at the super soldier with a movement of his fingers. "He always stares like that?"
"You get used to it." Sam replied calmly and proceeded to shrug. "And man, you've been flirting with his girl in front of his eyes all this time, do it a little while longer and I assure you it will be more than a stare."
"I confirm that." Bucky agreed with a darkly ironic look, giving Walker an even darker smile, almost looking like psycho.
John sighed for almost the tenth time in the hour, looking truly defeated. "If you guys joined us, this would be a lot easier for everyone." His blue eyes traveled over the hate-filled faces of the trio of passengers in front of him. "I know it's a complicated subject, but with Falcon, Diamondback, and the Winter Soldier we could― "
You quickly interrupted him in a warning tone, your eyebrows furrowing with anger. "Don't call him that."
"Easy, Walker." Sam spoke at the same time as you did, also looking a little more tense with the name brought into the conversation, gesturing with his hand and pointing at Walker with his index finger warningly.
The aforementioned blinked a few times and then dropped his shoulders, exhaling a great breath of air. His blue eyes fell back on you before he spoke. "I'm trying, sweetheart, I really am― "
"Don't call her that." Bucky snapped this time, annoyed, but John completely ignored him, continuing to look at you in a way that really disgusted you and your lover alike, even Sam got uncomfortable with it, frowning at him.
"I still think you should switch sides here, (Y/N)." You kept quiet, allowing him to keep talking. Maybe you wanted to hear him, maybe you were giving him a chance to say something that would clean up all the garbage he had been saying so far. "I mean, you are an avenger, the last one standing and a very good friend of Steve, you were his partner. The right thing to do now would be for you to be my partner, don't you think?"
You were going to answer something immediately, your trembling lips parting as you felt a strange sensation when hearing the words Steve and avenger in the same sentence, but Bucky, once again, interrupted the conversation, raising his head towards the driver with a clenched jaw. He had enough. You had enough.
"Stop the car!"
Walker rolled his eyes, watching as Bucky stood up as the car came to a stop and moved to the side of the road, his hand entwining with yours, gently pulling you to follow him, knowing full well that all you wanted was to get out of there as fast as possible, just by reading your body language. "You know what? I get it, alright?"
When the blue-eyed super-soldier was on the ground, he turned to look at you, offering his hand to help you down as well, but you turned to Walker, feeling a wave of fury shake your body. "No, you don't get it. You don't understand what this shield means to us, what Steve means to us. You never will, John."
Walker opened his mouth to reply, but you interrupted him with your eyebrows rising ironically. "Oh, I almost forgot."
What immediately came following your words was your fist impacting against his face so fast and hard that not even he saw it coming. He let out a great whine and brought his hand to his nose, feeling how the blood began to come out of the nostrils thanks to, probably, a fracture.
You didn't stop to watch the man whimper and cry down on his seat, as you hurried to get out of the vehicle taking Bucky's hand, who kept a wide smile full of pride on his lips, looking openly satisfied with the situation.
"That's my girl." He murmured against your forehead as his arms pulled you close to his body and placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head. "I'm sorry you had to listen to all that, doll."
Sam decided to stay with John and his partner for a couple of minutes, to, as his good heart requested, listen to what he had to say, perhaps waiting for an apology. While you and your lover were simply holding each other on the side of the road, already away from the car.
You kissed Bucky's clavicle before separating from him and raising your head to join your gaze with his beautiful blue eyes, which, in the contrast of daylight, shone like never before. His orbs automatically softened once they landed on you. "He's a dick, don't worry about him, love."
"But he really choose to flirt with you in front of me. How bold. Switch sides he said, right?" Bucky's hands rested on your waist, keeping you close to him, as if you were such an idiot to want to get away from the warmth and comfort that his body offered you. "You're not going to leave me, are you, doll?"
You could feel your heart squeeze inside your chest when you saw a hint of insecurity flash in the blue of his eyes. Suddenly, he looked like a little lost puppy.
"Oh, baby, no." You released with an exhale of air, as you stood on tiptoe to level a bit with his height and both of your hands were raised towards his cheeks, lowering his face to you, making him focus only on you. "I'll never leave you, James. You're all I have, all I need. Only you. Some fool with a shield won't be able to keep me away from you, Steve couldn't, and neither will this one." You gave him a short kiss, caressing his face with the greatest delicacy in the world. You raised your eyebrows before speaking again. "And hell, there is a big difference between them."
Bucky gave you a little smile, almost dazzling you at how beautiful he was when he smiled. But after a few seconds that warm smile turned sad and melancholic, just before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to his body once more, in a strong hug, full of shared emotions.
"Never leave me, baby doll." He whispered against your ear, leaving a soft kiss on the side of your head.
"Never." You replied immediately, showing absolutely no doubt.
"You two finished?" Sam's voice brought you both back to reality. Bucky grunted, reluctantly pulling away his face from your neck. Your coworker was looking at you with a single raised eyebrow and when he saw how you finally separated from each other, he crossed his arms. "You know what the rule is, love birds."
"I hate you." The super soldier responded by shooting his co-worker a short, annoyed look.
Sam smirked. "No you don't."
The three of you started walking across the path back home, Bucky intertwining his flesh fingers with yours, keeping you close to him, as always.
"That punch back there was really necessary, though, (Y/N)?" The Falcon asked you, while he walked to your other side. An amused expression as he turned to you.
"It really was." You nodded your head with a big smile on your mouth, giggling shortly, making Sam laugh too with it.
But you and your best friend were surprised all of a sudden at hearing Bucky laughing next to you as well, both of you turning to look at him with raised eyebrows, totally stunned by his open display of emotion.
"My girl is the most badass of all." The super-soldier said after a few seconds of laughing softly, unable to erase the huge smile of pride plastered on his pretty face. A soft kiss was placed on your forehead, as he brought you closer to him. “My girl.” 
Sam rolled his eyes at you. "No PDA in front of me, guys. You know te rule, c’mon.”
"Shut up, Sam." You declared this time with a smile, while you put Bucky's flesh arm around your shoulders to be even closer to him, passing your arm around his waist, immediately feeling his natural warmth delightfully invade you. 
"I love you, doll." He murmured against the side of your head, his warm breath crashing against your skin.
"I love you too." You mumbled back, leaning your head against his chest.
"That's it, I'm flying."
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spiderbitchspiderbitch · 4 months ago
to be a god or a hero --- bucky barnes x immortal!reader
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perhaps immortal is a stretch but we’ll get to that later
summary: you’re just a regular gal working in a library, reading your way through life... except steve rogers is one of your favorite regulars and the two of you have a lot more in common than he might think. word count:  2800+ is arguably too long for a prologue but hey! lets get expository baby warnings: lil angsty, endgame spoilers but if you haven't seen that yet and ur in this tag baby idk what to tell you. character death, sad!bucky  a/n:  this will basically be my outlet for all the Feelings I Have after every episode of tfatws so if you’re interested in that (within this narrative) pleaseeeee lmk and i will continue to spew nonsense for u <3 operation give bucky some love commencing in three...two...
prologue - chapter one - chapter two masterlist
“Back already?”
“Completely unnerving that you do that.”
You smirked, eyes never lifting off the page in front of you. You held up a finger, eyes skimming along the end of the paragraph and........ done. You tucked today’s bookmark -- yesterday’s receipt from the coffee shop across the street -- deep into the crevice of the book and gently closed it, setting it to the side as you turned your gaze to the new story in front of you.
The young girl before you waited with typical, though somewhat subdued, teenage impatience. 
“But yes. Back already,” she conceded, holding up a thick novel bound in dark artwork. “Dropping this off and picking up the second one."
“That good, huh?” Her eyes lit up as she handed the volume to you, and you smiled again.
“I mean, enemies to lovers, fantasy with political criticism -- witches?! It was literally written for me,” she gushed, holding out her library card before you even had to ask. “Sorry, I mean, it was written for me. Trying to cut back on the literally’s -- have you read the series?”
"Witches?” you asked, shaking your head as you scanned her card and scanned the book. “Not really a fan.”
Wasn’t that the understatement of the century. Well, technically, last century.
“Oh,” she said, her voice a decidedly higher octave. You took in her expression - her judgement, her calculation, her confusion - as a knowing smirk naturally took over your features yet again. You cocked an eyebrow at her, daring her to put a voice to the thoughts you read plain as day in her eyes. “I mean..... yeah, that’s cool. I just didn’t peg you for the, uh, religious type, I guess.”
You laughed, as much for yourself as to ease the guilt that was bleeding into her cheeks. “You are correct. My best friend from when I was about your age used to fancy herself a witch -- she was very into all that, I mean.”
Look at you, being truthful. 
And there it was: the wide eyed innocence in pursuit of knowledge shining clear as day in her bright eyes, an inquisitive glow blossoming beneath her dark skin. “Like, modern, crystals and tarot and tea type witch? Or like, y’know, spells and curses and magic type witch?”
Spells and curses and magic. Hm. Perhaps if Margaret had been as well read as your favorite customer, she might have known the difference between the three.
“The latter,” you said, softly and kindly. The tone of forgiveness. You soaked up this young girls joy, taking in every last ray of excitement radiating off of her.
“That’s so cool,” she said so naturally, as if she couldn’t help it.  You decided not to rain on her parade. Instead, you soaked up this young girls joy, taking in every last ray of excitement radiating off of her. Even if you couldn’t stand in the blissful ray of her ignorance, you could still feel its warmth.
“She sure thought so,” you said, turning away from her as you slid the book onto the Returns Shelf. And while your eyes were away, she did what all bright young girls do: she asked a question.
“Where is she now?”
And truly, it was your fault for bringing Margaret up. She wasn’t your darkest past, but she was perhaps your most tragic. You hadn’t thought of her in awhile. Years perhaps. 
“Oh, she...” It truly had been too long since you’d thought of her. Sentimentality lodged itself in your throat, and you kept your eyes glued to the Returns Shelf for a moment too long. “She passed away.”
“Oh, wow, I’m--”
“Not to worry,” you said, turning to meet her with a bright, reassuring smile. “It was a long time ago.”
It sure as shit was. 
  - - - - -  
You met Captain America once. Well, met is a strong word. He was on tour, he was in bright blue, he punched Hitler in the face and the crowd went wild. 
Then, a while later, you saw him on TV. Same suit, same shield, only seventy or so years later. Lucky him, getting to check out for that long.
However, the first day he stepped into your library, it dawned on you that he was a real person. Not Captain America, capital C, capital A. Not just a memory, not just a guy onscreen, but a real, living person. A person like you. 
“Steve Rogers?” you repeated, typing it into the library computer. He’d called you over with the utmost politeness -- I, uh... well, ma’am, I can’t seem to figure this website out... you wouldn’t happen to have a pen and paper version, would you? No? Could you by chance help me out then? If you’ve got the time -- and it was a slow day and it’s not like he’d ever recognize you.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, eyes bouncing between you typing, your finger on the mouse, and the screen. 
“July 4th, 1918,” he said reflexively, before squeezing his eyes shut in a moment of embarrassment. Had he wanted to stay undercover? He wasn’t doing a very good job of it, if so. That baseball cap wasn’t fooling anybody.
Then again, he came to your small library instead of the countless others in this huge city. 
“Easy ones down,” you said, finishing the 1 - 8 in the text box for the year. You turned to him, a smirk pulling at your lips as his face flushed. “Now......... What’s your favorite book?”
Relief flooding into those pink cheeks. “Gee, well, now that’s a tough one.”
He was so formal that day. It eased over time: he stopped correcting himself when he swore around you, he started referring to you by the first name of your current alias instead of “ma’am”, he added your recommendations to his list. He’d disappear to his favorite nook upstairs -- the one tucked away behind the true crime shelves that caught a beautiful view of the Manhattan skyline. And if he ended up staying until closing, he’d walk you home. 
In fact, the two of you were nearly friends. You’re sure he’d say you were. And you couldn’t blame him: he talked as if you were. Steve would name drop the people in his life as if you knew them, too. Some were newer, fresh, like “’d like Nat, she’s even more guarded than you...” But some were older, like scars and memories: “...Buck used to lend me his books, but would get all mad at me because I’d sketch in the margins...”.
But from you? Nothing, really. Bits and pieces. He’d tell you that you were an old soul, wise beyond your years, all that shit -- and you’d laugh and shrug it off. It was sweet, it was friendly.
Which is why you were so surprised he crossed the line. Not even crossed, but threw himself over.
You were pushing the Returns Cart into the elevator when a hand caught the door. You didn’t even have to crane your neck all the way up to his height to know it was him. You moved the cart to the left, making space for him as you gave him a tired smile. You were almost off, anyways.
“Hey, Stevie, how are--”
He stepped in, and just as the doors closed, uttered the words that made your body freeze.
With a proud smile, he said it: your full fucking name. Your real name. Not the one you put on the desk during your shift, not the one on your name tag or your bills or your passport -- your real one given to you by your parents in 18-fucking-99. 
Really, was that the best you could do? Over a hundred years living in a hundred countries with a dozen different identities, and all you got is “huh”?
He said it again, and that’s when you noticed a file in his hand. “I knew you weren’t just a history buff. Not with all that fiction you read. So I had Tony look into it--”
“--and wow. Look at this,” he said, pulling out a photo from the file: it was you, shot on the highest quality camera money could buy in 1922. “I mean, you’re older than me!”
“I... Steve, that’s my grandmother,” you said, your brain finally working.
The look he gave you was clear: he’s not buying it.
“But why are you having your billionaire friend do a background check on me? Do I not have a right to privacy?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious why I might want to do a background check on you,” he said, hurt in his eyes. Trauma. Trust issues. If you weren’t so upset, you might have taken pity on him. “How was I supposed to know this is what they’d find?”
“What, photos of my grandmother? Wow, tell Iron Man I’m sure happy America’s sweetheart is safe knowing that his librarians grandma used to be a flapper,” you huffed, pushing the cart out as soon as the doors creaked open. 
Brow furrowed, Steve’s eyes followed you, then bounced to the file. 
He called out your alias, then your real name.
Maybe if you didn’t flinch so hard when you heard it, your lie would go down a bit smoother... but you hadn’t heard that name in decades, and to hear it come out of the mouth of a man who’s already got his fair share of relics made you feel old.
You’d wanted to shout at him, to scream and yell and make him apologize and make him forget. You wanted to be the twenty-something who knew a lot because of all the books she read... not because she was a hundred and twenty-something. 
Instead, you’d just cried. A lot. Too much, even. Steve quietly led you to the back, to his spot, and he sat a comfortable distance away looking sad and guilty and frowning every time he caught himself getting excited that you were like him.
Except you weren’t. He was special and brave and good. And everything about you was an accident - irreversible and ignorant to the laws of time. 
You didn’t talk about it after that day. He saw you weep and that seemed to be enough for him. He still called you by your real name though -- Y/N, he would say, as if it was that simple. 
Every now and then, when he was telling a story from his past, you’d slip in a nod of understanding, an anecdote of truth -- just to let him know he wasn’t alone.
And then one day, you disappeared. Well, it didn’t feel like disappearing at the time. It felt like the fuzzy feeling you get when your fingers fall asleep. Except, it spread to your hands, to your arm, and then suddenly, your arm wasn’t there. It was replaced by the phantom sensation of an arm: your brain was sending signals to move it, but there was nothing there. And then suddenly, you were nothing but ash in the air, swirling over the Returns Shelf.
- - - - - - - -
When you came back, things were different. Things were bleak. You’d spent your entire life adapting to new cultures, new trends, new languages, and you were suddenly five years behind.
Your teenage regular had apparently gone off to another state for college. Your thriving team of employees had dwindled to one, who was barely keeping the library afloat. And your only other friend, Steve... well, he must’ve found another library to frequent over the past five years.
The loneliness hit you like a truck. Like a train. Like any stupid fucking thing that hits another stupid fucking thing hard. 
You were tired of building new lives. Meeting new people just to be forced to leave them so you wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Sure, apparently Tony Stark knew about you -- but he was dead now, and you were unimportant. 
You’d spent a hundred years throwing yourself into books to pass the time, and now a couple of paragraphs couldn’t even hold your focus. 
The bell on the door chimed, but whoever it was stayed in their spot, not yet approaching your desk. You still had a few moments to try to remember what the paragraph you just read even said. 
“’Scuse me, uh...,” a deep voice started, a cautious and shy tone. “Is there a Y/N working here?”
You froze: it felt like only a few months ago, you were warming up to Steve calling you that... and now a stranger?
You didn’t look up. You wanted to be casual, calm, collected.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” you said. Nailed it. 
But then: a quiet puff of air through the nose. “Yeah, Steve said you’d say that.”
Before you even met his eyes, you had a gun drawn on him.
Why the fuck was he so handsome?
His eyes lingered on your gun, not in a fearful or even calculating way, but with such exhaustion, you nearly laughed. He put his gloved hands up in surrender as if this was routine. 
“Did he say I’d do this, too?” you asked. You noticed a letter sticking out of his right hand.
“No, he failed to mention the librarian had a gun,” he said, with tired eyes. “Look, miss, I’m just here to deliver this to you, alright? Then we’re square.”
“Who are you?”
“Friend of Steve’s.”
“Who...”, you clicked the safety off, “are you?”
He sighed again, as if having a gun stuck in his face was nothing more than a nuisance on his Tuesday morning. 
“James Buchanan Barnes. Steve called me Bucky,” he said. His eyes seemed to be looking everywhere but you.
“Bucky,” you said. The hair standing on the back of your neck relaxed, the adrenaline beginning to leave your veins. “Steve’s told me lots about you.”
“Likewise,” he countered, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Now can you put the gun down?”
You took him in. Like, really took him in. Bucky was the one who liked fantasy books and danced with girls. He was the one who suddenly went from past tense to a present tense. You avoided reading about Steve or any of the superhero things in the news, but this man in front of you had something to do with it. Steve’s best friend from the forties, somehow resurrected in front of you.
This handsome, leather clad, scruffy and grumpy man in front of you, who looked like he was in desperate need of some tea and a long nap.
You clicked on the safety and pulled your finger off the trigger, opting to set the gun in an accessible spot on the desk.
He breathed out a sigh of relief, though it felt more out of annoyance than genuine fear for his life.
“Great, pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, approaching your desk. Again, your name in his mouth made your bones feel like they were pulsing along with your heartbeat. You watched his eyes bounce to the small placard on your desk, his brow furrowing. “Unless, you prefer I call you--”
“Y/N is fine,” you nodded, surprising yourself. “You prefer James or Bucky?”
His eyes flashed to yours for only a moment.
“Bucky’s fine, but it doesn’t really matter,” he said, again avoiding your eyes. He placed the creased, crinkled white letter on your desk. “I’m just here to give you this.”
You recognized Steve’s handwriting on the front and you laughed.
“He didn’t wanna come see me himself?”
“He’s dead.”
Sometimes, when you freeze, it feels like every single molecule, every atom in your body comes to a complete standstill, like a needle could drop a mile away and you’d hear it.
But other times, it feels like the life in your body - the atoms, the breath, the blood - is sucked right out of you. 
You didn’t realize your hands were shaking, trembling in such a small and sad way that Bucky could barely look at you, but also couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“You didn't...” He didn’t finish his question.
No, you didn’t hear. You didn’t know. You could barely hold your head up when you walked down the street anymore.
It was too much, much too much. You felt your eyes brimming with tears, but worse: you felt the breakdown coming, and there was a handsome and inexplicable stranger in your way.
When you looked up at him, you planned to ask him to get the fuck out. To ask why he couldn’t have stamped the letter and sent it, instead of coming in person and embarrassing you like this. 
But when you caught his eyes.......god, you could see it all in him, feel it all around you. The pain, the grief, the swallowed suffering.
The loss of a best friend.
His eyes widened ever-so-slightly at the connection with yours. His soft gaze, so far above yours and meeting your eyes with an all-too-familiar look.
Just as you opened your mouth to say something, anything -- I’m sorry for your loss, thank you for bringing this to me, I miss him too -- he broke from your eyes, glanced at the clock on the wall, and, without meeting your gaze again, muttered, “I, uh, have to get to therapy.”
And just like that, he was out the door.
what a long motherfucking prologue sorry everyone --> anddd here’s chapter one!!!
BUT hey ... if u got this far and would like to see more (likely following alongside the events of tfatws) please let me know so i can continue writing this 4 u<3 maybe even get a lil tag list going if this actually shows up in the tags lol
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ragnarockandrcll · a year ago
me: i get five, maybe six hours of sleep each night.
my doctor: you’re a teenager why the fuck are you not sleeping more
me: *flashing back to all the nights ive stayed up because of gay fanfiction*
me:... i like to read
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anna-phora · 3 months ago
gazes (joaquín torres x reader)
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SUMMARY ››››› It's become increasingly apparent to Sam and Bucky that you and Joaquin cannot take your eyes off each other. Unfortunately for them, you two have decided to be Professionals and that means keeping your eyes, hands, and lips to yourselves. No matter how difficult it is.
WORD COUNT ››››› 3,716
WARNINGS ››››› sexy times implied
A/N ››››› Ok so these headcanons y'all have been sending me are incredible. I read these two back to back and I just had to write something connecting them.
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The kid had no tact.
Sam wasn't exactly sure why he expected more from the guy who'd led into his theory that Steve was on the moon by referencing vague internet rumors, but even despite that, he'd assumed Joaquin possessed some sense of subtlety.
Instead he was over at the leg press trying and failing not to stare at Y/N as she bent over at the middle to help Bucky push deeper into the stretch.
"You know she could hit you with a harassment claim for staring at her like that."
Joaquin jumped, the weights dropping suddenly with a loud clang. Across the gym, Bucky laughed as Y/N whipped around to face the two men. "Everything ok?" Her voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Joaquin turned towards her, giving a little wave.
"Foot slipped," he answered, and she nodded, turning back to Bucky quickly.
"Foot slipped," Sam mocked.
"Dude, you scared the shit out of me."
"If you paid half the amount of attention you give to Y/N to your surroundings, you'd have known I'd been standing here for three minutes."
Joaquin gave a defensive scoff. "I wasn't staring at her--I was just--" he stopped, searching for an excuse, and Sam raised his eyebrows.
When it was clear Joaquin couldn't find a convincing enough lie to end the sentence, Sam shook his head. "You know, if you talk to her, she might actually let you take her out."
"I talk to her," Joaquin protested.
Sam shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "No, I mean talk to her. Chat her up. You've gotta have some game, right?"
"I've got game..." His sentence trailed off as he turned to look in her direction, finding her standing over Bucky's feet with her hands on her hips. "But like, we're co-workers, you know? I don't want to make things awkward around the gym or the compound or anything."
"Joaquin," Sam said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're already making things awkward."
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"He's staring at your ass again."
"And you're trying to get out of stretching again," you quipped, moving Bucky's leg closer to his chest. The super soldier tilted his head as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of your accusation.
"Doesn't change the fact that I think you're about to give him a heart attack."
"I highly doubt he's worried in the slightest about my ass. He's probably zoned out."
"He's definitely focused in...on--"
"On my ass," you finished, shaking your head. You might have given Bucky's claim a little more credence if it weren't for the fact that Joaquin Torres had been anything but the consummate professional towards you. He was friendly and upbeat and welcoming, and one of the few genuinely good guys you'd ever had the pleasure of working with.
You'd never caught him staring once, and it's not like the boy was exactly known for subtlety. Last time Bucky had asked him to cover for him so you couldn't come down and teach him the right way to train his body, he'd told you that Bucky had left the compound to get you a thank you gift for all of your hard work. All while staring at the gym door.
The heavy sound of weights falling against each other echoed throughout the gym, and you spun around to face the sound. Sam hovered over Joaquin's shoulder, the latter no longer working the leg press but instead looking as if he'd just received the scare of his life.
Bucky broke into laughter, and you smacked at his leg.
"Everything ok?" you called out, and Joaquin smiled, giving a sheepish little wave at you. "Foot slipped."
"It's a good thing he wasn't at the bench press. You might have killed him."
Your head snapped back to Bucky who was giving you a shit eating grin.
"You're an asshole."
"I'm right."
"Do you think if I ask nicely Wakanda will take you back?"
"So you know I'm right."
You chanced a glance back at Joaquin who was still talking to Sam before turning back around and placing your hands on your hips. "I'm calling Ayo."
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You were running early.
Not to any event in particular, but just for the general course of your day. It was rare for you to wake up to your first alarm so completely refreshed, and with a fully awake brain, you found it much easier to navigate the morning. You were able to get dressed without crawling back in bed for a few more minutes, and didn't have to battle with sleepy indecision when choosing what you wanted to eat for breakfast.
One thing after another just continued to roll your way, leading you to the gym much earlier than usual.
And that's where the luck stopped.
Or maybe it didn't stop. But it definitely took a turn. Because while you fully expected someone else to be in the gym already, you hadn't expected just one person to be in the gym. And even if you had, you wouldn't have guessed that that one person would be Joaquin. And if, for some reason, you'd had the foresight to sense that, you definitely never would have pictured him to be running on the treadmill shirtless.
You stopped in your tracks, eyes falling to the bouncing dog tags on his chest and then lower to the well defined abs you'd somehow never seen before.
It felt like you'd seen just about every man in this compound shirtless. At some point, they all seemed to strip in the gym or during one of your group training classes you ran for those who weren't field agents. Bucky was shirtless half the time you worked together. It was so normal, you hardly even blinked an eye anymore. Seeing Sam without a shirt was more rare and quite the sight, but it'd never caught your breath quite like seeing Joaquin. Joaquin, who had never so much as worn a tank top in the gym, Joaquin.
And now here he was, chest bare and heaving, feet pounding rhythmically against the treadmill, hair still messy from his pillow and sweat. Your brain couldn't seem to function correctly, offering you images of the sight before you, only closer. Much closer. Hovering inches over your stretched out body as the headboard behind you rammed into the wall with the force of each thrust--
"Hey," Joaquin greeted, noticing you standing off to the side. You blinked, heat rushing to your face as he turned the treadmill down to a more leisurely pace. "Something wrong with my form?"
It was tempting to lie and offer to "help him fix it." Or to be completely honest and tell him you'd never seen a human form as perfect as his.
But neither of those responses were professional or even appropriate, and you needed this job.
You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, I was just wondering why you were wearing those," you said, gesturing to his dog tags, and allowing your eyes to fall to his chest once more. You followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his body, heading to the waistband of his shorts. Joaquin reached to touch his tags, causing them to jingle together once more and pull your attention up to him.
"It's hard to let them go," he smiled, ruefully, hitting the button so the belt slowed even more. "I'd say it's a habit, putting them on, but at this point they're just like a part of me."
You nodded, wishing you'd taken this conversation anywhere but to the idea of dog tags and what they stood for. It wasn't so much a mood killer but a guilt inducer because instead of you feeling embarrassed and somber, all you wanted to do was grab them and pull him closer to you.
He must have read the conflict on your face because he gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, sorry, it's kinda morbid."
"No," you shook your head, clearing it of the daydream induced fog. "I probably shouldn't have asked."
"No, nah, it's cool," his smile grew into grin, as the belt came to a stop. He leaned his forearms against the console, staring at you as if waiting for you to continue the conversation. Which you were not equipped to do with a smiling and shirtless and sweaty Joaquin Torres right before you.
"Well, thanks for being cool about it," you said with a nod.
My God, something was wrong with you. They were just abs. And sure, maybe the abs belonged to the man who not only found the time to moonlight as a superhero but star in your increasingly dirty dreams of late, but it was just a body party that you'd seen a million times.
But never on Joaquin.
You blamed everything your brain was doing to you on Bucky and all of his stupid comments about Joaquin's supposed fixation on your ass. You wondered what he would say if he could see you now. "And I thought I was half machine. I could practically see your brain short circuiting." or "If that's what you're like when you see him half-naked, how are you ever going to--"
"Yeah, of course," Joaquin said, still smiling, his eyes lifting up over your shoulder as the other door to the gym opened and Sam came in. "Hey," he greeted with a jerk of his chin.
"Hey," Sam said, drawing closer, his eyes on you. You forced a smile on to your own face, and lifted a hand, not trusting anything that was coming out of your mouth.
"You're here early," the other man said, stepping onto the treadmill next to Joaquin's, and putting his water bottle down next to the machine.
Both of them were looking at you now, and it's not like you could handle staying in this gym any longer. "I came down looking for my water bottle. I think I left it here yesterday."
Sam raised his eyebrows glancing around the gym, and Joaquin stepped down off of the machine. "Do you want help looking for it?" he asked, and your whole body seemed to tense up at the idea, your brain transporting you to a future scenario where the two of you wandered around the room, Joaquin next to you or behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, all the while searching for a water bottle that was sitting on your dresser.
"No." Your voice came out too high, but you tried to play it off, shaking your head. "I've already interrupted your workout enough. It's either by the weights or not in here."
"Alright," he nodded. "If you need any help looking around the compound though, let me know."
"Thanks," you said. And then you gave another stupid wave and beelined it for the weight racks because you had to get out of here.
You made a show of looking next to each section of weights, even bending over to check underneath of them as if it could have been knocked under somewhere. After you felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to be convincing, you straightened up, empty handed. You turned back to Joaquin and Sam, both watching you rather than continuing their workouts as you might have hoped.
"Not here," you called back with a shrug and then left the gym and headed straight up to your shower.
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He was nothing if not predictable.
The minute Y/N bent over to check behind the weight rack, his eyes were glued to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the bright teal spandex shorts she wore. As she pulled herself back up from searching for her water bottle and turned to them, Joaquin quickly looked to Sam as if the two had been talking the whole time and then "casually" returned to her.
"Not here!" she said, shrugging and then walking out of the gym, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she left through the door Sam had just entered by.
"So, what'd I interrupt?"
Joaquin looked up at Sam as if remembering he was there. "What?"
"You know, when the two of you were sitting by this machine making eyes at each other? Did you actually say anything to her or….?"
Joaquin shook his head. "No, she just came in and, uh, we chatted for a second, and then…" he trailed off, as if not fully remembering any of the past ten, twenty, however many minutes.
"You just chatted," Sam repeated, the disbelief on his face edging into his voice.
"Yeah," Joaquin nodded.
"Anywhere in this chat you finally ask her out?"
"Nah, it didn't feel right."
"It didn't--she was practically taking off the other half of your clothes with her eyes," Sam sputtered, gesturing to Joaquin's shorts.
The kid laughed and shook his head as if Sam didn't know what he was talking about. Joaquin moved to exit the gym as well. "I'll see you later, man," he said, leaving a very exasperated Sam behind.
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Bucky Barnes was a motherfucking liar.
"Let's grab a drink on Friday," he said.
"Consider it me making it up to you for being such a pain in your ass," he said.
"I'll buy," he said.
This wasn't just you and your favorite co-worker getting a drink. This was a goddamn set up. Because one hour and three mojitos into the night, Sam and Joaquin walked in the front door.
"I fucking hate you," you said, glaring up at his stupid smug face.
"Well, what a surprise, he grinned, as you shook a finger up at him.
"I told you in confidence I'm a flirty drunk."
He snorted, giving you a look out the side of his eyes. "You told me you were a flirty drunk after you sent me several highly inappropriate drunk text messages about what you wanted to do to a certain Lieutenant, who," the self-satisfied smile was back on Bucky's face. "Is making his way over to us right now."
"When I get home, I swear to God, I'm buying you a ticket to Wakanda."
Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "You're not going to do it now?"
"I didn't bring my credit card because you said you were paying," you huffed.
Before Bucky could respond, Sam and Joaquin were next to the two of you, greeting Bucky with hand slaps and one armed hugs. Sam came around and wrapped an arm around you first before sliding into the seat next to Bucky, and Joaquin came forward, giving you a quick hug.
Which was a first.
More than the feeling of his back underneath your palm, or the way he seemed to emanate warmth, you were done in by how absolutely incredible he smelled. But before you could fully identify whether it was his shampoo, a cologne, or just him, he pulled away and took the only other available seat near the group--the one next to you.
"I see you started without us," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at the assortment of glasses that sat before you. Most of them were Bucky's as he downed beers faster than should have been humanly possible.
"Hard drinker, huh Y/N," Joaquin teased, shooting you a smile.
"Pfft," you dismissed. "Only three are mine."
"Three?" Sam asked, leaning forward to better look at you. "How long have you been here?"
"An hour," you said, completely unnecessarily leaning forward too.
Bucky shrugged. "I got the time wrong."
"Guess we better catch up then," Joaquin said, and you sank back into your chair, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge.
"If you can."
They did.
You were outpaced fairly quickly against the two soldiers and one super soldier. The rum-induced fuzziness around the edges of your brain was compounded by having Joaquin so close to you. At some point he'd pulled his chair a bit closer to yours so that he could better hear the conversation, and you don't remember when it happened, but his arm had also slid around the back of your chair. To your relief neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to acknowledge this. In fact, Bucky was positively quiet and normal all things considered. Everything was going better than you could have expected.
Until the music kicked up.
Sam was the first to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was Captain America. Of course he'd been targeted by the stunning girl in the red dress who'd only had to come up and ask "Does Captain America dance?" to succeed in pulling him off to the dance floor.
Bucky was next. Although he wasn't tugged onto the dance floor by his hand the way Sam was. It was the sight of the person in the tight black number that did him in, luring him away to the dance as if drawn by a magnet.
And then it was you and Joaquin, sitting at the bar. Alone. Together.
You looked up from your drink, pushing the straw down into the ice to stir up the clinking sounds, and he took a swig of his beer before putting the bottle back down on the bar.
"Alright, let's dance," he said, nodding with his head towards the crowd, and you let out a disbelieving snort.
"I don't know how to dance. I mean, I can dance," you attempted to clarify, although you had a feeling words were failing you at the moment. "But that's real dancing, and I can't do that."
"I guess you're lucky you have a really good teacher asking you to dance then," Joaquin grinned, holding out a hand. You looked down at his open palm, hesitating only for a second before you slid your hand into his and jumped down from your chair.
He led you out through the moving bodies expertly, dodging couples who were clearly more into the dancing than each other and couples where the complete opposite was true. The small bit of space he found you was closer to the center of the dance floor than you'd usually feel comfortable with, but when he turned towards you with that look on his face, any of your residual anxiety had vanished.
"Ok, come close," he said, and you took a small step closer to him, causing him to laugh. "Closer." He gestured, and you moved forward some more, Joaquin's hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you even closer. His hands rose, one finding its way to your mid-back, pushing your elbow up to rest on his, as the other took your hand and placed it over shoulder.
"This ok?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, trying to keep your attention on him, his instructions and his words, and not the way that you could feel just about every part of him from the way he was angled against you. His right side was flush against your left, and his knee pushed between yours.
"Just follow me," he said, his head bent close to yours. Before you could even respond, he started to move, pulling you along with him through the dance. It was smooth and rolling and you'd never seen a guy able to roll his hips like Joaquin. He seemed to know exactly how to guide you, moving his body to push and pull yours along whenever you hesitated or felt lost, coaxing waves and movements out of you that you didn't know you could do. Each success was met with a small word of praise and a brilliant smile, as his hands shifted to hold you closer, and you wrapped your own hand around his neck to better feel and predict his movements.
It felt as if a fog had rolled in over the dancefloor, obstructing all else from view so it was just you and Joaquin, eyes locked to each other as you moved together, occupying the same space.
The song faded into the next one, and Joaquin stopped. You went to move backwards, to give him space and have him move on as many other of the more skilled dancing couples seemed to do, switching partners amongst each other. But he kept you close to him, hand sliding down to your waist.
"Now you can really dance," he teased, his eyes shining as they stared into yours.
"Only with you." It was supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, but it came out too quiet and earnest. Joaquin licked his lips, and your eyes followed the gesture, flickering between his mouth and his eyes.
You don't remember making the decision. You only remember, moving even further into his arms, and pushing yourself up to reach his lips with your own. He bent down to meet you, pulling you even closer and pressing his hard body into yours. His lips moved as slowly and sensually as his hips had, drawing you in and guiding you through a careful rhythm that promised much, much more.
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Sam sat with Bucky at the bar. Joaquin and Y/N had disappeared somewhere amongst the dance floor, hidden amongst the crowd.
"You think it worked?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
"If it didn't we're screwed," Sam shook his head, taking a swig from his drink.
As if on cue, the two emerged from the swaying bodies, hand in hand, sweaty and much happier than they had been when Sam had left them at the bar.
"We're gonna head back to the compound," Joaquin said with practiced casualness.
"Yeah?" Bucky asked, and Sam swore there was mischief literally glinting in his eyes.
"Yeah," Joaquin nodded too fast and too many times. "Yeah, Y/N forgot about something there…"
"What'd you forget?" Bucky asked, turning to Y/N with a wolfish smile.
"Nothing. We're going to have sex," Y/N said, flatly, causing Sam to nearly spit out his drink. "And if you say one more word, I know a pilot who will fly you to Wakanda himself. No ticket needed."
Bucky mimicked zippering his lips into a smug look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging Joaquin out of the bar by his hand. And he followed. Eyes glued to her ass.
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petals42 · 3 months ago
I guess I write sambucky now?? short fic, set post-season 1 (though written before ep 6 airs), established relationship
It’s five months after New York, almost three months after they started being… them when Sam walks into his bedroom to see Bucky sitting on his bed, shirtless. And armless. It’s sitting on the bedside table next to him. He’s tense and almost glaring at it. 
“Is something wrong?” Sam says, stepping into the room fully and closing the door. “Is it broken?” Instinctively, he looks around. The last time he had seen Bucky without the arm, it was because the Dora Milaje had disabled it somehow and Sam has no doubt that they could get into this house if they wanted to. They could get into any house if they wanted to.
“No,” Bucky says. “No, it’s just-- it’s heavy, you know? I thought it might be nice to-” he waves at it, lying there, inert on the table. “If that’s okay with you.” He is not looking quite at Sam, but just off to the side like he’s waiting for an order. 
“Oh,” Sam says, surprised. He’d never thought about it like that. He figured with all the fancy technology and Bucky’s super strength... “Well--” 
“I can put it back on,” Bucky interrupts, reaching for it as if Sam’s fraction of hesitation was the answer he expected. “I know I look weird without--” 
“Hey, no, wait,” Sam says and he’s grateful for his training that he’s fast enough he can reach out and grab Bucky’s wrist before Bucky gets a chance to grab the arm. He squats down so they are eye-level. “Wait, that’s not what I was going to say.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, just clenches his jaw as if bracing for bad news. Sam slides his hand up Bucky’s arm to press his hand to Bucky’s cheeks as if he can massage the tension away. 
“You do not look weird without the arm,” Sam says. “You look--” he hesitates. They don’t say words like beautiful or gorgeous in their relationship; it’s still mostly playful banter and laughter and Bucky-Bucky doesn’t like words like that. Sam doesn’t like to think about why Bucky doesn’t like words like that. “You look like yourself, man.” He knows he got it right when he feels Bucky relax under him. 
“Yeah?” Bucky says and he goes for casual but Sam can hear the relief in it. “You sure?”
“Same ugly mug I’ve been stuck with for months,” Sam says, leaning forward to peck Bucky’s forehead before rising to take off his own shirt and pants. From the corner of his eye, he watches Bucky stretch his arm over his head and roll his shoulders back and Sam can admit to himself that his eyes do catch on the lack a few times, the part where Bucky’s shoulder seems to abruptly end instead of shifting into the cool black of metal but he still looks like Bucky. And he does look relaxed, Sam realizes. He hadn’t thought about how much the arm would weigh or what strain that would put on Bucky’s chest or back, but the shield is heavy, he knows. Throwing it around all day is exhausting. He can’t imagine being literally attached to it all day. 
He has to laugh as he finishes brushing his teeth and gets into bed with Bucky still stretching and flexing, twisting around the bed like a contented cat. 
“Dude, you want a back massage or something?” 
“Mm, does it come with a happy ending?” Bucky says, rolling over to smirk at him.
“See, I try to be nice and your mind goes straight to the gutter,” Sam grumbles, like that’s not one of his favorite things about Bucky, the fact that the man is funny and witty and dirty and-- and still basically purring as he stretches again. Honestly, it’s almost enough to make Sam say yes to both ideas. “Jeez, Buck, when’s the last time you took that thing off?” Sam doesn’t remember seeing it off, really, and that’s weird now that he knows Bucky clearly enjoys it so much.
“Mm… it came off for a second in-”
“I know that one,” Sam says. “That doesn’t count. I mean, like this, like really took it off?”
Next to him, Bucky stops stretching. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I had it off a lot in Wakanda.”
“Wakanda?” Sam says. “Bucky, that was years ago.” A lot of years if you count the time they were blipped. 
“Yeah, well,” Bucky lifts one shoulder in a rough approximation of a shrug. “It’s… you know, it’s not safe, really. To have it off. If someone were to attack or--” He closes his eyes and stops himself and Sam knows he’s taking a breath and counting to five. Knows cause sometimes he has to do that too. “I figured, here, with you, it’s probably okay to-- we’re probably okay.”
“Um, excuse me,” Sam says, laughing and shoving at Bucky’s shoulder. “Probably? Man, your boyfriend is Captain America, in case you forgot. I am basically a super solider. I am faster than any human alive-- who hasn’t been superserumed, which is cheating by the way. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with this specimen of strength. This bastion of non-toxic masculinity. This--
“Oh my god,” Bucky says, punching him in the stomach. “Shut up.”
“I’m Captain America! I got you!” Sam says, still laughing. “I will protect you like you are the 51st state! Like you are a bald eagle! Like--”
“I’m going to kill you myself if you don’t shut up,” Bucky says. “With only one arm if I have to.”
“Psh, you couldn’t take me with both arms, old man,” Sam says but he settles back and Bucky rolls into his side, draping his arm across Sam’s waist and they are both warm and happy and Bucky feels safe and Sam feels the same way.
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buckysbiota · 2 months ago
Dial tones - b.b.
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
TW: angst lmao, lil bit of fluff as well, cursing, physical injuries (???) fatws spoilers I guess?
Words: 2.8K
A/N: my sleep deprived single ass wrote this piece listening to the Monday soundtrack ✨ I love how I make a post announcing a small break and then this happens 💖 anyway take care sweethearts 🥺💗 i'm crawling back to my desk again
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A pair of soft lips pressed against his forehead, bringing him out of the deep slumber he was in.
“Hey sleepyhead,” you whispered as you gave his forehead a kiss. A small mumble came out of his mouth, along with a groan as he cracked one eye open.
“Where are you off to?” He croaked as he looked you up and down, a floral maxi-dress flowing around your figure and heels giving you a few inches more, your purse slung over your shoulder.
“Brunch with girlfriends,” one of your hands sifted through his hair as you pressed a final kiss against his hairline, “I’ll be back in a few hours, I love you.”
He felt his eyelids grew heavy, his body wanting to go back into the warm and comfortable silence. The sounds of you milling around in the bedroom only aiding the process. He softly called out an ‘I love you’ back when he heard the door creak open and he fell back into a deep slumber again.
* * *
The buzzing sound that just wouldn’t stop next to his head finally woke him up again. Checking the time on his watch, he guessed you would return soon, hopefully with leftovers of the cake you always brought him after a brunch with your friends. The feeling that small gesture gave him couldn’t be translated into words. It left him jittery and warm at the same time, but made him feel calm and secure as well, a feeling that only you could give him.
“Hey lover, I got a little something for you,” you set the little box in front of him, lips pursed awaiting his reaction.
“What is this?” He cut through the little sticker that held the box closed and lifted the lid.
“You got me a piece of cake?” He furrowed his brows as he stared at the cake, lifting the piece out of the box. “I thought you were out with your friends?”
“Yeah, we were ordering dessert and I know you like cake, so I got you a piece!” You nodded as you shrugged your coat off.
“You thought about me? When you were out with your friends?”
The keys in your hands jingled as you put them down on the counter and you tilted your head sideways. Your eyebrows were pulled together in confusion.
“Yeah, silly. I always think about you? Come on, you can eat it during Masterchef”
The buzzing of his phone pulled him out of his daydream and he scoffed when he saw it was Sam, calling him for the 14th time that morning.
“Christ, Wilson, don’t you have anything better to do?” He snapped into the phone as he searched around the bedroom for a clean shirt to put on.
“Turn on the fucking tv, you imbecile,” Sam scoffed and Bucky rolled his eyes. He sniffed a t-shirt that was hanging over a chair and pulled it over his head, before grabbing the remote and turning on the tv.
“-Terrorist organization known as the Flag Smashers have attacked a warehouse in Brooklyn, New York. Police report up to 13 casualties, as well as hundreds of wounded. The warehouse in Montague street exploded after the raid where-“
The ringing in his ears grew louder as he he dropped the tv remote on the ground. Wasn’t your usual brunch spot on that exact same street? He checked his wristwatch again, seeing that you were indeed a little later than usual.
His right palm grew sweaty as he felt his heart beat quicken. Only after Sam kept calling his name repeatedly, he zoned back in again.
“-Dude? Bucky! Are you there still?”
“Uh, yeah, give me a minute.”
“No, hey, what? We gotta go-”
Bucky didn’t hear whatever Sam said next. He pulled away the phone from his ear and disconnected the call. You were his emergency contact, so he pressed the first name and waited for the dial tone to come on.
The dial tone only sounded once before he heard your voice say that you were unavailable and would call back as soon as you could.
This meant that either you were on the phone with someone else, your phone was dead or you were dead.
He let himself fall down on the end of the bed and he rubbed his face with his hands. The only option for him was to go to your brunch spot and find out where the fuck you were before he lost his mind completely.
His phone went off again, Sam’s name lighting up the screen instead of the name he was hoping for.
“Dude, what the fuck? We gotta go man, Karli should still be around,” Sam’s voice was strained and Bucky heard the sound of zippers going up in the background.
“Sam,” Bucky’s voice felt raw, something lodged into his throat when he tried to coherently say the words. “I think y/n is there. I-I gotta go find her, she’s- she’s not picking up her phone-“
Sam interrupted the train of thought that would probably result in a rampage on Bucky’s behalf.
“Buck. Calm down. How sure are you that she’s at the site?” Sam spoke slowly, his voice a steady stream of words that calmed some of the raging thoughts in Bucky’s head.
“She was out for brunch with her friends? I-uh the place is in the same street, but Sam-,” he breathed out, the feeling of his worst nightmare coming true, “the explosion, what if-“
“No hey, Buck, no,” Sam interrupted him again, “we’re not thinking about that. I’ll go after Karli, you go look for y/n, alright?”
Bucky muttered a ‘yes’ as he stood up and looked around the room for his suit and boots. The hidden compartment beneath the floor in the closet opened and he pulled out a few knives, just to be sure.
The keys to his motorcycle laid in the dish next to the door, the sight of your keys missing serving as a reminder that he had to find you - one way or another.
Two steps at a time, he descended to the garage where his bike was parked. The drive to your favourite cafe was way shorter than usual, the speed of his bike testing local traffic laws, as well as the fact that most people were running away instead of going to the explosion site.
Pure chaos - that’s what he could describe the situation as. The building had collapsed onto the street, blocking the way in from that side. The other side had a ton of civilians, as well as policemen, firefighters and medical personnel, trying to get everyone to safety, as well as trying to keep journalists out. The little breakfast spot you usually frequented was only a few buildings over from the collapsed building.
People were walking around, blood virtually everywhere on their bodies, other people on stretchers looking like they were on the verge of death and he felt his chest constricting. You were probably around here, at best unharmed, but the voice in his head told him you could just as well have some sort of injury that threatened your life.
He tried to remain calm as he thought of what the best plan of action was to find out what happened to you and where in god's name you were. His worst nightmare would come true if he didn't find you stat.
Rhodey landed in front of him, the mask shifting up so his face was visible.
“Sam is already pursuing Karli, why aren’t you there?” he cut right to the chase.
Bucky threw him a frantic look as he shut off his bike, “I- my-, my girlfriend might be here. Do you have any names of the- the victims?”
The last words were hard to get out. If your name was amongst the victims, he wasn’t sure what he would do.
Rhodey looked at him quizzically, “I mean, if she’s a money-laundering, gun stealing criminal then yeah, I’ve got a list? All casualties were inside the warehouse. Arms deal that went sideways. No civilians were killed, only some wounded when the building collapsed on the street.”
The tension that strained his muscles relaxed momentarily, before he realized that you could still be hurt somewhere around here.
“Where are the others?”
“A few people have been transported to the hospitals already, we're still pulling some people out from the rubble. Some civilians are helping out though, she could be with them?”
Bucky nodded and went over to a group of people that were tending to the wounded. He scanned al the people, but your familiar face was nowhere to be found. He tried calling your phone again, but he immediately got your voicemail again.
“Hey, could I ask something?” he approached someone that looked like a civilian who was helping a pregnant lady into an ambulance.
The man nodded and Bucky showed his phone, a picture of you lighting up the screen, “have you seen her? She was wearing a dress? Floral print?”
The guy thought for a minute, before he shook his head, “sorry man, there’s been tons of people that have been brought to the hospital already.”
Bucky thanked the man before he stalked off to someone else. Everyone said the same thing, no one had seen you.
He leaned against a wall for a second so he could gather his thoughts. He could check all the hospitals, but there were so many where you could’ve been brought to.
Figuring calling each individual hospital would be his best chance of finding you, he pulled out his phone.
It went off just as he was about to call the first hospital, a number he didn't recognize with a Brooklyn area code.
“What?” he snapped into the phone, his nerves getting the best of him as you were still awol.
“Bucky!” your voice rang in his ears and he instantly felt his muscles relax, he slid down against the wall and leaned his head in his other hand.
“Where are you? I was so worried, are you okay? Where are you?” he rasped as he felt tired all of a sudden, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system.
There were sirens in the background when you spoke again, the connection a bit spotty, “i’m okay, I’m okay! I’m at the Brooklyn Hospital Center. I was … some people when the building collapsed, but I’m fine.”
“Stay where you are, I’m coming over.” He jumped back up to his feet again after you said your goodbyes, walking straight to his motorbike. He speeded off towards the hospital, wanting to see for himself that you were okay.
He never expected someone to love him, faults and dark thoughts alike. But you were this absolute ray of sunshine in his life, caring for him even on his darkest days. When he had a bad day, you helped him out of bed, gave him a reason to care, you gave him a reason to get out of the pit that was his life sometimes. If he lost you, he was sure that pit would open again and swallow him whole.
He parked his bike and approached the emergency room with bated breath. The room was filled with people, some looking better than others. He spotted the back of your head next to an older woman with an ugly wound on her forehead. You were holding a piece of fabric that he recognized from your dress against her temple, trying to stop the bleeding.
He quickly strode over to you and his eyes zeroed in on the blood that was drying on your hands and arms.
You turned sideways, looking around for a doctor or a nurse when you spotted Bucky, a pale look on his face as he held his breath.
“It’s not mine, I’m okay, it’s not mine,” you repeated over and over again when he approached you, knowing where his thoughts were going.
“I was so worried,” he whimpered as he sat on his knees next to where you were crouched, checking the rest of your body and face to be sure.
Your dress was ripped at the bottom, serving as a bandage for the woman in front of you. You had some cuts and bruises on your face and arms, but for the rest you looked okay.
“Was walking back from brunch when something inside the building exploded,” you explained as you saw him eyeing the several cuts that were littering your face, “some glass hit me in the face but guess I was lucky that I wore my sunglasses today.”
“Then it collapsed, she was standing too close and something hit her on the head and it wouldn’t stop bleeding so I ripped a piece of my dress,” you continued, nodding towards the older woman.
“Why didn’t you pick up? I called you like a thousand times,” he choked out as he tried to suppress the tears that were lodged in his throat.
“‘M sorry, phone died. I think if forgot to charge it.”
“Hey, sorry for waiting, we can see you now,” a nurse interrupted, wheelchair in front of her. You stood up and helped the woman in the wheelchair as well, before she was wheeled off to a separate space.
Bucky didn’t wait a second before he wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly against his body.
A shaky sigh left your mouth as you pressed your face against his chest, a few tears spilling as the shock was starting to wear off. The safety you felt in his arms made you realize what had actually happened and you were lucky to only have a few scars. If only the building had collapsed a few moments later, you could’ve been in a way worse situation.
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you sobbed, “I wanted to call earlier but-, but this woman really needed help.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he pressed a kiss on the top of your head, before he pulled back a bit. Your eyes were rimmed red now, “let’s get these scars checked out and then we can go home, okay?”
It took a while before anyone was available to see you, but you were happy the other people who had worse injuries than you were being helped as well. Bucky had his hand around yours the whole time, checking every few minutes if you were still okay.
The initial shock had worn off and you stopped shaking as much, also due to his jacket that was slung around your shoulders and keeping you warm.
After 45 minutes a nurse came for you and checked you out. You needed some stitches on your left forearm and a bandage around your right bicep, but your face was mostly okay. The shallow cuts were disinfected and bandaged up and you left the emergency room with a prescription for some painkillers if needed.
Bucky had called an Uber, figuring that you sitting on the back of his bike was not a good idea.
You were waiting outside, leaning against his side, your bones and muscles aching from the stressful day and tiredness setting in.
“Sorry I didn’t get you cake this time,” you stifled a yawn as Bucky pulled you into a hug again, his face buried in your neck as he inhaled your scent, a mixture of sweat and perfume mixed in.
“That’s the least of my worries now, I’ll buy a whole damn cake when you’re back at home again, safe and sound.”
* * *
“What is this?” you asked him as he dropped a paper bag under your nose, a small grin pulling on his lips.
“Open it,” he nudged and sat down next to you on the couch, eyeing the fading scar on your forehead. The last reminder of easily one of the worst days of his life.
You rolled your eyes as you got out the package, “baby, really? Portable power bank, can charge your phone up to five times?” You read the packaging. “This is not the cake you promised”
“Yeah, well the guy at the store said phones with unlimited batteries don’t exist, but that this is the next best thing,” he stated, grabbing your phone and plugging the power bank in.
“Now you never have to worry about a dead battery ever again,” he chimed as you pursed your lips and gazed at him when he started reading the instruction manual.
“You would think they’d already invented an infinite battery by now, but no they make electric scooters instead,” you laughed at his statement, his old age showing.
You kissed his cheek and wrapped yourself around his side. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, wrapped safely around his side, warm, alive and happy.
“I love you,” he softly said, his blue eyes boring into yours. You turned your face to peck him on the lips.
“I adore you, lover.”
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Bucky Barnes Masterlist
513 notes · View notes
starks-hero · 3 months ago
I’ve Got You
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Bucky's recovery from his time as the winter soldier was a long road. But the final challenge proves to be the toughest.
Warnings: angst, tfatws spoilers! 1x04
Word Count: 1,191
a/n: I wrote this in an hour because episode 4 completely broke my heart and this is how I plan on coping. Spoilers below!
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*amazing gif credit to @august-walker *
The fire was your only source of light as the three of you waited in silence. Months of tireless work had lead to the current moment and the tension hung thickly in the air.
You stood side by side with Ayo as Bucky sat in front of the fire, aimlessly glaring into the flames. He was terrified and you didn't blame him.
You were all aware that what you were about to attempt wouldn't be an easy task. Banishing the Winter Soldier from Bucky’s subconscious had been a draining process, both mentally and physically. And you knew the final test would be the worst yet. And Bucky knew he wouldn't be able to do it alone. Or rather, he didn't want to. That's why you were there. He needed someone he could trust, someone he cared for. Someone that could anchor him to the real world and offer him comfort whilst he faced his demons.
Ayo shuffled impatiently and turned to you with a curt nod. It was time to begin. Bucky was still in a daze, expression blank. You weren't sure if he was aware that he was now visibly shaking.
You stepped forward and softly placed your hand against his shoulder. He flinched at first before immediately relaxing under your touch. He exhaled slowly.
“It is time,” Ayo said and you carefully seated yourself next to Bucky, so close your shoulders brushed.
He turned to you with a justifyingly troubled expression, his eyebrows creased, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes, his eyes panic-stricken.
“You're sure about this?” His voice was nothing more than a hushed whisper, only barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
Smiling reassuringly, you nodded and inched closer to him. He did his best to focus solely on you and nothing else. But despite his best efforts his heart still thumped against his ribcage and his mind became increasingly crowded with what if's as he reminded himself of everything that could possibly go wrong.
“Shuri's confident that it's going to work.” You said softly and Bucky’s eyes saddened further as he glanced at you helplessly.
“She's not the one I don't trust.”
“I won't let you hurt anyone,” Ayo promised and you both knew she meant it. Bucky's terrified gaze fell to the dirt but you managed to coax him back into looking at you with soft pleas and a gentle hand under his chin.
“I'll be okay. We'll be okay.” You comforted. You gently took his hand in your own, lacing your fingers together and placing your free hand against his forearm. He looked at you in desperation. “I'm not going anywhere.”
His hold on your hand tightened as you nodded to Ayo to begin. This was it. She stepped forward, repeating each word slowly and clearly.
Bucky's expression turned somber as he glared into the flames. He clenched his jaw in hopes of hiding his trembling lip.
Fear broke through his facade as his eyes glazed over and he fought back tears. You muttered quiet words of encouragement and comfort.
“It's not going to work,” Bucky said desperately, his voice laced with fear. You moved your hand to gently run up and down his back and shushed him quietly.
“It will, Bucky. It will.”
He inhaled sharply as he shook his head. Your hand came to rest against his shoulder and he subconsciously leaned into you as the horrors of his time spent as hydras puppet jumped to the forefront of his mind.
Tears were not visibly building in his eyes and staining his pale cheeks.
He gritted his teeth as he grappled with himself. All those nights you'd spent lying awake together when the memories were too bad for sleep to even seem plausible. All the times you'd been forced to hold him down and beg him to wake up when he'd been plagued by nightmares. All those times completely paled in comparison to how vulnerable he looked now.
His hand tightened around yours with such strength you couldn't withhold a gasp. For a moment, his iron grip had you fearing that the Soldier had clawed his way back into control.
But one glance at his tear-filled eyes and you knew it was still Bucky. Still your Bucky. Fighting to keep control of his mind.
His tears fell freely, his lip trembling and you wanted nothing more than to comfort him. To pull him to you and assure him that he was alright, that he was safe. But you knew he needed to do this alone.
‘Freight car.’
As the final words were spoken, silence fell over you all again. Both you and Ayo watched Bucky attentively, waiting for a reaction. Your hands lay still against him but they ached to move, to comfort him and wipe away his tears. But you had to wait.
After a few moments that stretched out to feel like an eternity, you desperately turned to Ayo, who was standing behind you and still watching Bucky with the same vigilance you had been. She nodded to you, almost unable to hide her smile.
“Bucky?” You tried timidly, gently squeezing his hand. He still looked terrified.
“You are free,” Ayo whispered, unable to keep her own emotions from seeping into her voice. “You are free.”
He turned to you in astonishment, his cheeks damp and his eyes mirroring the fear and uncertainty of a child.
“It's okay.” You gently raised your hand and caressed his cheek, brushing away his tears. He leaned into your touch, exhaling frailly. “You're okay. You did it, Bucky.”
What was left of his composure crumbled as he broke, overcome with emotion and sobbing in relief. He was free. He was finally free.
He fell against you and you wasted no time in wrapping your arms around him as he buried into the crook of your neck. You ran your hand through his hair and softly comforted him as you held him close.
Ayo turned away as she blinked away her own tears. She'd witnessed Bucky's struggles and seen first-hand the extent of his pain. He deserved peace and happiness and knowing those very things were now within his grasp caused a lump to form in her throat.
She nodded to you as she took her leave. Her work was done. Now Bucky needed you.
“It's alright.” His sobs slowly died down into quiet whimpers as you held him close. “I've got you.”
He breathed a quiet laugh of disbelief against your shoulder and you smiled. He was drained, the exhaustion of what he'd just went through clashing with the uncontrollable joy he felt, knowing he'd been freed from so many burdens he'd been forced to carry.
But for now, until feeling returned to his legs and he could think a coherent thought, Bucky had no desire to move from where he was huddled into your side.
“Stay?” He whispered against your neck, not having the strength to say much else. You smiled and hummed softly.
“I told you,” you placed a gentle kiss to his temple. “I'm not going anywhere.”
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tag list: @bakerstreethound​ @miraclesoflove​ @doozywoozy​ @kealohilani-tepise
3K notes · View notes
boyfriendparker · 3 months ago
cookies, kisses, and such
a/n: i sat down to write a prompt, wrote 3k words & then didn’t include said prompt <3 anyways bucky barnes hmu to make cookies whenever ur literally the love of my life word count: 3k or smth warnings: none! just pure fluff 
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Something had... shifted. 
Yet somehow, nothing had changed. You can’t put your finger on it, but sometime between then and now, there’s a difference. Well, that much was obvious — a lot of things had changed since Bucky and you became friends. 
In the beginning, he was colder. 
You couldn’t blame him, coming from where he did. He had rented up the vacant apartment that shared your left wall and for the first couple of months, you weren’t even sure if someone had moved in. It was quiet next door, and while there was a shuffle of furniture being dragged around for the first couple days, it went silent soon after. 
In fact, the only reason you found out there was someone living next door was because you ran overtime on your shift. You had ducked home through the rain and darkness, your noisiness the last thing on your mind as you stomped down the corridor, a hot shower the only thing on your mind. 
It must’ve been past midnight so you were hardly expecting to bound into someone and you gasped as you slammed into someone coming out of Apartment 5C, the one next to yours. 
Spluttering out an apology, you stepped back to take your first look at your neighbour — who only muttered an assurance under his breath as he passed. You had watched him walk down the hall without a sound under his boots and enter the stairwell, with a realization that had been someone in 5C all along. 
As you unlocked your apartment, stripped off your wet clothes, and stepped under the scorching stream of your shower, you cringed to yourself. All your loud attempted ballads that you thought only the tiled walls could hear, apparently had had an audience all along. 
Pulling back your sheets that night, you wondered where he was heading at this time of the night but before you could entertain any answers, you had drifted off to sleep. 
Somehow, you had ended up in front of his door the next day, your knuckles rapping on the wood. But, after the second knock, you were beginning to think that he just wasn’t going to open the door. 
And after the third knock, you began to question whether you had imagined the man you had all but tackled the night before. 
Shifting the plate in your hand, the cookies on them slide an inch to the right, still warm. You were initially worried he would know it was just a cheap box mix but now you’re just worried he’s not going to open the door at all. 
You sigh and pick up one of the cookies, taking a bite of it, ready to give up — right as the door finally cracks open. 
The chain on his door is still locked and from what you can see, the man behind it is very surprised to have a visitor. 
Your eyes widen, your jaw furiously trying to chew and swallow the bite you just took so you don’t have to speak through your mouthful. 
“Hh-i!” It comes out a bit muffled. You force yourself to swallow the half-chewed dough, wincing as it goes down. Your cheeks feel heated and you force an awkward smile on your face. 
“Sorry, I just…” you trail off, lifting the plate of cookies higher as an explanation. “I thought I’d be neighbourly since I genuinely thought there was no one lived here. Didn’t mean to subject you to so much bad singing.” 
The man steps closer to the door, his eyes scanning your face in analysis and for the first time, you get a good look at him too. 
His hair is cropped short, his face is scruffy like it’s been a week or so since he’s shaved and he’s donned in a dark hoodie. From what you can tell, he’s handsome as well. You’re half expecting him to close the door without a word but after a long assessment, you seem to pass the test. 
“Do you—” he clears his throat like it’s been a minute since he’s spoken. “You always steal a cookie when you’re giving them as gifts?” 
Your cheeks feel hotter and you smile. “Only when it’s a batch as good as this.” 
The man smiles and you feel a surge of pride. You move the plate into one hand and hold the other out. “The name’s y/n. Apartment 5B.” 
You flick your head towards your front door. 
The man’s eyes follow your movement for a second before they move back to your outstretched hand. He shuffles behind the door and it closes for a moment before it opens again, fully unlocked. He still hangs behind the door but sticks out a gloved hand, shaking yours briefly. 
“Bucky.” He introduces himself and you smile, finally having a name to a face. You hold out the plate closer to him and he hesitantly takes it from you. 
“I’ll promise I’ll try to avoid any Taylor Swift songs for the near future.” You joke and Bucky’s brow furrows for a moment before it clears. 
“Thank you.” He says, before retreating into the apartment, closing the door without another word. Huh, not the talkative type, you mused. 
But still a victory in your books, you smiled wider to yourself, wandering back to your own apartment. Bucky. Apartment 5C. 
He gets warmer with time. 
You seem to pass him more in the hall since actually meeting him; you wonder if he was always there or he’s scarily good at not being spotted. He doesn’t quite smile but gives a nod of sorts, to show that he recognizes you. It’s nice — you think for a while, that’s all it will be. 
You won’t lie, you’re more than a little disappointed. Besides the fact he looked cute and you wanted to be his friend, you had also given him your nicest plate. Guess you weren’t getting that back any time soon.
You’re munching on Chinese food on your couch, a sitcom running on the TV but you’re not paying much attention. 
It’s the end of another working week and you’re glad to finally be off your feet, though, you don’t exactly love the quietness in your apartment compared to the liveliness of the shift. It was more gossiping than terrible customers, so much you were almost sad to leave your work-friends behind.
A knock on the door startles your attention, head snapping towards the noise. You feel a pang of confusion, not expecting visitors, quickly turning to concern. Who could it be? 
You consider not answering it when it comes again, softer this time and curiosity wins over concern. Placing down your food, you pad towards the door and ensure the chain is in place before you twist the knob and pull. 
You blink for a moment as you realize it’s none other than Bucky on the other side of the door. 
Your eyes take in his awkward half smile and travel down to the plate in his hands— your plate in his hands. With a fresh batch of cookies atop it. He looks less scruffy than the last time you saw him, his hair a little cleaner. 
“Bucky, hey,” you begin, pushing the door closed enough to remove the chain. “I wasn’t expecting…” 
My plate back. The cookies. You actually talking to me again. You trail off, not sure which answer is most appropriate. Bucky seems to sense your loss of words, clearing his throat and shifting back and forth on his feet. 
“I thought I should return the favour.” He makes an attempt to smile wider. “Be neighbourly.” 
You laugh a little, removing your hand from the door to take the plate from him with a warm grin. 
“Thanks.” His eyes drift over your shoulder, to the murmuring talk of the TV and you swear you see his nose twitch at the smell of your takeout. 
You weigh up your options for a moment, chewing on your cheek before you inhale, making a decision. 
“Did you have any plans tonight?” You ask. 
Bucky’s brows lift, showing his surprise but it quickly morphs into a small smile. He shakes his head. 
“How would you care for some Chinese food and re-runs of New Girl?” Grinning, you open the door open wider in invitation and Bucky contemplates your offer for a minute. 
He steps forward and smiles back. “How disappointed will you be if I tell you I haven’t seen this New Girl show?” 
Scoffing dramatically, you shake your head in feigned disappointment. “I hope you’re prepared for a marathon, my friend.” 
Bucky found it hard not to like you. You’re inviting, funny and most importantly, you seem to genuinely enjoy his company. 
He would’ve never guessed that the remedy to being somewhat social again was through his pretty next-door neighbour, but he wasn’t going to complain. 
You showed him the popular media you liked, which naturally, became the stuff he liked too. You were nice about his dismal cooking skills, spitting the baking soda clump in one of his cookies back onto your plate without a word. And you made life in these dingy apartments seem nice. 
Each night he got to spend time with you, it became increasingly harder to return to his own apartment. It didn’t hold life like yours seemed to do. 
Bucky is good at reading people. He knows from a glance if you’re too tired from work to have him over, but you’re never not in the mood to see him. After some time, he’s pretty sure he spends just as much time in your living room as he does in his own apartment. 
He never stays over. That’s a given by now. You’ve stayed up with him chatting past midnight and even had him knocking gingerly on your door, later in the night, your music giving away the fact you're not asleep. But he doesn’t stay; in fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get tired. 
You’re always the one stifling your yawns, slumping further down the couch, and letting your eyelids droop. Bucky’s a gentleman though, and he’ll take his leave when he knows you’re getting too tired but won’t tell him. 
He used to go at the first sign of a yawn but over time, you’ve convinced him that just because you’re yawning doesn’t mean you don’t want to hear the end of his story. Begrudgingly over time, he believed you. 
The one time you had actually fallen asleep on the couch, you awoke in the morning in your bed, a note on your bedside table that read didn’t want to wake you in Bucky’s scrawled writing and you smiled yourself giddy.
He’s warm enough that he almost glows now. 
It’s a drizzly Sunday evening and you’re dropping the last of the chopped spring onions into the Pho that’s bubbling away on the burner, filling your apartment with a delicious smell. 
Your hair is messily tied back from your face, a few strands escaping the hair tie and you’re wearing the only apron you own, covered in Australian flags brought back by one of your friends. 
A knock sounds on the door. 
“It’s open!” You call out, knowing from his knock that it’s Bucky on the other side. Besides, you’re expecting him — Sunday is the evening you always put aside for each other, even if you see each other every other day of the week. This week you haven’t had a chance to see him at all, much to your disappointment. 
You hear his boots on the wooden floor, the door closing, and the lock turning. You stir the pot, fighting to keep yourself from looking too eager at his arrival. His footsteps turn softer, showing he’s left his boots at the door and you bite back your smile, more than glad to know he’s comfortable here. 
“Hey, doll.” He murmurs and you turn to greet him with a smile. He sidles up to your side, peering down into the simmering broth, his hand unconsciously coming up to rest on your waist. 
“Sorry, I haven’t had time to come by this week. It’s been…” He trails off with a sigh — but as if he remembers where he is, who he’s with, his shoulders ease and he relaxes. 
“You’re fine,” you assure him, leaning into his side just a little bit. “Nothing a little hearty food can’t fix, right?” 
You pull your most cheesy smile and Bucky laughs, his eyes shining as he gazes down at you. If anyone else looked at the two of you, it would be an obvious guess that you were a couple. 
And it’s not like, you’re not. But, well, also, you hadn’t exactly talked to him about whatever this was. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up, especially considering how long it had taken the two of you to become friends. 
But the part of you that really wanted to sling your arms around his neck and kiss him was getting harder to ignore. 
Clearing your throat, you step away from him and fetch the bowls from your cupboards. As you spin back to him, Bucky takes them from you without a word and begins to set up your little coffee table by the couch. 
Dinner is like usual; comfortable silence as you eat, quiet chatter from the TV, and the two of you drifting closer together on the couch. 
By the time your bowls are empty, your arm is pressed against his as you lean against one another. Your eyes are on the screen and so are Buck’s but every couple of minutes, they shift to check on you. After the 3rd time, you can’t stay silent. 
“You alright there, Barnes?” 
Bucky falters for a moment, his eyes jumping between the TV and your face like he’s trying to play off his previous staring. His eyes settle on you and he smiles in that heart-melting way. 
“Just thinking back to the first time we met — you with your cookies at my door.” 
You chuckle as you recall the memory all those months ago. It seems a lifetime ago, your best plate and the best cookies you could scrape together, all presented with your best smile. 
“I’ve got a box in the cupboard.” You say and raise your brows, knowing he’ll pick up on your suggestion. Bucky’s eyes light up and he sits up a little straighter on the couch. 
“Can we?” He asks. 
You push off the couch, getting to your feet in answer, and offer out your hand. “C’mon then.” 
Bucky grins with childlike excitement and takes your hand, leading the way to the kitchen with hurried footsteps that have you stumbling behind him. He releases your hand and ducks into your pantry, returning a second later with the box in his hands. 
“Someone’s eager,” you comment in a teasing tone, beaming adoringly at him. Bucky rolls his eyes with a grin and points towards the drawers. 
“Mixing bowls and spoons please, doll.” 
Following orders, you duck down and pull out all the baking equipment needed, and pop it onto the bench. Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, you select a 70s playlist and bob your head as Marvin Gaye’s Got to Give it Up begins to flow from your speakers. 
Bucky does a little shuffle that you think is supposed to be dancing and you giggle, rejoining at his side as the two of you begin to bake. 
It’s not very precise; Bucky’s spilled half the flour mix on the bench and you’re trying to stop laughing enough to fish out the eggshells you dropped into the bowl. You feel light, almost like you could float with how happy you feel right now. 
“Oh, this is funny to you, is it?” He says, still trying to scoop up the flour mix and tossing what he can in the bowl. You don’t get a chance to retort when he blows a handful in your face and looks far too happy about it. Your face contorts into shock, eyes squeezed closed for a moment before you open them again.
“James Buchanan Barnes.” Your tone seems to make Bucky grin wider, his nose scrunching in that adorable way that only happens when he’s really happy. 
“The full name. I’m in trouble now.” He smirks, watching as you shake your head in an attempt to dust off the flour. 
You do your best to glare but Bucky manages to crack it within a few seconds and you dissolve into giggles instead. 
He steps closer, his hands coming up to your face as he begins to wipe away the flour that hadn’t come off your skin. His thumb swipes gently along your cheekbone and you lean into his hand instinctively. You’re almost scared to breathe, just wanting to stay in this moment. 
“Still beautiful, even covered in flour.” He murmurs quietly and you wonder if he knows he’s even said that aloud. Your chest seems to fill with pure light and you know without a doubt that the thundering in your heart is love. You love this — you love him. 
So, you tell him in a way you know he’ll understand — turning your face and placing a soft kiss on the palm of his hand. 
Bucky swears he nearly melts right there and before he can lose the nerve, he ducks in and presses his lips against yours. It’s short and sweet but it still has his heart beating out of his chest in nerves. It’s been goddamn over 70 years since he’s done this. 
But you’re there, and you’re kissing him back. 
He pulls back, still close enough that his breath mingles with yours, and watches as your eyes flutter open, lips curling up in the most beautiful smile. Between you is only love, lighting up both your faces, alighting every sense. 
After a moment you lean forward and nudge your nose against his and gingerly connect your lips again, hands traveling up to rest on the sides of his face. 
This kiss is more assured, less nervous this time and Bucky swears he’s never been this lucky in his life. To be here, to be kissing you in your kitchen, chocolate chips scattered across the counter because you both wanted a trip down memory lane to when you first met. It’s almost comical how it comes around in a full circle. 
The song in the background switches, Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On opening notes interrupting your tender moment. You can’t help yourself as you break the kiss, tipping your head back as you laugh loudly and Bucky has never seen something more beautiful.
“I swear that wasn’t planned.” you gasp out between your laughter and Bucky looks amused, like he only half believes you. His hands drop from your face to your waist and he tugs you closer, lips meeting your hairline. 
“Cookies now?” He asks and you smile, content, with a nod. 
“Yeah, we can make cookies now Buck.”
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