Bucky X Reader - Blog Posts

first date, last night

summary: You were supposed to go on a date tonight, but Bucky just had to interfere. It doesn't make any sense, either. It's not like there's anything going on between the two of you.

pairing: 40s!bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: good old angsty fluff. banter and miscommunication (it's two painfully oblivious idiots in love, people), socially anxious reader, slightly jealous bucky in the beginning, a lot of cake, sad-ish ending (only if we take mcu canon to be a real thing)

prompt: this was written for the lovely @imaginearyparties' theatre challenge—congrats again on 300 followers, ilana!! (and thank you for extending the deadline) my prompt was "first date / last night" from dogfight. you can and should listen to the whole song here.

a/n: frankly, this has zero rights to be as long as it turned out to be, but the second half of this hated my guts and i had to just roll with it. hope you enjoy x

masterlist | read on ao3

It’s late, and Bucky is pacing.

You can hear it through the ceiling, even though you’ve pulled a pillow over your head to try and block out the noise. He’s been pacing ever since you’ve sent him marching upstairs, slamming the door so hard a bit of plaster fell off your living room wall, and you shouted a name after him your mama would have smacked you over the head for.

But tonight was meant to be lovely, your first real night out in the city, and he just had to ruin it. And once again, you’re left to literally pick up the pieces on your own in an empty apartment. What a waste.

You’re sort of glad your roommate has to work the late shift tonight, though. Angie would’ve found this whole thing hilarious. You can almost hear her.

“It’s just because he wants to be your fella,” she’d have said, soothingly combing her fingers through your hair, and you’d have rolled your eyes. “So he doesn’t like anyone else asking you out.”

“It’s not like that, Ange. We’re past the age of pulling pigtails, you know. This ain’t how you treat people,” you told her last time you had this conversation, after Bucky had frightened away the man at the laundromat who’d asked you out for ice cream. Granted, that guy had been a bit of a creep, so you didn’t think much of it at the time. You can’t let yourself.

No matter what strange unspoken thing there seems to be between the two of you. Surely, you’re just imagining things anyway.

Tommy’s different though. Tommy’s a nice guy. Works for a newspaper, sent flowers to your doorstep last week and asked you to go dancing with him soon after, flushing so deeply it reached his ears. And sure, they might be a bit large compared to the rest of his head and he had a somewhat aloof air to him, but he was sweet enough. Besides, you’d never actually been on a proper date. Of course you’d said yes.

Angie made you get a new dress for the occasion, navy colored with a lovely petticoat. The price of it almost made you weep, but “you never get anything nice for yourself, Y/N,” as Angie put it. “Besides, I have the perfect pair of shoes you can borrow.”

8 p.m. rolled around and you were trying not to wait next to the door. Your hands wouldn’t stop sweating.

After ten minutes, you started to worry. Then again, it had just started to rain. Maybe Tommy’d turned back for an umbrella.

At half past eight, you decided to go downstairs to see if he was waiting for you there. Instead, you found Bucky, wearing his newly issued uniform and peaked cap. He was smoking, half-leaning in the entrance so he’d be sheltered from the weather underneath the tiny wooden porch.

Immediately, you felt the old familiar twist in your stomach at the sight of him, the little flutter and sting. This time, though, it was followed by an immediate sense of dread. He wasn’t even supposed to be home so early. Last you’d heard, he’d found some girls for him and Steve to take to that science exposition the papers won’t shut up about. Neither of them had even thought to ask you, of course, even though you were the one who’d first pointed it out to them.

“Sounds like a crowd puller,” Bucky’d frowned and soon changed the subject to some movie with Hedy Lamarr he wanted to see, not noticing the way your face fell.

“He’s a knucklehead,” Steve had said later with an apologetic smile, and you’d nodded and thrown the flyer in the trash, unsure what you’d expected or how you’d wanted the conversation to go. After all, you’re just the girl from the second floor, a friendly face on rainy days, sure, but also easily ignored. Well, most days, anyway.

Bucky turned when he heard your steps approaching. Your bad feeling seemed to be confirmed, because at the sight of you, he choked on the smoke he was inhaling. Like someone caught. Ignoring his coughing, you glanced past him. Not a single person was out in the rain.

“Has anybody asked for me?” you asked wearily.

Bucky’s eyes were still wide as he took you in. “Well, look at you all decked out,” he said hoarsely.

You crossed your arms. “Just answer the question.”

“Fella came by a bit ago,” he said nonchalantly, turning his head to blow out a puff of smoke away from your face. “Didn’t stick around.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re not interested?” He made it sound like a question, cocking his head slightly, that little lopsided smile of his dancing around the corner of his mouth but never reaching his eyes. It only irritated you more. “I actually wanted to—”

“Why on earth would you do that?” you interrupt him.

“Why, was I wrong?” He went for another drag from his cigarette, but you snatched it out of his fingers and stomped on it. For some reason, that just made him give a laugh. “Come on, sugar! That guy’s a drip, anyway.”

“You don’t know him!”

“Neither do you, or you wouldn’t’ve agreed to go out with him. He ain’t right for you.”

“Well, you don’t get to decide that! You don’t see me going around tellin’ you you can’t go out with Clara from the flower shop or whatever she’s called!”

That was a slip-up. Bucky’s smile morphed into a smirk. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Oh, grow up, Barnes, I don’t care what you do!” Turning around on your borrowed heels, you pushed back inside.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t know either, would ya?” he called after you, still sounding way too amused.

“I don’t give a—” In your anger, you forgot to skip around the broken floorboard. The heel of Angie’s shoe crashed right through it and you could feel yourself rushing towards the ground. At the last second, a pair of strong arms stopped your fall, pulling you back up until you regained your balance, heart thundering.

“Careful there,” Bucky’s voice murmured way too close to your ear. “Don’t want you fallin’ for me like that.”

There was a beat. Neither of you seemed to breathe.

“You alright?”

“Get off me,” you hissed. His hands disappeared as if you’d burned him, but your skin was left cold. With an annoyed growl, you slipped out of the shoes and yanked the stuck one out of the floor. The heel was left all scratched up. Angie was going to murder you. “Look at this!” you snapped at Bucky, jabbing the messed up shoe in his direction.

He caught it in his hands. “Jeez, that ain’t my fault!”

“Yes, it is! Because without you constantly interfering in my life, I’d be out cuttin’ a rug right now!” Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes now, so you turned your back on Bucky and started to climb up the rickety stairs in your pantyhose.

“You really think you’d be havin’ a good time right now if you’d actually gone out with Dumbo back there?” Bucky called, taking two steps at a time behind you. “Look, I’m sorry but I think—”

“You know what, Bucky,” you interrupted him, turning around sharply in front of your apartment door. “You might fool all those other girls with that fancy uniform of yours that you’re so keen on showin’ off, but underneath, you’re a jerk. And I just want you to stay the hell away from me.”

A look of genuine shock flashed over Bucky’s features for just a second, revealing something else under the layer of jovial swagger you usually saw him wear. Something that almost looked like hurt. It was gone in less than a second, though, replaced by an unusually cold sneer that seemed unnatural on his handsome face.

“All right,” he said, brusquely handing you back the shoe you’d left behind. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, anyway.”

“Great,” you shouted as he made his way upstairs, “can’t wait for the peace and quiet!”

The door slammed. The plaster fell.

Angie couldn’t be more wrong, you think as you lie there in bed. You know the way Bucky acts around girls he wants to be with, charming and funny and confident. You’ve seen it too many times, each of them another tiny stab because he’s never been like that with you. Not once.

The pacing finally stops and you breathe a sigh of relief. You emerge from underneath the pillow and drag yourself in front of the little vanity you share with your roommate. In the silence, you wipe the smeared make-up off your face and start pulling the pins out of the elaborate updo you’d spent half the afternoon on. Your hair tumbles down in an unruly mess.

You think about dropping by Tommy’s agency tomorrow to explain your situation, but you don’t think you’re that desperate quite yet. Besides, the thing that really annoys you about Bucky’s words is that he’s not wrong.

You weren’t that interested in your date in the first place. You’d just welcomed the distraction from your actual feelings, because it’d felt nice to get positive attention for a change.

Because despite of his meddlesome ways and his sometimes thoughtless actions, you still care about Bucky. Probably more than you should, and more than he cares for you anyway, no matter how high Angie raises her eyebrows.

Matter of fact is, these past couple of weeks, he’s barely even talked to you, your interactions limited to brief nods in the stairwell and the odd word or two, with him never quite meeting your eye.

Lost in your tangled thoughts, you’re about to start unbuttoning your dress, when a knock on the door brings you back to reality.

You frown. It’s not the rhythmic knock Angie uses when she’s forgotten her keys again, and it’s too timid to be your landlady. Probably Steve trying to talk reason about his best friend’s behavior again. You’re not keen on the speech, but you don’t want to keep Stevie standing in the drafty hallway. He’s stubborn enough to catch pneumonia out of spite and misguided loyalty. Again. Rubbing your cheeks one last time, you go to open the door.

You almost slam it again immediately when you realize it’s not Steve who’s standing on the other side at all. It’s Bucky.

He’s changed out of his fatigues into something more casual, and his hair looks as if he’s dragged his hands through it several times. The disheveled look of it almost has your heart fall over itself and you inhale sharply to keep it firmly locked in your chest.

“What do you want?” you try to snap, but it comes out toneless. You’re too tired for anger.

Bucky clears his throat. He keeps shifting under your gaze, keeps moving, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the hem of his sweater. Little cracks in his carefully crafted façade that have you pause.

“I was wonderin’ if you’ve eaten.”

Confused doesn’t quite cover your feelings. You’re at a complete loss. “Excuse me?”

“Seein’ as your plans tonight, uhm—fell through, I just thought I’d … ask. In case you’re hungry.” Never, in all the time you’ve known him, have you heard Bucky stumble over his words like this. It’d be endearing if you weren’t still annoyed at him.

“I’m not,” you lie. Truth is, you’ve only had a late lunch and your kitchen cabinets are basically empty since no one was supposed to be in tonight.

“Right,” Bucky says, swallowing. He pushes his hair back again. “Or maybe we could get some sodas down the block, there’s this shop on—”

“Is this some kind of joke?” you interrupt. His eyes finally stop their constant wandering and find yours. There’s an ache in them you haven’t seen before, one that doesn’t make any sense at all. You shake your head, ignoring the flutter. “First you scare off my date and then you want me to come out with you?”

“That’s not what I—it’s not a joke,” Bucky says. “Look, you’re angry with me, I feel rotten, let me make it up to you! You gotta believe me, I’m sorry.”

The sad thing is, you do. When he looks at you like that, you do. You can’t help it.

You sigh deeply. “Go to bed, Bucky, it’s been a long day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

But when you move to close the door again, he holds it open with his foot. “See, here’s the thing,” he says, his voice wavering ever so slightly, “that’s not exactly an option as I’m being shipped out first thing in the morning.”

Another chip, another crack, and the puzzle pieces are starting to fall back into place. It’s your heart that breaks instead, the last of your anger dissipating into thin air.

“You’re leaving,” you say softly, and Bucky nods curtly. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Only found out yesterday myself.”

Obviously you’ve known this day would come. You’ve known ever since you first saw him in that damn uniform, and even before then. You just thought he’d have more time. You feel your heart trying to pound out of your chest as you look at Bucky, suddenly desperate to commit his face to memory before … you don’t want to think about it.

“What about—does Steve know?”

“Said goodbye to him at the expo. He wanted to try enlisting again, but I don’t know …” He laughs humorlessly. “At this point, they’ve either taken him or booked him and there ain’t a thing I can do about either. Don’t even know which one’s worse.”

You’re glad you’re still holding onto the door, because you feel slightly faint. In the past months, you’ve gotten so used to living downstairs from Bucky, to having both him and Steve always lingering somewhere nearby, always close, reliably inseparable. And now, from one day to the next, neither of them is going to be here anymore.

“I could eat,” you say abruptly. Bucky seems as surprised about it as you feel, but your heart is still beating fast and you’ve never felt more resolute about anything. “Let me just get my shoes.”

You slip into your everyday oxfords with the flat heels and grab your purse off the floor next to your bed where you’d dropped it earlier. As you pass the vanity, you notice the worried flicker in your eyes. With a deep breath, you try to soothe it away. Not yet. He’s still here.

Bucky is leaning next to the door as you lock up and straighten your back. When you meet his gaze again, he holds it as if he thinks you’ll change your mind any second.

“Where to?” you ask with forced joviality, dropping your key in the bag.

He gives you a tiny crooked grin. “I know just the place.”

“And where’s that?”

“It’s a surprise, sugar.” He sticks out his elbow slightly as you get to the stairs as if he wanted you to take his arm. Bewildered, you look at it for a second before you move past him and start descending. You think you hear him sigh before he follows you.

“You know I hate surprises,” you say, ignoring it.

“You’re gonna like this one. Trust me?”

You hum noncommitantly and hop over the hole in the floorboard. “I still think you’re a jerk, by the way,” you tell him. Because it’s safe. Because that’s what you are, that’s what you do, the two of you, shallowly bickering all the time like neighbors do.

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly as he holds the door open for you, “I know.”

The rain has stopped, but the air still feels like there’s a storm incoming. The milky glow of the street lamps dimly lights your way through your empty Brooklyn neighborhood. Most shops are closed by now, bedroom windows darkened. Only once you get closer to the larger streets are there still a couple of late-night strollers dotting the alleyways.

You don’t talk, hiding again in the heavy silence that follows an argument. Neither of you seems to want to be the one to come out of it. Personally, you don’t know how.

Stealing a glance at Bucky, you find him already looking at you. Hastily, you avert your eyes again, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. Every ounce of your earlier determination seems to have vanished; you feel more unsure with each step. Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets, coughing. You wonder what cat caught his tongue.

He looks more like himself in his own street clothes. He even walks differently, back less straightened, more relaxed. The uniform suits him well, but it makes him look younger, somehow. A bit lost in its ironed edges.

But now, like this, he’s just Bucky. Just Stevie’s best friend. Just your too-charming-for-his-own-good upstairs neighbor who can’t ever make his rations last and comes knocking for eggs and cups of sugar at ridiculous times, making you threaten to tell the landlady. You never do, though, not when he flashes that little lopsided grin at you, his eyebrows drawn together in an almost bashful expression.

You’ve started drinking your coffee black, instead.

It’s little things like that that sometimes make you wonder whether there actually might be something between you two that he’s just decided not to tell you about. It’s certainly enough to make Angie hide a knowing smile, no matter how often you tell her—and yourself—that it’s not like that.

A seawater breeze makes you shiver and you realize you’ve almost reached the bridge. You just start thinking that you should have brought a cardigan when suddenly Bucky stops, muttering to himself.

You halt, too, and half-turn to him, about to ask him what’s wrong when he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. The gesture is so gentle, so unexpected, that for a moment the words get stuck in your throat.

“Aren’t you gonna be needing that?” you ask softly.

Bucky smiles, and for the first time tonight, it reaches his eyes. You hate the effect it has on you. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “But it’s still a bit of a walk.”

His fingers linger on the collar for another second or two before he slowly pulls back. He inhales as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself at the last moment.

“What?” You pull the jacket more tightly around yourself.

His eyes flicker down your body and back to your face. “Looks better on you than me, anyway,” he says.

You feel the warmth spread to your cheeks, and it isn’t just because of the additional layer. Even though he doesn’t mean anything by it, because it’s not like that between you. Right?

You hurry to catch up with him and once again, silence envelops you both, but it feels different now. As if something in the air has changed.

“Bucky, is this—”

“Listen, Y/N, I—”

An awkward laugh falls from your lips when you both start and stop talking at the same time.

“You go first,” you decide. Maybe he’s just saved you from embarrassing yourself by outright asking him what it is he’s doing.

Bucky chuckles quietly, even though you fail to see what’s so funny. “This isn’t how I expected my last night to go, is all.”

And there it is. “What are we doing here, then?” you ask, crossing your arms even tighter. “Why aren’t you getting dinner with flower shop girl?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not interested in Connie.”

Right. That’s her name. “Then why’d you even ask her out?”

“Because I can’t well walk up to a gal and her friend sayin’ ‘hello, either of you interested in accompanying my pal and me to this exposition while the other one stays behind?’”

Why didn’t you ask me?

You don’t want to say it out loud, but apparently you do, because the next thing Bucky says is, “What, to go with Steve?”

“To go with you.” The sentence is out of your mouth before you can stop it, the hurt still palpable on your tongue. Your heart gives another nervous flutter.

Bucky doesn’t even blink. “Didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You frown. “I like science.”

“You don’t like crowds. Hell, most of the time you barely like me.”

“That’s not true.”

Bucky snorts. “It is. You almost fainted the other week when that fella had the whole laundromat starin’ at you, remember?”

That’s not the part you were protesting, but you do remember. Your sweaty hands holding onto your laundry basket for dear life. Your breaths coming in faster with every passing second. The way your vision started to blur slightly, as if your eyes were trying to protect you from the prying eyes you felt piercing every inch of your skin.

You hadn’t realized that Bucky noticed that, though.

Thankfully, he keeps talking before your thoughts can go down that road. “Besides, you already had a date for tonight.”

Your lingering irritation at his earlier behavior again seems like a much safer topic, somehow. “A date you managed to shoo off before I even got downstairs,” you remark dryly.

He kicks a pebble and you both watch it tumble across the empty sidewalk. “I wasn’t gonna,” Bucky sighs. “I only wanted to say goodbye to you before I left, cross my heart. He just—he got under my skin.”

Now it’s your turn to grin. “And how on earth did he manage that, Buck?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he blushes. “Would ya look at that, we’re here,” he finally mutters, nodding up ahead.

You follow his gaze. “Did you drag me halfway through Brooklyn to get murdered in a roadside diner?” you chuckle nervously.

In your defense, it doesn’t look promising. Cold lights and a sadly flickering sign, the windows fogged up with the humid wind blowing through from the docks. When Bucky holds the door open for you, the broken sound of the brass bell has you cringe.

“First of all,” he says, “I couldn’t drag ya anywhere you didn’t want to go if I tried.”

You hide a laugh behind the sleeve of his jacket. The smell of him lingers in the fabric, but not enough to block out the stench of burnt eggs and stale air.

“And second of all,” Bucky continues, sliding into one of the booths next to the window, “I happen to know this fine establishment has the best dessert selection in the city. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure,” you say, sitting down opposite him. Your back is to the wall, which gives you a nice view of the whole of the diner.

Apart from the smell, it’s not as bad as it appears on the outside. The tables are clean, the menu is surprisingly extensive, and the only other customer is a bespectacled elderly man nursing a milkshake with a surprising amount of whipped cream at the bar. You can hear quiet music coming from the kitchen.

You push the half-empty sugar dispenser over to Bucky’s side of the table with a slight grin as a tired looking teenager makes his way to your table with the coffeepot and two mugs. Bucky watches you with curious amusement, but doesn’t seem to pick up on the joke.

“You guys want anything else?”

“Yes,” Bucky says with a charming smile. “However much cake we can get for one dollar and seventeen cents.”

“Are you nuts?” you hiss while you get your coffee poured.

“And give us a variety, please.” He turns back to you. “What?”

“You’re not serious. He’s not serious,” you tell your waiter. “You can’t spend that much money on cake.”

Bucky shrugs. “Not like I’ll get much use out of it come morning. I am very serious,” he tells the teenager.

“Doubt we have that much left, anyway,” the guy says with a yawn and leaves for the kitchen.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you snort, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I did tell ya I was gonna make it up to you.”

“Yeah.” You lean your head against the back of your seat. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

His eyebrow twitches, but he keeps his eyes on his mug, swirling the contents. “I’ll live, sugar.”

“Promise?”

The painful uncertainty makes the air seem to crackle when he looks at you, then. This time, you don’t pull up the walls protecting your heart immediately, because slowly but surely, you’re running out of time.

You’re sure Bucky notices the emotion on your face, because there’s something similar lingering in his gaze, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s like there’s still a puzzle piece you’re missing and the answer to all of it is hiding somewhere in the blue depths of his eyes.

Have they always looked so soft?

For once, Bucky is the first one to look away, and you hastily clear your throat and lock your heart away again.

“So,” you say, “how was the expo?”

“Good,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “It was good, it was fun. Lots of people.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Well, if I tell you about the flying car we saw, that just makes me seem like a bragging arse.”

“Language,” you say automatically, then bite your tongue when he looks at you, amused. You think of the plaster on your living room floor. “A flying car, huh?”

“Yeah.” His eyes sparkle like the light reflecting off the sea, and it’s beautiful. “Though it did break on stage, so maybe you didn’t miss that much.”

“What a letdown,” you say sarcastically.

“I know. Steve was so disappointed he left.” He taps his fingers against the rim of his mug.

“He’s gonna be fine, you know,” you say, sensing the leftover worry in his voice. “Even if trouble follows him.”

Bucky snorts. “Steve follows trouble, not the other way round.”

“Still. Bad weeds grow tall and all that.” There’s a pause again and you hum to fill the silence. “Also, he’s not gonna wanna miss Stark’s next grand brain child.”

“I’ve got a feeling that’s not gonna be a good enough reason for that righteous punk to stay outta bad business.”

“You’ll see. Next time, he’ll be front row.” You hesitate, but only for a second. “I’m fine with crowds, by the way. Long as they’re not looking at me.”

Bucky nods slowly, that little lopsided smile making another appearance. His eyes crinkle with it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The arrival of his cake order turns the flutter in your stomach into a growl. Coffee cake with cream and steaming apple pie, jam filled vanilla sponge and cheesecake are placed in front of you, each slice about twice the size of what Angie is allowed to cut at the automat.

“We are so gonna turn our stomachs,” you laugh.

“It’ll be worth it,” Bucky answers and ceremoniously hands you a fork.

He’s not wrong. For a couple of minutes, you don’t talk at all, just tasting your way through the different plates in front of you, each bite more delicious than the one before. You have to control yourself hard to not make any obscene noises.

“I’mma miss this,” Bucky says, washing another bite down with the rest of his coffee. “Doubt they’re much for dessert in Italy.”

You watch him over the rim of your own mug. Your eyes flit to the untouched sugar dispenser, and it just irks you.

“Do you bake?” you ask with a doubtful expression.

“What?” Bucky chuckles. “No. Why, do you want me to?”

“Then what are you doing with all that sugar you keep borrowing? Do you eat it raw with a spoon?”

“Ah, you noticed that.” In the harsh light, the pink on his cheeks is all the more visible this time.

You snort over your fork. “Of course I noticed that, how was I not gonna?”

“Well, forgive me, but you have a tendency to wilfully misinterpret my intentions. Or outright ignore them.”

“I do not.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans back in his seat and takes you in for a second. “You look stunning in that dress, sugar.”

You look down at yourself, his jacket still thrown over your shoulders. “You can’t even see it.”

“All right. So when was the last time you changed the water on your flowers?”

You narrow your eyes at the change in topic. “Yesterday.” He stares at you blankly until your eyes widen. “So that wasn’t—”

“Nope.” He takes another bite of cheesecake.

“Right,” you say, slowly putting your fork down. You’re starting to feel a bit queasy, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. “Bucky?”

“Hm?”

“Are you makin’ a pass at me?”

His cheeks darken a little more. “Been tryin’ to do that for weeks now, but thanks for noticing.”

Your mind is racing, trying to form a single coherent thought, but all that manages to make its way out is, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Bucky says. “Because I like you, that’s why.”

“No, you don’t.”

His brows draw together. “I don’t?”

“You went out with a different girl hours ago, and now you’re telling me you like me?”

“I told you before that I wasn’t interested in her.”

“Because you’re interested in … me.”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” His hand is in his hair again and you’re not sure whether he wants to push it back or make a mess of it. You wonder if they’re going to cut it, and the thought stings. It’s ridiculous, really, but it’s also easier to worry about his hair than about him.

“I don’t …” You trail off. Your heart is beating so loud it’s making it impossible to hear your own thoughts. For some reason, Angie’s voice seems to drown out all the noise inside your head. Told you so, she singsongs.

“Look,” Bucky says, and there’s a pained sort of cadence to his voice. “I know you don’t feel the same and this is just about the worst timing, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t risk … but I also didn’t want to leave without …” He huffs quietly and just like that, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.

You’ve guarded your heart too closely around him.

You stand up with a jolt and he doesn’t even lift his head, as if he thinks you’re just going to leave him sitting there. Instead, you slide into the booth next to him, your body turned towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” Your voice reaches barely above a whisper. Bucky’s breath hitches when you touch his shoulder to have him look at you. “Say it again?”

His eyes flit between yours, still uncertain, still searching for something. Permission, maybe.

You hold your breath.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

And this time, you don’t have to question it. You see it in his eyes, clear as day now, no longer hidden in covert glances and friendly banter. It’s warm and soft, and you’ve never seen this particular expression of his directed at anyone else. He’s looking at you as if you are the only thing on earth that’s real. So you let your walls crumble away.

“I like you so much it terrifies me.”

The changes on Bucky’s face are imminent, the realization as your words hit, the same relieved sort of disbelief that courses through you as well. You pull him in until you can wrap your arms around him and bury your nose in his sweater, breathing him in. He holds you as if you’re something precious, his heart racing as much as yours.

“God, you’re an idiot, Barnes,” you mumble, and you can feel him chuckle.

“I’d say we’re on par for that, sugar.” He presses the tiniest kiss to your head. “We still have the whole rest of the night. About three more slices of cake to go through.”

He doesn’t let you out of his embrace, only draw back enough to face him. His eyes have little specks of gray and brown in them. You’ve never noticed them before, but you’re already committing each and every one of them to memory.

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be back in a couple’a months with some small scars and a medal or two. And then I’ll take you out proper, wherever you want.”

“I’d like that,” you say quietly. “I’d settle for you coming home safe, though.”

“‘Course I will,” Bucky says, and that beautiful little lopsided grin returns. You’re dizzy with the weight of his gaze, and when he leans in closer, your eyes flutter shut. You feel his breath on your cheek when he speaks again, sweet like cake. “Can’t keep my best girl waitin’ too long now, can I?”

Ever the optimist.

And yet, you’re the first one to lean in, as if he still doesn’t believe you’d let him.

You restore his faith, again and again. It almost feels like a promise.

imagine being bucky's mission partner

"You okay?"

Your eyes glared up at where Bucky stood over you, handsome asshole in his leather jacket. He asked again and even held out his hand, but you swatted it away and slowly got up from the ground. He watched and stepped forward when you faltered, failing to catch your balance. He was on you in a millisecond, holding you by the waist and standing way too close to you.

Cheeks warm from his smoldering stare, you pushed him away and started limping toward the doorway. You heard his sigh and anticipated his touch again - this time his hand fell to the small of your back.

"Come on, don't be like that..."

"I told you I had it."

Bucky kept a hand on your arm as he walked around you, his body moving to face you. His face had softened and he smiled gently, reaching a hand to the side of you face.

"I know you can handle yourself, I just...worry."

Knowing you couldn't be mad at him for more than minutes at a time, Bucky's smile grew a bit when you reached down for his hand. He gave it a squeeze and asked how you really were.

"That fall was bad..."

"My butt hurts..." your voice whined and he chuckled, bringing you into a gentle embrace; he ran his hand up and down your back, proposing that the two of you call it a night.

"They got away for now, we'll get them next time."

"Sam's going to be pissed," you shuddered at the thought but Bucky just shrugged.

"He's always pissed - let's go back to the hotel," he proposed, fingers gliding against your cheek. His touch brought comfort to the pain and you nodded, allowing him to kiss you on the lips.

"Will you ice my butt when we get back to the room?"

Bucky laughed. "Yeah, doll, I'll ice your butt."

Okay what about a Bucky x reader where buckys had a long day and the reader can tell so she dresses up like a 40’s pinup girl for him?

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: m in f penetration, handjob, fingering, creampie, eating cum, unprotected sex, slight degredation, praise

a/n: GIRL WHEN I SAW THIS IN MY ASKSSSS YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT!! this idea is so hot god i love it!! thank u so much for requesting

Bad day at work. I’m gonna be home late. I need a drink. A lot of them. Go to sleep without me, I’ll be home later, I just need to be alone. I love you.

You looked at the text on your phone then up to yourself over and over again in nervousness. You wanted to leave him alone, it was what you always did on his bad days when he came home upset. But giving him space never did anything, it only enabled him being upset for days on end, and it was hard for you to watch him struggle.

Today you tried something different. You wanted to make it about him. Everything was about you, what he cooked, what he did, even the bedroom, but not tonight.

You couldn’t help but remember him mentioning what magazines and girls the soldiers looked at back in the war, he even showed you an old magazine Steve had found. He was joking, only trying to show you memories, but the image was burnt in your mind. Solider Buck, hand in pants, starting at the girls he didn’t know in magazines.

Which is why you had on a semi long red dress with white polka dots. It was skin tight on your upper half, accentuating the size of your waist, and and it flowed waist down. It matched well with your red lipstick and soft makeup, along with your lightly curled hair.

You look like a girl in an old magazine.

When the door opened, you knew that was it, there was no turning back. You stayed still, trying not to let your overthinking get the best of you. You stayed seated on the counter, eating chocolate you had from a week back that Bucky brought for you.

His eyes were on the floor, but he tilted his head up at the realization of your presence, his eyes widening. He wanted to feel confused, but he was too amazed to feel it. You looked perfect, sprawled out on the kitchen island in a little 50s dress for him, “What are you wearing?”

“I found this in my closet,” you lied, knowing damn well you bought it days prior to surprise him. You dangled your legs over the edge of the counter, watching Bucky get closer, “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” he answered embarrassingly quickly, “You look beautiful.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you,” you smiled, grabbing chocolate from the tray and grabbing his arm to pull him closer. You grabbed his face with one hand and used your other to gently put the chocolate to his mouth. He opened his mouth slightly and grabbed the chocolate from your hand, watching you suck the residue off your fingers, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he smiled, not sure how to react. He was so used to silence and solitude when he had a hard day at work or on a mission, but this was a different feeling for him.

“How was work?”

“Bad,” he scoffed, brushing the hair from your face, “No body got hurt or anything, it was just a mistake I made. I kept insisting on something and it turned out I was wrong and we all just argued. It was annoying.”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” you frowned, leaning in to press a kiss to his frowned lips, “Maybe I could make you feel better.”

His eyebrows furrowed but quickly raised in realization when you grabbed the belt loops on his pants to tug him closer, “I just want to take care of my favorite soldier.”

He looked speechless, mouth slightly agape in hesitance. He wanted to, God, in your outfit he wanted nothing more than that, but he was so used to the bedroom always being about you. He loved it that way, he loved making every move about making you shake beneath him, it was all he wanted to know. But your offer was tempting, “Let me take care of you.”

He nodded softly, his eyes glistening as you went in to press a kiss to the end of his jaw, then prickle more to his neck. You sucked on his neck softly as you gripped the bottom of his shirt, which he was quick to remove. He grabbed your waist and kept you planted on the counter as he closed his eyes, enjoying your assault on his neck.

You jumped off the counter, standing in front of him and having him slightly press you into the counter. You kissed lower onto his chest, then took it upon yourself to kiss all the way down to his happy trail. When you reached it, you pressed your tongue flat against his abs and licked up, all the way to his neck and kissing his lips. He was quick to stick his tongue in your throat, which you accepted for only a moment before getting onto your knees.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bucky mumbled, hoping you’d continue. He took your light scoff and continuations as a yes.

You unbuttoned his pants and grabbed them, pulling them slowly down his legs. You were quicker to grab his boxers and pull them down, revealing what you wanted. All ten inches of him stood straight up, tapping his stomach as your gingers grazed the base.

He grabbed the counters as you began stroking him underneath the table and gave him soft kisses, “What’s got you so hard, Buck?”

“You,” he responded fast, his breath uneven, “Your dress, fuck— You look so beautiful. If I saw you back in the 50s, I would’ve thought you were the most perfect girl I’d ever seen, just like now.”

You stood up and continued jerking him off, turning so you were in front of him. You wanted to see his face. You kissed his neck as you jerked faster, “Where would you have taken me on a date back then?”

“The movies, for sure,” he threw his head back as you collected spit on your palm and jerked him off stronger than before, “We would have kissed in the back— Fuck, that feels good— Taken you to get food after.”

“What would happen after the date?”

He realized what you were getting at as he closed his eyes, just imagining it, “Usually I’d wait to go back to my house, but I wouldn’t be able to wait with you— Oh, god, oh, jesus— I-I’d put you in the back of my car and shove my face in you, ruin you until you could never fuck another man again.”

He took a deep breath and let out a drawn out moan, his eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as you sped up, “I’d put you on top of me, let you ride me until you got what you wanted out of it. I’d fuck you so good.”

You felt yourself getting wetter at his words, and it was driving Bucky’s super senses insane, “I can smell you, fuck.”

He grabbed your waist and seperated you from him. He wanted to be delicate, but how could he when you looked so perfect? He found the buttons and accidentally broke a few, but undid them as fast as he could. He took no time to take the dress off of you, his breath stopping at the black lacy bra that had underwear to match. He put his hand out to trace the lace along the underwear, his hand stopping at your crotch. He cupped it slightly before you backed away, “This is about you, stop.”

“Don’t starve a man,” he whined, his eyes furrowing in desperation. He picked you up and sat you on the counter, spreading your legs as he watched you shake your head at his request, “Baby, do you want me to go crazy? I can’t cum until I eat you, be nice. I just want a little, just for a minute, okay? Then you can do whatever you want to me.”

“You’re like a starved dog, jesus,” you mocked, scoffing at him and letting him spread your legs. He always got what he wanted, and as good as it felt, you wanted to focus on him.

“You asked what I would have done to you in the forties?” He asked, sticking his hand into your underwear and rubbing you slowly, moving your wetness around to lube everything up, “I would have left that little dress on, and made you sit on my face. I’d want your smell on me for days so anytime I did anything, I’d think about what it felt like for you to hump my face.”

You breathed slowly at his confession, grinding onto his hand. He inserted two fingers, watching your mouth open as he did so. He stopped his fingers to let you adjust before moving them again, “You can’t even take my fingers— How am I gonna fit?”

His mocking tone was sending you over the edge, making your eyes close as he fingered you more rapidly, “What? Does that get you off? Me having to stuff you so full cause I barely fit?”

You moaned at his words, nodding rapidly as he fingered you at a quicker pace, “Look at you— Spread out for me with your slutty lace underwear— You look so fucking hot.”

He always made things about you when you did things, but he knew tonight you wanted him to get pleasure out of it all. He did something he was hesitant to do, but God did it feel good.

He rubbed himself slowly against your thigh as he fingered you, grinding on you like a dog in heat. You looked down, letting out the most unbelievable moan at the sight, making his eyes widen, “When you moan like that, I swear I could cum just humping you like a teenager.”

You arched your back and grabbed his arm, shaking your head, “Bucky, just fuck me, please.”

He removed his hand from your underwear and stuck his fingers in his mouth, moaning around them as he closed his eyes, licking up every drop he could, “You taste so good, look.”

He brought his fingers to your mouth and watched you take them in, tasting yourself. You hallowed your cheeks around him as he spoke, “You look like such a whore like this— Tasting yourself on my fingers. You’re meant to be fucked when you taste that good.”

He grabbed your underwear and turned it to the side, keeping on the sexy lace as he ran his dick over your wetness, making your body shiver. He stuck his head inside of you, then was slow to stick the rest of him in as well. When he was fully buried, he waited til you looked adjust to flip the both of you over, so you straddled his waist, “Ride me.”

You lifted yourself up before planting yourself back down, “Bucky— You’re so deep, fuck.”

You kept bouncing up and down, the sight of your tits jumping with you sending Bucky into overdrive, “I want you to cum inside me, Bucky, please.”

His eyes clenched shut at your words as he nodded, nearly busting at the words you just said, “I’ll fuck all my cum into you, baby, I promise.”

“Take what you want, milk me, God,” he moaned as you grinded on him, spelling your name with your hips. You grabbed your own chest, grabbing your nipples through your bra, “You’re so worked up, look at you— Greedy and fucked out— I could just fuck you whenever I wanted cause you’re always so wet for me.”

You nodded, bouncing faster and leaning down a bit to look at him, “You should— Fuck me whenever you want. When I’m cooking, showering, reading, just come and fuck me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

“You sound like such a slut when you say that,” his eyebrows knit together, his hand coming to yo ur face. You grabbed his thumb and stuck it in your mouth, “You’re so unreal.”

Your body winced as you continued riding him, “I’m cumming, oh god, oh my fucking god—“

“Cum for me,” he mumbled, knowing he was on edge too. You moaned before you collapsed on him, but right when you did, you felt something in you happen.

He let go and you felt ropes of cum endlessly paint your insides. It was never ending, the serum had made him cum for minutes on end. You were getting so full of cum, “Bucky, you’re filling me up so much, it’s leaking.”

“Take it,” he moaned, feeling the last few drops leak out of you as he pulled out.

He flipped you on your back, his eyes now on your lower half. He nearly came again at the sight of your wet pussy leaking his cum, it was dripping out so much.

He put his finger inside of you, shoving all the cum left into you harder. You shivered at the sudden overstimulation he was causing since you just came, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t waste any,” he smirked, taking his finger out and grabbing all the cum that had dripped out and bringing it to your mouth. You took it all, drinking his cum off his fingers as you grabbed his hand, looking at him.

“I want you to cum again— But in my mouth this time.”

Wanted

Summary: You consider ending things with Bucky after seeing a girl come on to him, but it's not that easy, and you get a hard reminder about who he really wants in the clubhouse bathroom.

Pairing: Beefy biker!Bucky x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected rough possessive sex, oral sex (f), fingering, brief exhibitionism/semi-public sex, mirror sex, jealous and angry reader, biker slang/culture, slightly toxic angsty vibes with a happy ending, a lot of swearing, pet names, beefy!bucky (he needs a warning).

Word Count: 1.6k

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

Leaning against the counter you tried to slow your breath and calm down after what you had just seen. A slutty little sweet butt, practically grinding herself against the man you’d been seeing – the man you thought was yours. Hell, he hadn’t told you that you were his old lady, but countless nights tangled up in his sheets at the clubhouse had you thinking that you were something more. Anything more.  

You watched the way he smirked at her before you finally got sick of the sight and stormed into the bathroom down the hall. 

Embarrassment flooded you as you realized what a waste your efforts with him were. You tried your best to play it cool, go easy and casual with Bucky because that's the pace that he set. But now you knew that he was just stringing you along out of convenience. 

Deep blue eyes locked with yours as you stared into the mirror, the brawny biker slipping into the bathroom behind you. 

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could ya Buck?” you sneered at his reflection. 

“C’mon darlin’, don’t be like that.” His big, warm hands slowly slid around your waist from behind. 

You turned in his hold, glaring up into his stupid gorgeous eyes. He towered over you and his large frame took over the cramped space. Why did he have to look like that? All broody, and irresistible, and annoyingly beguiling. Just having his hands on you made you want to fall down the rabbit hole, pretend like it didn’t bother you, as if your heart wasn’t on the line and you were perfectly fine – but then he smirked. 

Anger rose up your chest as you looked at him, grinning at you like he did at her. Rage took over. “I’m fucking done with you!” you shouted, shoving his broad chest away from you, but he didn’t move an inch and you hated how hot that was. His body emanated power, and his presence made you weak. 

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, his mouth slightly opening as his gaze darkened. “Nothing happened, and nothing was gonna happen, honest,” he declared. He sounded sincere, and you despised the way you felt your hard exterior fragment at his words. 

That smug smirk graced his lips again, and you wanted to slap it off, or more honestly, kiss it off. 

“You didn’t want something to happen with her?” 

He crowded you, pushing you up against the counter behind you, close enough to feel the heat permeating off his body. “Now why would I want that when I have this sexy little spitfire right here?” 

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip as you fought to hold onto your resolve the best you could. God, you just wanted him to hurt a little bit, wanted to be the one to walk away. “You don’t have me, Bucky.”

Gently running the back of his knuckles down the side of your face, his gaze flickered from your mouth to your eyes. “Don’t I?” he questioned, unaffected by your lie. 

Gasping at his arrogance, “You son of a bitch.” You were done, this was it. He was used to getting his way with every girl he came across, but you weren’t going to give the self-righteous bastard the satisfaction. 

His gruff voice broke your train of thought. “Because you sure as hell have me.”

Your breath hitched as you looked into his dark dilated pupils – he meant it. 

“You’re only gonna break my heart, I don't think we should –”

His lips cut you off before you could end it. His tongue was hot and determined. His hands moved up and cupped your jaw as he held you in place, kissing you until you couldn’t think. Until you forgot why you were mad in the first place, only knowing that you needed him. 

“You can’t quit me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. His hypnotic eyes reminded you that you were too far gone; his lips against your neck as his rough hands slid down and up your skirt, kneading your ass harshly cemented his possession. 

With his sinful blue eyes transfixed on yours, he dropped to his knees between your legs and licked up the length of your inner thigh. Heat bloomed in your core as you gave in, watching him kiss his way up your thighs, biting into your flesh as his eyes held yours. Whimpering out, you tugged him closer, needing more. Bucky chuckled darkly before burying his face in between your thighs, licking and sucking you through your lacy g-string. He hooked his thumbs into the sides of your panty and eased them off before swiftly hooking your leg over his shoulder and swiping his hot thick tongue through your wet folds. 

Your hands fell to his hair, holding him in place. “So fuckin’ good,” he groaned under his breath, his eyes closed in pleasure as he licked you from your entrance to clit, over and over again. 

Without warning he shoved two thick fingers into your center, working you over as his tongue fixated on your bundle of nerves. The cool metal of his rings sliding against your hot skin created a delicious contrast. You moaned in between gasps of air, watching as he took care of what he knew belonged to him. The grip on his hair got harsher and he could tell you were close, feeling your needy muscles quiver – his favorite tell-tale sign. 

Unable to control yourself you trembled in pleasure, body convulsing as you came undone. “That’s it, baby,” he purred, helping you through it, curling his fingers deeper inside of you. Mischievous eyes watched in appreciation, his chest swelling in pride as you whimpered out his name. 

While your anger had been snuffed out to embers, your passion for him reignited the flame. 

You coaxed Bucky to stand before tearing at his shirt, pulling his cut and flannel open so that you could nip at his neck. You bit and sucked your way down to his tattooed chest, leaving your mark as you went. 

Tugging at his belt, you swiftly undid his jeans, desperate to feel him. Before you could wrap your hand around his heavy length, he gripped the back of your thighs and pressed you hard up against the wall across from the mirror; where you could watch as he wrecked you. 

Holding you there with his hips and hands, he leaned forward to capture your lips before lining himself up; only pulling back a split second to watch your face as he buried himself inside of you, driving home with one hard thrust. You gasped at the stretch and intense familiar pressure. Bucky had fucked you so many times, but that first plunge never failed to take your breath away; always reminded you how no other man could ever fill you so right. 

His hips snapped into yours mercilessly, striking you roughly again and again at an unwavering pace. 

You threw your head back and lost yourself in a daze, incapable of uttering a word. Fuck, you’d let him do whatever he wanted if he’d keep on using your body like that.

“You’re all I want,” he growled, his teeth on your neck. 

As he recklessly thrusted in deeper than imaginable, you almost missed the quiet click of the door. But then your eyes locked in the mirror with that dumb skank that wanted your man. 

Her eyes nearly bulged out in surprise and you took the opportunity to toss her a devilish grin as Bucky took you apart. That’s right bitch, mine. 

She scurried off right before your back arched off the wall, your muscles tightening around him. 

“Oh, fuck –”

“Takin’ all of me so fuckin’ well,” Bucky grinded his pelvis into you, rubbing your clit each time he bottomed out, knocking the air from your lungs. He was lost in you, and all you could do was take it. Wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, you pulled him impossibly closer, until your walls spasmed as you shattered in his arms. But he wasn’t done with you; he rutted into you hard, watching proudly as your body quaked between the wall and him. You clenched him perfectly, pulsating around him so hard it sent him over the edge. 

You bit his lip as you felt his thrusts grow erratic. Bucky groaned out your name as he jerked violently, emptying himself – branding your insides with his hot release. 

He’d be happy to spend the rest of his days living in you. His brain was foggy, but his heart knew who he was supposed to be with. Resting his forehead against yours, he panted as he tried to calm down. 

Wrapping your hand around his jaw, you smiled softly. “I love it when we fight,” you admitted. 

He chuckled and squeezed your thighs. “Me too, darlin’,” he nipped your lip. “But I’m starting to think you start these fights because you know how it’ll end.” 

You giggled at his words, he was onto your game. “Maybe I do,” you whispered just before your lips met his for a soft, sweet kiss. 

You were everything he wanted in a woman, you gave him more than he ever thought he’d find in his world. Right then, he made a mental note to stop entertaining the advances of other girls. His soul was already taken. But damn was it true, the fights always led to the best sex. 

Carefully pulling himself out, he gently set you down, keeping his arms around your waist as you stood on wobbly legs. Your smudged eye makeup, those gorgeous sultry lips, and the way you looked at him – Bucky was a goner. 

You were his weakness, and he knew then what he’d never said out loud – all he needed from this life was his bike, the club, and his best girl. 

Operation get Mr Bucky and Momma together

Paring: Beefy and Teacher! Bucky x milf! reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't play favorites but Amaya is definitely his favorite, especially because her mom is hot.. Cue a 6-year-old trying to get Bucky to be her dad. {wc: 2.2k}

Warning: a bit of bucky being insecure but not that much, Karen parent being annoying, bucky is a fool but amaya is gonna fixed it.

a/n: I've been sitting on this for months but I had to step back from this account bc of everything. thankfully I finished this before my electricity went puff but not my best job. pls have mercy bc I'm rusty.

Bucky knew there weren’t many male first-grade teachers. But honestly, it was his dream job. He was teaching the country's future and helping them become better people.

Also, 6-year-olds love him, especially with his fantasy land classroom he forced Steve to help decorate. Bucky loved being a teacher, and he loved his kids. Relatively easy to get up every day at 6 am when you love your job. 

That being said, he knows he shouldn’t have a favorite student. So it’s basically written in the teacher’s rule book. 

But Amaya was undoubtedly his favorite of his unruly kids. She was very spirited. Amaya loved helping out her classmates and talking to them. She was just the best student he had ever had.

She is amusing. Every day she comes to him with a story about her mom. Unfortunately, Bucky hadn't met her yet because she was busy with work. Still, he interacted with Amaya’s second contact, Natasha. 

At this point, Bucky feels like he knows her. How she likes tulips. Her favorite color is pink, which is Amaya’s favorite, but that’s a funny coincidence. He knows that Amaya and her mom go to the museum every week on the day they have special events for kids. Amaya’s favorite exhibit is the one about mythical creatures. 

“Momma likes the one with the paintings. She likes the one with the man who gives the girl a flower.” Amaya tells Bucky. Amaya always goes to Bucky’s desk after finishing her classwork because if she doesn’t, she distracts her classmates. Or give her classmates the answers, so this is the only way to keep her entertained. She always takes this time to draw something for Bucky to hang on his wall of drawings.

“Oh, Mister Bucky! Momma is going to come to pick me up today.” Bucky cursed mentally, completely forgetting today was parent-teacher conference. 

Talking to 6-year-olds was a lot easier than talking to adults. Especially when you are telling parents that their kids are having problems. The worst part of the job, honestly. If Bucky could just teach his kids, send letters to the parents, and never interact with them, he would. 

“Going to meet the elusive Miss (Y/N)?” Steve, his best friend, asked. Because of budget cuts, Steve was currently the art teacher for the entire school. Did he like it? Probably not having the kindergarteners put glitter in his hair, but he enjoyed a challenge. 

“Apparently,” Bucky mumbled, opening his lunch. Just a ham and cheese sandwich because he was running late.

“She finally showing up to a conference?” Sam asked, heating up his lunch. Sam was the history teacher for the 4th and 5th graders. He was also a pain in Bucky’s ass, but he decided not to think about it and focused on his incoming stomach ache. 

Fuck, now Bucky had to clean his classroom and prepare everything. What if one of those Karen parents shows up and starts complaining about stupid things? About how his classroom is Lord of the Rings theme and how that's bad for kids? Maybe about how he’s a male teacher? He is already spiraling.

“Oh, you are talking about Amaya’s mom? I met her when I was Amaya’s kindergarten teacher. She’s really nice and - “ Wanda started talking but was interrupted by her twin brother Pietro, the gym teacher. 

“She is also smoking hot. Like ultimate Milf in this whole school. ” He comments, which makes Bucky feel even worse because how will he talk with a pretty girl? He hasn’t done that since college. 

Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother and sat down next to Steve to eat her lunch.

“You’ll be great though, Barnes. She’s really nice, and you are a great teacher, so you won’t have any problems with her.” Wanda reassures her coworker. Bucky takes a deep breath and takes another bite off his sandwich. 

“And I still  believe my son should be seated in the front.” Mrs. Robinson complained, which she had been doing for the past hour and a half. Going past the hour dialogue they are supposed to be having. But since Amaya’s mom is running late.

“Mrs. Robinson, I understand, but some kids in the classroom require specific accommodations. Because of that, the entire front row is taken. So I can’t sit Tommy in the front. “ Bucky explained for the 10th time. Mrs. Robinson just rolled her eyes and huffed. 

Before she could complain again, someone knocked on the door. A woman in formal and professional clothing stepped into the classroom. Amaya popped into the classroom with the brightest smile.

“Mister Bucky! I brought Momma!” She screamed excitedly. Amaya’s mom tried to quiet her, but from Bucky’s experience, Amaya is impossible to corral. 

“Well, Mrs. Robinson, my 4 o'clock is here.” Bucky said nervously, trying to politely kick out Mrs. Robinson and her big-ass attitude. 

“We could discuss this further in another parent-teacher conference.” It took everything for Bucky not to roll his eyes. Fucking self-observed parents think their children are the only ones that matter, Bucky thinks to himself.

“Sorry for my tardiness; I got held up at work.” Amaya’s mom apologizes. Woah, she really is pretty, Bucky thinks.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. (Y/L/N).” Bucky says, trying to catch his breath. 

“Please call me (Y/N).” She smiled sweetly at Bucky. Bucky gulped.

“Let me get to the point; Amaya is a fantastic student. One of the best. She is above her group’s reading level. She writes pretty clearly for her age. No complaints from me; whatever you are doing at home is workin’.” Bucky explained, (Y/N) smiling at her daughter, who was too entertained with Bucky’s snowball on his desk. 

“Thank you, but I can’t take that much credit. Maya absolutely adores you.” Bucky blushes at her praise. 

“She’s a good kid; it’s easy to teach kids like her.” Bucky praised Amaya, who was surprisingly quiet. Which would scare Bucky because if there’s one thing he learned from teaching first graders is that quiet means trouble. But he dismissed it because she wouldn’t do anything wild with her mom right next to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes, for everything. With getting a new job and having to provide for my family, you’ve literally given me so much peace.” (Y/N) leaned in closer. 

“If I am being honest, I was worried about ‘Maya’s performance at school. “ She whispered, but Bucky gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Amaya, could you please give these papers to Mr. Rogers?” Amaya nodded and grabbed the papers Bucky had handed her. Then, Bucky sent a text to Steve telling him to keep Amaya out of his classroom to talk to her mom.

“I haven’t noticed a difference in her behavior if that makes you feel any better,” Bucky reassured her. She sighed.

“I am worried about her. Ever since she was born, her dad has been in and out of her life. Now he has disappeared for good. Amaya has been acting like it doesn’t bother her, but no first grader should hide their feelings.” She confesses. Bucky wants to do two things. 1) kick Amaya’s father for being a piece of shit and abandoning such a precious child and her mom. And 2) himself for getting excited by hearing that (Y/N) is single. He can already hear his mother chastising him.

“I’m so sorry to hear that (Y/N).” Bucky said earnestly. She just shook her head.

“It’s okay. Any advice for me?” She said in a joking tone, trying to alleviate the tension. Bucky lets out a nervous chuckle. 

“Just keep being there. In my experience, being present and making the child feel like they have a support system is the best way to help them during this difficult time.” Bucky smiled at her. 

“Thank you. See you on Monday?” (Y/N) said, getting up from her chair.

“Yes. Definitely.” Bucky felt his heart beating at a faster pace. 

This school year was definitely going to be interesting. So Bucky thinks, watching Y/N walking out of his classroom.

What Bucky doesn’t know is that Amaya plans to make life more enjoyable. She was supposed to be sleeping, but she heard Auntie Tasha’s voice and decided to say hi.

“Nat, you could’ve warned me, you know!” (Y/N) explained. Natasha laughed, handing her best friend a glass of wine. 

“He is hot, isn't he?” Natasha grins. Amaya looked at her mom, who had a goofy smile. She has never seen her mom with a smile like that. 

“Ridiculously hot. And his eyes? Nat, his eyes are just so gray. I almost spilled my entire life story right there and then.” (Y/N) groans. Natasha just laughs.

“It should be illegal to have a first-grade teacher look that hot.” (Y/N) added, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“Just wait till you see him in casual Fridays. That man looks excellent in a Henley. “ Natasha joked, but that seemed to disturb (Y/N) even more. “Look out ‘Maya you might have a new daddy.” 

What auntie Tasha said made Amaya think. Mister Bucky was her favorite teacher, and she wished her momma would be happy. Them together would mean that she would have Mister Bucky around forever, and Momma would be happy and have a goofy smile like that forever. 

That’s when Operation get Mr. Bucky and Momma together was born. 

Every day after finishing her classwork, Amaya would go to Bucky’s desk and talk to him. Most of the things she said were little seeds to push him to get close to her mom.

Today was different; Amaya’s patience was thinning. A week passed, and every day when her mom would pick her up, she saw the googly eyes her mom and Mister Bucky were giving each other. It’s time for the big guns, Amaya thought.

“Mister Bucky, do you have a dad?” Buck was shocked at Amaya’s question. 

“Yes, I do.” Amaya sighed dramatically after hearing Bucky’s answer. 

“I don’t… I wish I knew what that was like.” Bucky’s heart broke hearing that. Amaya had her head down, but Bucky couldn’t see her smirk. 

“You will one day. I promise.” Bucky knew he shouldn’t say that but wanted to uplift her and give her hope.

“Hey, Mister Bucky, maybe you could be my dad!” Amaya said, doing a complete 180 in her demeanor. Bucky almost spits out his coffee, and he starts to cough. But unfortunately, he fell right into Amaya’s trap.

“I don’t know about that, Amaya,” Amaya smirks. 

“But Mister Bucky, momma already likes you. You would be a great dad.” Was it embarrassing for Bucky that his 6-year-old student was trying to hook him up with her mom? Maybe but hearing that said mom liked him did give him a bit of an ego. 

“Really?” Amaya nodded enthusiastically. 

“She said that she really likes your eyes.” Amaya admitted. Bucky knew he shouldn’t be asking these questions. If Sam knew, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

“Is there anything else she said?” Bucky asked, acting casually as if a 6-year-old was gonna read his body language. However, Amaya is too smart for her own good. 

“I heard her telling Auntie Jen that she liked it when you wear red shirts.” Bucky made a note to buy more red shirts after school. 

“Is your mom going to pick you up today?” Bucky asked; Amaya nodded. 

“She said we were going to the mall today,” Amaya explained. She could feel her plan working, but who knows? Grown-ups were weird.

Bucky’s heart needs to catch a break. That being said, seeing (Y/N) every afternoon, his poor heart won't be getting any. Especially when she came in with her lawyer suits. It was like a punch in the gut. 

But what really hit him like a punch in the gut was what Amaya said when her mom came to pick her up.

She grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him towards her mom, who was waiting outside the classroom. 

“Momma, Bucky said he would be my daddy.” Amaya said with the biggest grin. Bucky choked on his own saliva and started coughing. While (Y/N) just started laughing. 

“Did he now?” (Y/N) asked her daughter, that was excited that her plan “worked.” 

“I- uhm. I didn’t say that she took it out of context. But, I mean- I” Bucky’s ramble was interrupted by (Y/N).

“It’s okay, Mr. Barnes. I know how Amaya can be. Don’t worry.” Bucky sighed out of relief. 

“Mommaaaaa…” Amaya whined; her mom just rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, ‘Maya?” (Y/N) asked in a snarky tone. Amaya signaled to her to lean down. Amaya whispered something to her. (Y/N) giggled with her daughter. 

“Mr. Barnes, would you like to go out for coffee someday?” (Y/N) asked, Amaya still giggling behind her mom. 

“I would love to.” Bucky said, which caused Amaya to do a little victory dance in the back. As if nobody could see her. (Y/N) turned around and laughed at her daughter’s antics. She pulled something out of her jacket, a piece of paper.

“I have to go, Mr. Barnes. Sorry for my little troublemaker.”She said, handing him the piece of paper with her personal phone number. Bucky was confused.

“What is this for?” Bucky asked, utterly confused about what this meant. 

“For whenever you would like to get that cup of coffee.” She told him, grabbing Amaya’s hand and walking towards his card. 

Bucky felt his cheeks heat up. He might admit that Amaya was his favorite student, even if she played matchmaker. 

He looked down at the card. Oh, he is gonna call.  

do you think of me? (b.b.)

summary: bucky is jealous of your new boyfriend

fic inspired by She Thinks of Me- Landon Tewers

Warnings: smut, dom!bucky, sub!reader, female!reader. jealous!bucky, hate fucking(ish), semi public sex, slight dub!con, bucky has a filthy mouth, pet names (little girl), fwb, they both have feelings for each other but don’t want to admit it, MINORS DNI 18+

side note: this is….yeah. just yeah. have fun ;)

You were nervous. Nervous for multiple reasons. Tonight was the night the team would be meeting you boyfriend, Matt. You knew that with being the youngest member of the team, they were overprotective of you. You didn’t mind, but sometimes they were overbearing. Particularly Tony and Steve. There was going to be a million questions and a million snarky comments.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you walked towards the night club. Tony had rented it out for the night because it was Steve's birthday, but you knew this was the last thing Steve wanted. He wasn't much of a party guy but Tony insisted. 'It's not everyday that someone turns 100' he said.

Matt wrapped his hand tightly around yours as the two of you grew closer to the door, and you gave him a small smile. He knew you were nervous, he just didn't know why. Truth is, you were nervous to see Bucky. He had cut you off a month ago after you confessed your feelings for him. He then took a undercover op, so you hadn't seen him since that night. But he returned yesterday just in time for Steve's party, of course.

Your relationship with Bucky was complicated to say the least. At first it started off with harmless flirting, but you told him you weren't ready for a real relationship yet. Then, he suggested that you two become friends with benefits, and it was good for a while. 6 months of sex without attachments was amazing, especially with Bucky. He tapped right into your kinks after the first night, and it was mind blowing.

But then, you developed feelings for him. Feelings that you promised you wouldn't get. And when you finally grew the courage to tell him, he shot you down. Saying that he wasn't looking for anything more than a quick fuck. It broke your heart, but you got over it. At least you thought you had.

The doors to the club swung open and the heart pounding music fell out into the street. The bouncers nodded at you as you passed through the threshold, and you scoffed to yourself. The party didn't need bouncers, most of everyone here is wanted in at least 10 different countries.

"Y/N!" Wanda yelled, waving you over. She was sitting with Vision at a large round table. You smiled and walked over to her, dragging Matt behind you. "Hey! I'm Wanda!" She beamed, sticking a hand out to him. He shook it and smiled shyly. "This is Vision."

"Yeah, I know!" Matt laughed. "The stone-it's cool!" He pointed at Visions forehead.

"Where is everyone?" You asked, looking around. The club was packed.

Tony really went all out tonight. Strobe lights illuminated faces in the crowd, the music was so loud you thought your heart would burst out of your chest, and of course, Tony had strippers and dancers post up on every stage. Everyone was being served fancy glasses of champagne for starters, then the bar was a free for all. Large balloons floated above your head, the number 100 decorated in red, white, and blue, obviously.

"Up at the bar. Tony bet Barnes and Steve against each other on who could get the drunkest the fastest."

You swallowed hard at the mention of Bucky's name. He was already here, but you already knew that. You felt his eyes on you as soon as you walked through the door. Only Wanda knew about you and Bucky's relationship, she was the only one you trusted enough to tell. Your gaze drifted towards the bar, immediately finding Bucky's eyes. His emotions were practically radiating. Your snapped your attention back to Wanda and she looked like she wanted to say something.

You snatched the champagne flute out of her hand and chugged the rest of it. The bubbly liquid slid down your throat, starting a warm fire in your belly. "Well, lets go say hi." Grabbing Matt again, you pushed your way through the crowd. You free hand landed on Tony's shoulder and he turned around.

"Y/N!" He cheered. "Who's this? I thought we had a rule, no bringing home strangers."

"Tony," You groaned, rolling your eyes. "This is Matt. My boyfriend."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Steve shouted. "Boyfriend? You're like 16, you can't have a boyfriend!"

"I'm 23, Steve." You snorted.

"Cap, get back to drinking. Barnes already has you beat." Tony snapped. "But yeah. You're like 16!"

"Oookkaayy." You huffed.

"Who's the twig?" Another voice asked. It sent shivers down your spine. "His arms are the size of my fingers."

"Bucky." You smiled, your words dripping with venom. "This is Matt. He's a tech analyst, not everyone can break skulls with a punch."

"So, what you're sayin' is that when you two get mugged, you're gonna have to fight 'em. Looks like wind could knock him over." He smirked. Your eyes bore into his and he stared back, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. You felt Matt shift uncomfortably beside you.

"Isn't past your bed time, James?" You snarled, your fixated gaze still not leaving Bucky's.

"Isn't it past yours, Y/N?" His domineering smirk grew. He didn't show it, but Bucky was furious. His normal icy blue eyes were overtaken by his blown up pupils. That should be his hand around your waist. And that skimpy little dress you had on was running his mind ragged.

Finally, you peeled your sight away from Bucky's and took Matt's hand, stomping off towards the dance floor. You could feel Bucky's eyes following you as you left. You spun around, cupping Matt's cheeks and muttered something he didn't quiet hear, and pressed a hard kiss onto his lips. It was wet and sloppy, teeth gnashing into each other.

You danced with Matt until you legs felt like jelly. His hands roamed your hips, squeezing and grabbing. Sometimes your back would be pressed against his back and you would grind against him. You were practically dry humping him in the middle of the dance floor. Sweat beaded on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup you had spent hours perfecting.

"I'm gonna get something to drink!" Matt yelled in your ear. You nodded, sitting down at one of the empty tables.

You pulled your phone out, your breath getting caught in your throat as you saw the multiple text messages from Bucky.

Do you think of me when he's fucking you?

I bet he thanks me when he's fucking you.

I own you bitch, yeah you know it's true.

Why you hadn't blocked his number yet was beyond you, and now you were regretting it. Your head snapped up from your phone, trying to find Matt through the sea of people. You couldn't find him, so you got up and pushed your way up to the bar.

Your stomach sunk when you saw Bucky and Matt standing by each other. Matt looked considerably small compared to Bucky. He was at least 5 inches shorter than him, and Bucky was right. His arms were twigs. And you could basically see Bucky's muscles ripple underneath his tight shirt.

"I thought you were gonna get us drinks?" You asked, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder.

"You never told you and him were friends with benefits." Matt said flatly. Your stomach sunk further, hand dropping to your side.

"I-"

"What the fuck, Y/N! You couldn't have bothered to tell me that? This whole party was a fuckin' trap!"

"Matt-"

"No. This is done, we're done. You need to get some serious help for that fucked up head of yours." He shook his head before turning away from you, taking off towards the exit.

You were stunned, frozen in place. What the fuck just happened? It was Bucky's laughter that broke you out of the trance. Fuming, you snatched him by the bicep and drug him into one of the private rooms. Bucky could have easily made you let go of him, but he went with it. Slamming the door behind you, you locked it.

"If you wanted to fuck, we could have just went back to the compound. We don't have to do it here." He smiled darkly.

"What gives you the god damn right-" You yelled, your voice shaking. No, your entire body was shaking with anger. "How could you do that?!" You could barely piece a sentence together.

"He wasn't right for you." He shrugged.

"And you were right for me?" You laughed bitterly. "I told you how I felt, Bucky. But you told me the only thing I was good for was sex. I got over it, why can’t you?"

"You are clearly not over it. Or else you wouldn't be dressed in that little black dress I love."

For the second time tonight, you breath got stuck in your throat. Bucky inched closer to you.

"And you wouldn't have worn that lipstick either. It always looked so good smudged all over your face."

He had you backed up against the wall now.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous." You whispered.

He leaned forward, his hot breath wafting over your neck. You could smell the whiskey coming off him. "Do you think of me when he's fucking you?" He repeated, his voice husky.

A pathetic whimper fell off your lips and he chuckled. "Did he even make you cum?"

Your core was on fire. You squeezed your legs together, trying to release some of the pressure, but it didn't work. Not being able to take it anymore, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards you. Crashing your lips onto his, his hands instantly grabbed the back of your neck, his metal fingers intertwining with your loose hair. Bucky's body was pressed so tightly to yours that you could already feel his erection through his pants. He was so hard that it must have been painful.

He pulled away from you, panting. You let go of his collar and your hands dipped past his waistline. Your slender fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing him gently.

"Fuck." He purred. "Haven't had my hands on you in forever, little girl."

"I hate you." You hissed. He yanked on your hair to make you look up at him.

"No you don't."

Bucky shoved his knee in between your legs, forcing your knees apart. His flesh hand lifted up your dress to your hips and disappeared between your thighs. Pushing your panties to the side, his fingers swiped across your labia, an erotic moan escaped from your mouth. Bucky smirked as he easily found your sensitive bud, rubbing it softly.

"See," He moaned, your hand moving up down on his shaft. "If you hated me you wouldn't be dripping."

A blush crept across your cheeks, realizing how wet you actually wear. You could feel your juices seeping down you thighs, making them sticky. Suddenly, his index finger prodded into your tight hole, burying it inside of your slick walls. You lurched forward, your head landing on his shoulder as you let out a high pitched moan.

"Fuck, Bucky!" You cried, his finger quickening its pace.

He only had one inside of you, but it was so thick and rough that you could feel your first orgasm approaching. You let go of his cock, bringing your hand out to wrap your arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life.

His thumb started to lazily swirl around your clit. You stood on your tiptoes, your mouth attacking his neck. As you sucked and nibbled on it, you knew you were going to leave a mark.

Then Bucky's finger nudged against that special spot deep inside you, making you gasp. He did it again, loving the little noises you were making. You were on the cusp of cumming all over his hand when he suddenly pulled out of you.

You whined against his neck, the noise echoing around the room. Bucky hummed, sticking his finger in his mouth. His tongue swirled around his mouth, licking it clean.

"You better be quiet, doll." He laughed. "Or someone might hear us." Both of Bucky's hands came around to your backside, and he hooked this thumbs around the waistline of your panties, pulling them off of you. You watched through hazy eyes as he brought them to his face, inhaling your scent. "Always so sweet." Bucky stuck them in his back pocket, his hands returning to your ass. "Jump." He growled in your ear.

Your legs wrapped around his waste, hissing as you pulsating heat rubbed against Buckys hard cock. His lips connected with yours as he kissed you roughly, almost knocking the breath out of you. You tongue slotted past his lips, tasting yourself in his mouth. He walked backwards, landing on the small couch that was in the room.

Bucky sat down, bring you down on top of him. You pulled away, resting your forehead on his as your hands fumbled with his belt and zipper. You finally got them undone and you pulled his pants and boxers down. His cock sprang free, smacking him in the stomach.

You slowly dragged yourself along his painfully red shaft, moaning together at the feeling. Hands tangled in his hair as you lifted you hips up, aligning yourself with him. You hissed through your teeth as you sunk down on him, his dick splitting you in half.

"Shit." Bucky moaned, the grip on your hips tightening. There would definitely be bruises there tomorrow. His hips bucked up into you as you settled back down in his lap, him now full sheathed inside you. "Think you got tighter without my cock splitting you open everyday." He panted.

The pain slowly ebbed into pleasure and you rocked forward, placing your hands on his shoulders. You shoved yourself back down on him, strangling a cry. Your worked yourself on him slowly, incoherent moans slipping from your trembling lips. Your juices seeped out of you, pooling around his balls. The sounds of moaning and skin slapping together filled the otherwise quiet room.

"Are you gonna make yourself cum on my cock, little girl?” Bucky grunted, trying not to loose his shit at your agonizing slow pace. You nodded, muttering a 'yes'. "That's my good girl, always works my cock so good." Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Look at me when you cum." He ordered. The tightening in your lower abdomen suddenly sprang free at his words, your walls spasming around him.

"Oh, my god! Oh, my goddd!" You screamed, your ears ringing, and your vision was dotted with little black spots. Buckys hand snapped up to your mouth, and you sobbed into it. You felt tears slipping out of the corner of your eyes as you continued to cum around him. And your eyes never left his. His eyes were no longer full of rage, but full of something else you couldn't quiet put your finger on.

As you came down from your high, Bucky flipped you over, the back of your head hitting the arm rest. Your legs wrapped around his waist again and his hips snapped up to meet yours.

"This pussy," Bucky groaned, pushing faster into you. "Is mine."

"Yours!" You echoed. "Your pussy, yours!" You sobbed.

He laughed and bent down, pressing a wet kiss on your forehead. "Such a good girl." He purred.

Bucky didn't give you much time to recovery from your first orgasm as your second one rapidly built up. He no longer bothered keep you quiet, he wanted people to hear. He wanted everyone to know who it was that was making you feel this good.

"Bucky! Oh fuck, Bucky!" You chanted. "You feel so good, your cock feels so good!" Any self control you had was gone. You wanted him to feed your most primal urges in the nastiest of ways.

"Mhmm, gonna make me cum." Bucky moaned, his thrusts becoming sloppy and less precise. "Your little pussy is so tight."

"I want it." You whined. "Please, baby."

Bucky grunted, your name falling over his lips as his seed plastered the inside of your walls. The feeling of him cumming inside you tipped you over the edge, clenching down on his oversensitive cock.

"Fuck!" He cried, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Your entire body shook underneath him, that final orgasm completely ruining you.

He pulled out of you after your breathing slowed. You blinked up at him, eyes bleary. He chuckled and kissed the top of your head.

"I missed you." He muttered as he pulled his pants back up.

You sat up readjusting to readjust your dress, pulling it back down so it covered your now bruised ass. Standing up, you walked to the little mirror that was hung on the wall, attempting to fix your makeup.

"Y/N?"

"Come to my place tonight." You whispered, not looking at him. "Let me show you how much I missed you." You opened the door to leave, but you hesitated. Turning your head back towards him, you winked.

"Oh, and keep the panties."

pls lmk if you want to be added to my tag list!

fresh start (b.b.)

Summary: bucky tries to surprise you by bringing home supplies to cut his hair, but he's a terrible lair, and terrible at hiding things.

Warnings: so much fluff, bucky being in love, angst if you squint, TFATWS!bucky, female!reader, soft!bucky, mentions of death, implied smut

Side note: asdfghjk fluffy bucky makes me so soft, i love it so much❤️feel free to reblog, comment, and like this! it makes me happy when you guys do :) enjoy!

ps, i know i keep changing my style of headers, i’m just trying to see which one i’m comfortable with :)

It was a cold November evening, the sun setting low in the sky casting yellow and orange rays through the curtains, making it look like the living room was on fire. You sat curled up on the couch, thumbing through the book you had picked up while you ran out for coffee earlier. Slow forties music played softly through the stereo, and you hummed quietly to the tune.

Before you met Bucky you would have laughed at the thought of enjoying any music past the 60's. But the more Bucky played it, the more you grew to like it. You would have laughed at yourself a year ago thinking you would end up with James Buchanan Barnes. But here you were, giving lazy good morning kisses and heated nights in bed.

You heard the apartment door open and the sound of keys being set down on the counter. "Hey doll." Bucky muttered behind you, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Brought dinner." He handed you a take out container of Chinese food.

You set you book down on the end table and stretched your arms out. "How was your date with Yori?" You yawned, the corner of your lips twitching into a smirk.

"Date." He scoffed, echoing your words. "It's not easy finding someone who's the same age as you are, ya know, shared life experience and all."

"But he doesn't know you're 106?"

"He's 90. It's close enough." He chuckled, sitting down next to you, his arm snaking around your shoulders.

You smiled to yourself, taking a bite of your dumplings. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you ate. Bucky scrolled through his phone while tapping his foot along to the music. It's nights like these that remind you of why you fell in love with him in the first place. Time just seemed to slow when you were with him, everything was in it's place and was perfect. You loved his entire body relaxed around you, the creases in his face softening. The way his long hair framed his face, curls touching the bottom of his chin.

You gulped down the last of your dumplings and got up to throw out of container. As you passed the kitchen counter, you saw a grocery bag sitting on one of the chairs. You tossed the container is the garbage and grabbed the bag, opening it up. You barely got a glimpse inside before Bucky was jumping over the back of the couch, snatching it out of your hands.

"Hey! That's private stuff!" He said, hiding the bag behind is back. You set you hands on your hips, raising your eyebrow.

"What did you buy now, Bucky?" You chided. Ever since Bucky had came back from being blipped, he's been trying new things. Buying random items that just seem to interest him. His spending spree had been the butt of a joke ever since you started dating.

"Nothing, nothing." His eyes couldn't meet yours. "Nothing stupid, anyway."

"Then why can't I see?" You reached for the bag again, but he moved it out of your reach.

"It's a surprise." He gave you a lopsided grin.

"Uh huh." You rolled your eyes. "I'm going to take a bath. You can join me if you want, or you can stay out here and play with your secrets." You wiggled your fingertips at him as you walked past.

You saw Bucky's bottom lip pout out as you headed towards the bathroom. You watched as he stuck the bag on top of the fridge and you smirked. It was funny for him to think that you couldn't reach it up there.

You turned the faucet to the bath on, sticking your finger under the stream to feel the water. Once you got it to the temperature you wanted, you plugged the drain and shed off your warm clothes. Goosebumps pricked your skin as you exposed it to the cold air, making you shiver. You felt a large arm wrap around you and pull you close, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

The hot water felt like heaven as you stepped in, Bucky coming in behind you. You both sunk down in the water, your back leaning against his broad chest. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, his arms wrapping completely around you. His long hair tickled your cheek, making you squirm.

"I killed Yori's son." He blurted out suddenly. "I'm putting him down on the list."

"How do you know?" You muttered against his cheek.

"Saw a picture of him in his apartment. Had a nightmare the other night." He whispered. "He was in the same hotel as the targets I was taking out. He saw me, so I killed him. No loose ends."

You sighed, hands reaching up to stroke his hair. "What are you gonna tell him?"

"I don't know."

You sat there quietly, unsure of what to say. The noise of water sloshing in the tub filled the silence.

"Just tell him the truth." You said finally.

Bucky didn't respond. Instead, he pulled you even closer to him, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You closed your eyes, fingertips stroking over his scared arm.

You weren't sure how long the two of you sat like that, holding each other. You were beginning to doze off when you felt Bucky shift under you. Suddenly, you were aware of how the hot water was starting to turn cold and your hands felt prune-y.

Moving his arms off your waist, you stood up and let the water drip off of you before grabbing a towel. You dried off and Bucky did the same. You quickly walked into your bedroom, your body starting to feel cold after soaking in a hot bathtub. You slipped one on his long tee shirts, and opted for a simply pair of lacy black panties.

Hearing the sound of Bucky's dog tags softly clinking against his chest, you turned in look at him. The white towel hung low on his hips, his V line peaking out. His ab's rippled as he moved, his pictorials popping out. Your tongue swiped across your bottom lip, and you looked away, not wanting to meet his intense gaze.

Bucky's eyes ran across your body, his heart leaping when seeing that you were wearing his shirt. He loved it when you did that. You were so small compared to his, making it look like you were drowning in his clothes. He dropped his towel, tossing it in the laundry basket before pulling his grey sweatpants over his still damp legs.

You sat down on the foot of the bed, watching him as he got dressed. When he crossed the room, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. Smiling, you grabbed his cheeks, forcing him to kiss you on the mouth. Bucky's plump lips pressed tightly onto yours and you nibbled on his bottom lip, receiving a small whimper in return. His tongue slipped into your mouth and it swirled around with yours, fighting for dominance.

Humming in satisfaction, you pulled away. His lips were red and puffy from the friction on them, probably matching your own. He looked at you through his eyelashes, his sky colored eyes piercing your heart.

"You're such a tease." He groaned, flopping on top of you, pinning you to the bed. You squealed at the sudden feeling of you being squashed.

"You know you love it." You giggled, digging your fingers into his rib cage. As much as Bucky likes to deny it, you knew he was ticklish.

"No, you love it. It's torture to me." He declared, tickling you back. You squealed again, your body squirming underneath his.

"Okay, okay!" You yelled through laughter. "I do like it, it makes you needy. That leads to some of the best sex we've ever had."

"Let me show you how needy I can be." He growled in your ear, nipping at the nape of your neck. You shuddered at the feeling, Bucky knew that was your sweet spot.

You moaned softly, but quickly snapped out of it. You reached around him, fisting his hair and tugging on it, making him look at you. He groaned at the feeling.

"You don't get to fuck me until you show me what's in the bag." You stated promptly, releasing his hair.

"What? That ain't fair!" He protested.

"No bag? No sex."

Bucky groaned again, this time in annoyance. He pushed himself off of you and stood up. Grabbing your hand, he lead you out to the kitchen. He let go of you and reached up to get the bag. You quickly snatched it from him before he could change his mind, setting it down on the table with a thunk.

You opened it, peering inside. You frowned in confusion, pulling out an electric razor, hair scissors, and some pomade. You looked up, still confused. Bucky seemed almost embarrassed, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet.

"What, hair cutting stuff? I thought you didn't want to cut your hair?"

"I guess I changed my mind." He shrugged. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Well, it still is." You laughed. "I never thought in a million years you would cut it." He shrugged again, looking away. "Baby," You said softly, feeling a light mood switch into something else.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you want to cut your hair?"

"I-I," He stuttered. You laced your arms around his neck, wanting him to know that you were there for him. “I just need a fresh start. I haven't had my hair short since-" He took a shuddering breath. "Since World War Two. When I woke up from being the Winter Soldier, I never had enough time. Moving from one battle to the next. I spent two years in Wakanda, but I was in cyrofreeze most of the time." He sighed, his forehead coming to rest on yours. "I just need a fresh start, to put everything that has happened behind me."

This was one of the things Bucky loved about you. He could just talk, ramble on for hours and you would sit and listen, soaking up every word he said. Never interrupting, telling him that what he was saying was stupid-unless it actually was stupid. His gaze finally landed back on yours, the love that was pouring out of your soft eyes made him feel better.

You stood on your tiptoes and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. A smile crept the corners of your mouth. "I can cut it for you." You whispered. Bucky's eyes lit up in excitement. "Plus, it'll be better than the hack job you'd do."

"Hey!" He spanked your bum, laughing.

"Sit down." You giggled, pulling a chair up for him.

You ran and grabbed a spray bottle while Bucky got comfy. You filled it with water and returned to him, misting it over his hair. You grabbed the shears and straightened it out, pulling all of it to his back.

"How short do you want it?" You asked, running your fingers through his hair.

"Whatever you wanna do, doll." He replied.

He heard the scissors snip and watched as a good chunk of it floated to the ground.

"There's no going back now." You hummed, continuing to cut up towards his scalp.

After you cut off most of the length, you reached over his shoulder and grabbed the razor. You turned it on and it buzzed to life. You brought it up to his head, careful not to cut it too short. The razor had a guard on, so it left the patch you had started on feeling fuzzy. You continued to do that around his head, leaving the top a little bit longer than the rest.

You moved to his front, using the scissors to style it a little bit more before you finished. Grabbing the pomade, you squeezed a glob of it into your palm. You rubbed your hands together spreading it around. You ran your hands through his hair, fluffing it up a bit. You got it to lay exactly how you wanted and stepped back, admiring your work.

"Excuse me, sir? Have you seen my Bucky anywhere? I've seemed to have lost him again." You said, fake concern in your voice. Bucky rolled his eyes at you. "Go look, babe. I like it." You tapped him on the shoulder, letting him know you were done.

Bucky disappeared into the bathroom and you turned to the kitchen sink to wash the sticky pomade off your hands. You went and grabbed a broom and dust pan, sweeping up the locks of hair you cut off. When you were done, you looked up and saw Bucky standing in front of you, smiling like an idiot.

"You like it?" You smiled.

"I love it." His soft eyes sparkled with happiness.

"See? Told you, you would have ended up cutting your ear off if I didn't do it."

Bucky didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed you by the hips and lifted on you onto the table. His body moved in between your legs and you instinctively wrapped them around his hips, your arms wrapping around his thick neck.

He kissed you, hard, his palm of his hands digging into your hips. You kissed him back with such passion that it felt like he was sucking all the air of your lungs. He suddenly pulled away, his chest heaving.

"I love you, doll." Bucky murmured, lifting a hand to tuck your hair behind you ear.

"I love you too, Buck."

"Now, what were you saying about me needy?"

Oh, you were in for one hell of a night.

pls lmk if you want to be added to my tag list!!

hi loves! i need so ideas for some one-shots/imagines. it can be anyone from the mcu :) idc what it is, smut, angst, fluff, etc. plsss leave me something!!

Bucky x female!reader

Warnings: smut. literal pure filth, pretty vanilla tho. praise!kink. a pinch of angst and a lot of fluff- perfect for a bucky fic:) 18+ MINORS DNI

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You hummed quietly, cleaning up the mess you had made in the kitchen. It was around sometime around midnight and you were an avid night time snacker. The rest of the avengers has since long gone to bed, leaving you alone. You grabbed the plate that had your freshly made grilled cheese and plopped down on the couch, switching on the large TV.

You decided on watching a true crime series that Nat has been begging you to watch. It was good, so far. You would have to thank her for basically forcing you to watch it. You scarfed down the rest of the grilled cheese and set the plate beside you on the coffee table. Finally noticing how tired you were, yawning heavily you laid down on the couch, determined to watch the rest of the episode.

You woke up slowly, your ears picking up on the quietly clinking of glass. The TV had long went into stand by mode, which had you wondering what time it was. Hearing someone sniffle, you sat up, using your elbows as support.

You saw the outline of someone standing at the sink, their shoulders rising and falling like they were taking quick breathes. “Everything okay?” You called out cautiously.

“Jesus fuck.” A deep voice grumbled, surprised. It was Bucky. “That’s a good way to get punched, Y/N.”

You chuckled tiredly. “Sorry Buck. What are you doing up so late?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he took his glass full of whiskey and sat down at the breakfast nook. “Alright then.” Y/N tossed the blanket off of her and moved over to where Bucky sat. “Why are you up?” You repeated, sliding into the stool across from him.

“Just couldn’t sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” He mumbled back, taking a sip of his drink.

“S’kay, I didn’t want to sleep out here anyway.” You replied, scratching the back of your neck. “Did you have another nightmare again?” Bucky halted in the middle of another sip, his eyes meeting yours. He slowly set the glass down and shook his head.

“No.”

“You don’t have to lie, Buck. It’s just us out here.” You said quietly, reaching for his metal hand. “I get them too.”

He jerked his arm away from you, placing it in his lap. You frowned at him. “You wanna know what I was dreaming about?” You asked him. He raised an eyebrow at you. “My sister.”

“You’ve never mentioned you have a sister.” Bucky commented.

“Had. I had a sister. She died protecting me during the war in my home country. I must have been 10 or 11. I can’t really remember anymore. I tried to save her. I think I held her bleeding neck for at least a day. That’s when Hydra found me, and they gave me the ability to heal their wounded soldiers. It's a reminder, for what I couldn’t save.” You looked down at your hands, which were shaking slightly. You sighed heavily and shook your head, catching Buckys eye.

“But that’s not what I remember when I dream about her. I remember the good times. When we would go down to the lake a swim all day until we were pruning.” You chuckled to yourself. “Or when my dad would be working late in the mines and she would make the best chicken sandwiches.”

“She sounded like a good sister.”

“She was. But I choose to remember the good times, Bucky. She kept me strong during Hydra’s torture, and she still keeps me strong when you guys come off the battle field all bloody and bruised up.” You once again, reached for Bucky’s hand desperately wanting to let him know that you were there for him. This time he let you touch him, a hushed sigh falling from his lips.

“I know. And I try. Sometimes I just slip up and-” He cut himself off, sniffed loudly and looked away. His voice trembled a bit when he spoke again. “I’m just not as strong as some people think.”

Not being able to take it anymore, Y/N stood up and crossed the table, wrapping Bucky in a tight hug. She sat down on his thigh and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Bucky froze for a split second before his arms snaked around her hips. The two of you sat there for a long time, holding each other.

Y/N gently rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get the tension out. Bucky moaned softly and she felt something spring to life in the pit of her stomach. That’s when she realized how close they actually were. She could smell the whiskey coming off his breathe, and his hair smelt like cedar wood. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest and his hands gripped her hips just a little tighter.

You lifted your head away from his neck, to look at him. Their eyes connected, his icy blues staring into hers. “Bucky…” You whispered, her hands coming around to touch his cheek, her thumb resting on his chiseled jaw line. “Kiss me…”

Bucky instantly connected his to yours, with such ferocity that it almost knocked your breathe out of your chest. You cupped just face, gripping his long hair in your hands and tugged at it slightly. Bucky moaned in her mouth, biting down on your bottom lip. You could feel this cock growing underneath his thin pajama pants, which just made you more eager for his touch. He moved his lips from yours to your neck, biting down and sucking, marking you.

His large hands squeezed your hips and pulled you in closer, your core rubbing up against his cock. The two of you moaned in unison at the contact. One hand left your hip, and traveled up your night shirt, cupping your breasts. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched you like this. And neither could Bucky. So you were both desperate and needy, itching for release and satisfaction.

“I hear you at night, ya know.” Bucky growled against your neck, send vibrations to your skull. “The way you moan my name, fucking your tight little pussy with your toy.” Y/N shivered, her face turning red. “Are you gonna moan like that for me tonight, hmmm doll?” His normal hand pinched your nipple, pulling on it a bit. You hips rutted against his, dying for his touch. “Or are you gonna be so fucked out you won’t be able to speak?”

“B-Bucky.” You whimpered. “Please. Touch me.” He chuckled darkly, his metal hand dipping past your waistline. You could feel your heartbeat down in your cunt. His cold hand against your heat made you hiss in both pleasure and shock.

“Oh doll you’re drenched.” He muttered, his fingers rubbing your lips. “Was this all for me?”

“Y-yes.” You whined. He chuckled again and inserted a finger, stopping at his first knuckle. “Please, Bucky.” He pushed forward slowly and then slowly dragged in bag out. You groaned in protest and opened your mouth to say something, but was cut off by him fully putting his fingers in. “Oh, fuck!” You gasped.

As his index finger pushed in and out of you, his thumb gently rubbed your clit, making slow and deliberate circles. You could feel your walls tightening around him, the cord inside of you pulling tighter and tighter. Before you were able to come, he pulled out and sucked his finger, humming.

“What-”

“You only get to cum on my face or on my cock.” He growled, grabbing the back of your thighs. He suddenly stood up and carried you over to the couch, setting you down gently. You rid yourself of your shirt and removed Buckys as well, tossing them somewhere behind the couch. He knelt down in front of you, latching his mouth to your tits. Your back arched and you let out a guttural groan. “How are you so perfect?” He said through a mouth full of your breasts. You smiled shyly and ran your hands through his hair.

“I’m not.” You hummed.

“I’ll show you how perfect you really are, then.” His lips traveled down your stomach, kissing and biting as he went. He stopped just below your navel and grabbed your underwear with his teeth, dragging them off of you. The cold air that hit your pussy made you shiver, sending goosebumps up your arms. Bucky tossed your legs over his bare shoulders and peered up at you. His eyes were blown with lust and need. “You know,” Bucky said as he kissed your inner thigh. “When you’re touching this pretty little pussy-” His lips ghosted over your core which coaxed a moan out of you. “I touch myself too.” He kissed your other thigh. “Pretending it’s my cock that’s making you moan and cry like that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he hovered over your clit, your stomach doing loops at the thought of Bucky chasing after his own orgasm while listening to you. One of his thick fingers slowly dragged down your slick and inserted it at a agonizing slow pace. You whimpered and bit down on your bottom lip.

“Beg for it.” You heard him whisper.

“Bucky please.” You cried. “P-please I need to cum please.” His pace didn’t change any. “Fuck Bucky- baby- please do something-”

He snarled at the words that were spilling out of your mouth, and began lapping up your juices with such ferocity that you thought he was starving. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling ever so slightly to hit that sweet spot. Your mouth hung open in an O shape as he worked you, unable to string any piece of thought together. That cord in your belly began pulling tighter and tighter and your ears began to ring.

When the cord snapped, you saw stars and fireworks shoot off behind your eye lids. Your body twisted around Buckys mouth and he reached up, pinning your hips to the couch. “Oh fuck!” You panted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Bucky pulled away after riding out your high, leaving you with an empty feeling inside. He sat back on his heels with a smirk on his face. His beard glistened with your cum, and it dribbled down his chest.

“Always knew you were a squirter, doll.” He grinned, licking his fingers. “Hmmm, so sweet.” You felt a blush creep across your cheeks. "Oh no, doll. Don't be embarrassed, it's so fucking hot."

His sat up and placed his arms on either side of your head, using the back of the couch for support. You could feel his achingly hard member rub across your cunt. Reaching down, you palmed at him and your eyes widened. Bucky was absolutely hung. He laughed at your reaction. There was no way he could possibly fit all of that inside of you without completely ruining you.

"Y/N." He said, his tone dropping. Your eyes found his. "Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop if you-"

You cut his sentence off by leaning up and kissing him. He sighed contently and kissed you back softly. His normal hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers traveling to the back of your head. You pulled away, chest rising and falling hard.

Bucky smiled sweetly at his as he shimmed out of his pants. You sat up and reached for his cock, wanting to return the favor of you giving him head. He suddenly snatched your wrists, pinning them above your head.

"Nuhuh, I want to pleasure you tonight. You can suck me off another time." He winked at you, and you grinned to yourself. So this wouldn't be one time thing, huh? Bucky spat in in the palm of his hand, and rubbed it up and down his cock. Salty precum was already leaking off of his angry red tip. "If I hurt you baby please say something." You nodded up at him.

His cock poked at your entrance and he slowly pushed into you. You hissed at the sudden intrusion, trying to relax yourself around him. You both moaned as he bottomed out inside of you, his tip poking at your cervix.

"Your so fucking tight." He whimpered, his head falling in the crook of your neck. "Feels so good around my cock, doll." He slowly pulled back out, and pushed back in at the same pace. "How you expect me to last long when you feel this good?"

You smirked and wrapped your legs around his waste, allowing him to feel and different angle. He growled into your neck, his hips picking up the pace. Moaning, you gripped his broad shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin. "So fucking perfect." He whispered. "So good, so mine."

"I'm gonna cum again." You whined, clawing at his back. He moaned, his hips snapping faster. "Oh fuck, oh shit."

Just as you were about to release, he fully pulled out of you and knelt down. He delved down to your core, lips sucking your clit. You whined and grabbed his hair tugging at it. You felt the cord snap again and your vision blurred as you came, chanting Bucky's name.

Coming down from your high, you grabbed Bucky by his shoulders and forced him to lay down on the couch. You leaned down and smashed your lips on his, tasting yourself on his tongue. Still kissing you, you leveled yourself down on his cock and plunged down on it. He groaned, his hands finding your hips. You pulled away from his mouth and pressed your forehead into his.

You could feel his cock pulsing against your velvet walls, encouraging you to move. You lifted your hips up and brought them back down, and a breathy moan escaped your lips. You worked his cock slowly at first, loving the expressions Bucky made as you fucked yourself on his cock.

You rocked your hips forward and backwards, drowning in the feeling it brought you. Pure ecstasy was the only way you could describe it. You could feel your walls clamping down on him as another orgasm was rapidly approaching.

"You gonna cum around my cock, baby doll?" He whispered into your ear, nibbling at your lobe. His sweet nothings brought you closer and closer to your release. Bucky suddenly lifted you up by your ass and slammed into you. You gasped and held onto his shoulders for support. "Oh I love that face. It's so perfect." He growled, his cock splitting you down the middle. "You gonna cum again, love?" You nodded fervently. "Then cum for me. Let me see that pretty face."

You cried out, walls spasming around him. Your moans mixed together and Bucky began desperately chasing after his own release. You collapsed onto his chest, a sob ripping through your chest as he came inside you.

"Oh fuck, you feel so good. Taking all my cum like a good little girl." He growled. "Shit-oh fuck! Fuck, doll!" His warm cum spilled into you, causing you to moan tiredly. It felt so good.

He made a few more lazy strokes before slowly lifting you off of him, and onto the couch. He got up and walked over to the kitchenette, grabbed a towel and a glass of water. You spread your legs for him and he dabbed at the cum that was leaking out of you, and handed you the glass. You gulped it down, feeling completely dehydrated. You handed the glass back to Bucky and he finished the rest before setting it down on the coffee table.

"I think that was the best sex I've ever had." You whispered, lips creeping onto your tired face. Bucky grinned and pulled you into a hug, laying back down on the couch.

"We're only getting started, Y/N." He pulled the blanket over top of you and pressed a kiss into your temple. "So perfect." He mumbled into your hair.

The two of you must have dozed off because when you woke back up, you heard sniggering.

"That's what those noises were last night." You heard a voice say. It was Sam.

"I did not need to see Barn's bare ass at 7 in the morning. No- scratch that. I did not need to see Barn's ass period." Tony groaned. You pulled your head out of the crook of Bucky's neck and looked up. Tony, Sam, and Steve stood in front of the TV, looking at the scene in front of them.

"At least he's getting some, Tony." Steve snorted.

"And gonna get plenty more." Bucky said, his voice full of morning sleep.

He pulled away from you and stood up from the couch. You heard Tony protest, saying something about not wanting to see Bucky naked. He wrapped you up in the blanket, carefully to make sure none of the other men saw you, and threw you over his shoulder. You waved and smiled at them as Bucky walked off towards his room.

"G’moring! Have fun on your jog!"

WARNINGS: Mentions of trying to unalive self, sh, loss of a child, ED if you squint, night terrors, angst, fluff at the end :)

female!reader x Bucky

Side note: i’m sorry this took so long to update, i didn’t know how to finish it skspshdjdjrjek thanks for reading :)

part 1 part 2

"Y/N, he needs to rest, okay?" Sam whispered softly. "I'll get you as soon as he wakes up."

"Why is he so dehydrated though? That's what I don't understand. " You whispered carefully, not wanting to wake Bucky up. "Has he not been taking care of himself?"

"Y/N..." Sam trailed off.

"Sam, please tell me. I’ll be okay. I'm not gonna break into a million pieces if you tell me. " You snorted, trying your best to sound optimistic.

"No, he hasn't.” Sam sighed finally. “He tried his best to hide it but it's so obvious. Everyone tried to help him, tried to get him to talk, but he refused. You know how stubborn he is."

"He can hear you." Bucky groaned, his voice hoarse. His eyes fluttered open and instantly made eye contact with Y/N. You looked good. Almost healthy. He quickly, ashamed. He busied himself, pretending to be interested with examining his body. There was two IV's sites that were pumping fluids into him, his chest covered with sticky pads (which were for EKG's) and a blood pressure cuff. Seeing all this made his head spin and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck."

"I'll go get Bruce." Sam said quietly as he left the room.

The med bay was left in silence other than the steady beeping of Bucky's heart rate on the monitor. Bucky sniffed hard and reopened his eyes, and found Y/N sitting down in the chair beside the cot, staring at him.

"Hi." You whispered. Bucky didn't respond. He didn't know how to. "I just want to say I'm so sorry I did this to you, Bucky." Your voice shook as you spoke.

"Why didn't you want to see me?" Bucky blurted out, not able to think about anything else but that.

"It wasn't my idea. My doctors said it was for our best interest that we stayed away from each other."

"Best interest." Bucky echoed.

"Please understand I fought him on it almost every day while I was there. I wanted to see you, to tell you how sorry I was and how this wasn't your fault." You played with the frayed edges of your cardigan.

"Well I'm glad you got the help you needed." Bucky said, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. Y/N scoffed and leaned back into the chair.

"Don't play that game, Bucky. That place wasn't a fucking vacation, it was hell." You paused and licked your dry lips. "It was hell." Bucky winced at how hurt you sounded.

"I'm sorry." He lulled his head to the side, his eyes falling on you. "I just-"

"It's okay. You're allowed to be angry." You whispered as you touched his hand. He flinched at the contact. "I meant what I said, Bucky." You whispered again, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"And what's that?" He whispered back. You watched as his chest rose and fell heavily.

"That I-"

"Well look who's awake!" Bruce smiled as the door to the med bay swung open. Bucky and Y/N jumped apart. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Bucky grumbled, annoyed at the intrusion. Banner picked up some paper that was sitting on the table behind him.

"Hmmm, that's not what your labs say." Banner retorted. "You're severely dehydrated, Buck. What have you been eating and drinking?"

"When I can? Chicken broth."

"And when's the last time you ate anything?"

Bucky paused, looking at Y/N. Would it upset you if he told Bruce the truth?

"Last week." He muttered looking away.

"And how often have you been throwing up?"

"Every day, sometimes more than once." Bucky said. Y/N winced at what he was saying. Did you cause this? Was it your fault Bucky was so sick?

"I'm surprised you've been able to go on this long. I suppose that's the super solider serum doing it’s magic." Banner cleared his throat. "If you can't keep anything down, you're gonna have to come in for IV fluids once a day."

"Whatever you say, doc." Bucky snorted. Yeah, fuck that. He didn’t care.

"Don't worry Bruce, I'll make sure he's here." Y/N patted Bucky on the shoulder, winking at him.

"That's what I'm hoping for." Banner clapped his hands together. "Okay, I'll leave you two kids alone then. I'm sure there's a lot you need to talk about."

"I'm 106, Banner." Bucky called after him as he walked out the door. Y/N chuckled, covering your mouth with your hand. "Have you talked to Steve?" He asked as soon as Banner was gone.

"Yeah. He visited almost every day." You responded. Bucky felt a twinge of jealousy rise from the pit of his stomach. "I told him everything, Bucky. About how we had sex, about how I was pregnant, and how I didn't love him the same way he had loved me." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at her words, not wanting to hear what she had to say.

“And how’d he take that?”

“He was hurt.” Y/N said simply. “I mean I was expecting him to be. We spent 6 months flirting and having sex. I just couldn’t keep it up anymore, I couldn’t keep that from him.”

“Oh.” Bucky muttered quietly. The two of you were silent, not sure what to say. Y/N took a deep breath, the air rattling in her chest as she reached out with a shaky hand to grab Buckys.

"I never meant to hurt our baby, Bucky." Y/N hiccupped back a sob, squeezing his hand tight. "I loved him more than anything and I never meant to do what I did. It just happened. I was in a state of psychosis and…” You rubbed your left forearm, as if the cut was still fresh, still bleeding. "I was going to tell you, I promise. I wanted to so bad. Wanted you there for the first ultrasound but there just was never a good time and-" She was rambling but Bucky cut her off.

"Y/N don't. I don't want to talk about it, please."

"We need to, Bucky. Please. My doctor said it would be good to talk about it with you.” She begged.

"No." He demanded.

"Bucky, I know it'll make you feel better."

"I don't-" Bucky stuttered. "I can't-" He was hyperventilating. Sitting up in the bed, he panted, "Fuck I'm gonna get sick." Y/N handed him a bedpan and Bucky quickly grabbed it, spilling out the contents of his stomach- which wasn't a lot. When he was done, he set the bed pan down and collapsed back on the pillow, dizzy again. Y/N softly smoothed back Bucky's hair that was sticking to his forehead. "I'm sorry, but I just can't. Not yet.”

"I shouldn't have pushed you." You whispered, setting your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat like that for a while, just embracing each others touch. It felt good. Your fingers played and twisted Bucky's hair and Bucky slowly ran his metal hand down your back, causing goosebumps to pop up. You inhaled sharply and looked up, finding Bucky's eyes already on you, a look of longing written across this face.

"Bucky..."

"Y/N..." Before you could even comprehend what was happening Bucky was pulling you on top of him. Your lips crashed together as your hands roamed through his hair.

Bucky's hands gripped your hips for dear life, like you would disappear at any moment. Your teeth grazed across his bottom lip, which triggered a moan to escape his lips. His hands traveled up your back, squeezing as he went, causing you to shudder. It felt so good to be in his embrace.

Y/N pulled up, panting. You stared down at him, his ice blue eyes looking back into yours. “I’ve missed you, Bucky.” You whispered, your finger tips grazing his cheek.

“I’ve missed you too.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his callused fingers tickling your jaw line. You peppered a few more kisses onto his lips before sliding off to him, and curling up at his side. Bucky wrapped a protective arm over top of you, pulling you impossibly close to him. Y/N glanced at the clock on wall. 1:35am. You were used to being in bed by 10 so you were exhausted being up this late. Just as you started to doze off, you could have sworn you heard Bucky whisper- almost inaudible, “I love you.”

Bucky stayed up most of the night, only sleep about an hour in total. He watched you sleep to make sure you wouldn’t slip away in the middle of the night and he would wake up alone, again. The morning sun was beginning to rise, casting hazy sunlight through the windows of the med bay. And in that peace, you had a night terror.

Your nails suddenly dug into Buckys skin, trying to claw at it. You’re incoherent moans and groans filling the quietness of the room. Thrashing around, Bucky caught you before you fell off the edge of the small cot.

“Y/N.” He grabbed your face, bringing you close to him, trying to stop or writhing. “Y/N wake up.” He called out.

“Killed him.” You cried out in your sleep, hands snaking down to your stomach. “Killed him!”

“Doll, honey- you’re dreaming. Wake up.” Bucky trembled, so afraid for what you were dreaming about. “Doll face wake up.” He pressed his fingers on the back of your neck, trying to soothe you.

“Killed him.” You repeated. “My fault.”

Another 10 minutes went by with you silently screaming, face contorted in pain. Bucky kept you close waiting for you to wake up so he could comfort you like he always did. He stroked your hair while murmuring “shhh” every time you jerked or called out.

Eventually, you settled down, tired eyes blinking up at Bucky. “Did I have another one?” You asked quietly, sleep thick in your voice.

“It was pretty mild, but yeah.” He whispered back. Moaning, you buried your face into Bucky’s chest. Inhaling his scent, you noticed he smelled like whiskey and cinnamon. It instantly relaxed your jittery nerves.

“You smell good.” You muttered. You heard Bucky chuckle.

“Considering this shirt hasn’t been washed in 2 weeks I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Y/N sat up and discarded your cardigan, because it was getting hot laying against Buckys warm body. His eyes traveled down to your arms, his eyebrows furrowed at the scars. They were still healing a bit, scabs were dotted across them. Bucky sighed loudly which caused you to look at him.

“I wanna show you something. C’mon.” He slowly got out of bed, his dizziness still plaguing him. You hoped down beside him and followed him outside the med bay.

“Where are we going?” You asked trailing behind him.

“The gardens.” He responded quietly. You turned some corners and were standing outside the entrance to the living room. Inside you could hear Steve talking. Bucky slowed his pace, unsure if he should go in. “We can just go around-” He started to say put Y/N pushed him forward.

“Morning.” Tony greeted nodding at them. Bucky could see visibly tense up when they came into the room. “How are you feeling, Barns?”

“Better.” He said. “Still dizzy but better.”

“Banner works some magic, doesn’t he?” Tony smiled. “Y/N, Steve made some waffles for you.”

“Your favorite.” Steve gushed, finally looking over at the two. Y/N shifted uncomfortably on her feet and nodded.

“I’ll get some after we get back from the garden. Bucky needed to show me something.” Y/N replied meekly. Bucky saw Steve roll his eyes, and anger boiled inside of him. “Come on, Buck. Let’s go.” Y/N grabbed his hand and drug him out of the living room. Bucky was still fuming, but your touch was easing him.

 Finally, you guys made it out to the gardens. It was beautiful- the sunrise was peaking over the edge of the wall of the compound cast pastel shadows over the pathways. There was morning dew sticking to the grass, which made Y/N's bare feet wet as they walked to the corner.

"What are we doing out here, Bucky?" You asked.

"I just wanted to show you." He mumbled. You stopped at a small stone that read 'Forever in Our Hearts'. "Everyone suggested that-" Bucky sniffed and looked away. "That he should be buried."

Y/N didn't know what to say. You dropped to the ground, your head grazed over the stone. "This was a nice spot."

"This is the first time I've been out here. I couldn't d-do it alone." -Bucky sat down beside you. "I'm sorry. I should have-"

"It's okay." You whispered. "I don't think I would have either." Your hand grabbed his tightly. "Do you know what I wanted to name him?"

"I hadn't even thought about that."

"I wanted to name him James. After his father." You looked up at him, eyes locking together. Tears brimmed behind his lower lashes.

"I wouldn't have been a good father." He whispered, looking down. You grabbed his cheeks softly, making him look back up at you.

"Yes you would have, Bucky." You said. He was silent for a moment.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too."

@chipilerendi

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of unaliving self, PTSD, Bucky have flash backs, vomiting, loss of pregnancy, ED if you squint, lots and lots and lots of angst. sad, saaaad, Bucky :(

female!reader x steve and bucky love triangle (not as much here)

Side note: HI! I'M SO SORRY! I LOVE YOU ALL:) *also if the text is in italics it means there's a flashback*

part 1

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It had been almost a month since Bucky had last seen Y/N. Tony and Steve thought it was best for Y/N to be admitted to the psychiatric ward at the near by hospital. But you have been gone a month. And you didn't put Bucky down on the approved list of people that could come visit you. The only thing he had left of you was the last conversation you guys had, and it was slowly driving him insane.

"Bucky? Where are they taking me? I don't wanna go." You were still loopy from the anesthesia Banner had used during your surgery. The way you were talking to him made it seem like you had just forgotten everything that had happened over the last 3 months.

"Shh, it's okay." Bucky said softly. Talking still hurt his throat. "But you gotta. You gotta get better, okay?" You nodded and sniffled. "Don't cry doll. It's all gonna be okay." He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, like he always did when you were upset.

"What happened to your face?" You muttered, your fingers grazing across the cut on his cheek bone. Bucky flinched at your touch, not wanting to remember how it felt.

"Don't worry, doll. Just get some rest. I'll see you soon." Bucky stood up from beside the cot and nodded at the paramedics who were standing close by to take you to the hospital.

"Bucky?" You asked quietly.

"Yeah, doll?" He could feel the hot tears in his eyes getting ready to spill over.

"I love you."

"Bucky," Sam tapped his shoulder. "Are you listening?"

"Sorry." He mumbled. "Just thinking." He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, wringing his hands together.

"I asked how you were doing?" Sam repeated.

"I'm fine."

"Don't do that Buck." He scoffed, slumping into his chair. "You gotta talk about this shit, man. And I know you normally talk to Steve but-"

"Sam, don't."

"Bucky-"

"I don't need your fucking pity.” Bucky growled, getting to his feet. Sam stared into his eyes with exactly what Bucky was upset about; pity.

"I am trying, damnit." Sam seethed through his teeth. "I am trying to hold you together and I am trying to hold Steve together. I hate being the middle man but if you two want to act like you're in high school and give each other the silent treatment, then I'll do it. I don't like seeing my friends hurting." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "You are very clearing showing signs of PTSD, and if you just let me help you, I can try to make it better."

"Everyone hates me, Sam." Bucky changed the subject.

"No, they don't. They're worried about you." Sam tossed his arms up in the air, exasperated. "You and Steve lost so much in one night, they're scared for you. They are mourning with you, Bucky. Please understand that."

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I gotta go, this was pointless."

"Bucky-" He didn't hear what else Sam had to say before he shut the door to his office behind him and stormed down the hallway. He scoffed and shook his head. Fucking therapy. Tony had forced him to go or else he was sending him some place like Y/N was. He didn't need it anybody’s help, he was fine.

Bucky had wondered around the compound for hours after been you’d taken away, unsure of where he was going. This place felt so empty without Y/N here. He felt so empty. He found himself standing outside Steve's room after walking for hours. The sun was starting to rise now. His arm jerked as if he wanted to knock on the door, but he couldn't do it.

Then why did he knock?

Steve opened the door and was standing in front of him, eyes red from crying. His hair a mess. He definitely didn't look like the calm and collected Captain America.

"What the fuck do you want?" He spat, glaring down at his best friend.

"I-" Bucky was at a loss for words. "I don't know."

Steve laughed bitterly. "Get the fuck out of my face before I knock your teeth out."

"Steve, please-" Bucky's voice broke. "I need-I need you. Please."

"You need me?" Steve hissed. "What about what I need, huh? Does how I feel just not matter to you?”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, staring down at his feet. He couldn’t look Steve in the eyes any longer.

“You were fucking her.” Steve laughed, almost as it was a joke. “You were fucking my girl. You got my girl pregnant, and she tried to kill herself. Because of you, Bucky. So get out of my face. I don’t care what you have to say.”

"You're the only one-" Bucky tried desperately. He needed to talk. And Steve was the only one who understood.

"Save it, I don't wanna hear it. You ever show up at my door again," He took a deep breath, his eyes falling on the bruising cut that was on his cheek. "I won't stop this time." Steve slammed the door in Bucky's face.

Bucky was standing in front of Y/N's room. The door had long opened and an empty room was staring back. After you had left, Pepper and Nat had cleaned your room up the best that they could. While cleaning they had found an ultrasound picture hidden away in your nightstand. Nat said she wanted to throw it out but Pepper stole it from her and brought it to Bucky one evening. Bucky didn't know what to do with it so he brought it back to your room, stashing it away where you had kept it. He didn't want to take anything out of your room for when you came back. He wanted it to look like how you had left it. Well- before you destroyed it anyway.

Bucky slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning at the sudden weight on it. No one had sat here in a long time. Bucky heaved a sigh and hung his head, his long hair made a curtain around his face. You were always telling him to cut it.

A frown crept onto his lips, silently cursing himself. You teasing him about his hair is was started this whole thing. It was 4 months ago, you guys had most of the compound to yourself and were passing the time playing a drinking game.

He still remembers the smile on your face when you had brought up his hair, thinking it was hilarious how it was so long. Your laugh was more intoxicating than the alcohol the two of you were consuming. He just couldn't stop staring at you, your beautiful eyes, your hair that smelled like lavender, your gorgeous smile. And every time you leaned over it would expose your cleavage from the top of the thin tank top you had on. By the time you were done giggling Bucky had leaned in and grabbed your face, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You were stunned at first but quickly gave into his advances, as you had been waiting for this moment too.

A noise outside the room made Bucky snap back to reality.

"Thought I would find you here." A soft voice whispered. It was Nat. She gave him a soft smile before sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. "It okay if I sit?" Bucky shrugged his shoulders and nodded. "Sam said you're having a bad day."

"Sam doesn't know shit."

"I know some days are tougher than others. You seemed to be doing okay last week. Actually saw you smile." She laughed quietly. Bucky didn't say anything. "She's not dead, Bucky."

"Why the fuck-"

"Shut up and listen." Any hint of kindness in her voice was gone. "I'm not like Sam, I'm not gonna coddle you. She is alive and is doing better, I just came from the hospital."

"We'll I'm glad you got to see her." He scoffed.

"I know you're not gonna hear what I have to say, but just listen to this- you are not alone, Bucky. Okay? I know none of that matters because you don't have the people you love most around you. But the rest of us are you for you, and Steve. Okay?" Bucky opened his mouth to snap something back but Nat held up her hand. "Just tell me you understand, okay? Because if I have to clean up one more persons blood off the floor I am going to loose my mind."

Bucky sighed and nodded his head. "Okay. I understand." Nat patted him on the shoulder before standing up and left the room. A tear dribbled down his cheek and he quickly whipped it away. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?

Absolutely exhausted, he kicked his shoes off and laid down, not wanting to pick himself up and walk back to his room. Everything just felt too heavy. His eyes slowly fluttered shut, no matter how hard Bucky fought against it. But it was just too heavy.

"Hey, I need to talk to you." Banner said quietly, standing in Bucky's door way.

"What?" Bucky grumbled from his spot on the bed. "If it's about checking my head, I don't want to hear it. I'm fine, he didn’t hit me that hard.”

"No, it's not that. I need to know-"

"Then what?"

"I need to know what you want to do with the fetus...the baby." He shifted his weight back and forth.

A heavy silence surrounded the two of them. "Why me?" Bucky croaked out finally.

"Well, you're the father and-"

"Don't. Don't call me that." Bucky pointed a stern finger at him Bruce stood there awkwardly, waiting for Bucky to tell him what to do. He blinked back a few tears and cleared his throat. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well, everyone else thinks you should bury him."

Him. It was a boy. Bucky was going to have a son. His son. Y/N's son. Our son.

"Then bury him."

"I think you should go."

"I don't want to."

"Bucky, please. You need to cope."

"Oh yeah, and how should I do that, doctor?" Bucky snapped back. Bruce sighed, defeated. "Go fucking burry the thing and get over it. I don't want to be there, got it?" Why was he saying this? That's not what he wanted to say.

"Okay. Sorry for bothering you." Banner exited his room in a defeated sigh, his shoulder hunched over.

Some more time ticked by before there was another knock on the door. Bucky jumped slightly as he just starting to fall asleep. He hadn't slept in about two days and it was starting to take a toll on him. The evening sun cast shadows that danced around in his dark room.

"Bruce I swear-" He opened the door and stepped back, surprised. It was Pepper. She smiled shyly at him. Bucky thinks she hasn't said more than 10 words with him since he came to live at the compound a year ago. Mostly just awkward good mornings when they came into the kitchen at the same time to get coffee. Pepper always got up early but Bucky was fed up of trying to fall asleep.

"Oh. Did...did you need something?" He asked looking down at her. Pepper wasn't as hard as everyone else at the compound, she hasn’t seen the things everyone else had. He had barely spoken to her and there were already tears forming in her eyes.

"Nat-" She cleared her throat and attempted to wipe the tears away from her eyes. "Nat and I were cleaning up Y/N's room, so it won't be a mess when she comes back. And we'll we found this." She held out some grainy pictures. Bucky wasn't sure what he was looking at.

"What are these?" He muttered, taking them from her.

"They're ultrasound pictures. I guess she knew..." She cleared her throat again, fighting back the urge to cry. "Sorry. I guess she knew about the pregnancy. Nat wanted to throw them out but I thought you should have them."

Bucky didn't know what to say. He didn't want to open his mouth and rip Peppers head off, because he knew that she was just trying to be nice. Trying to make him feel better, but honestly it was just making him feel worse. If you knew you were pregnant why did you try to kill yourself? Or is that why you tried to kill yourself?

Before he could think of what to say, a sob ripped through his chest, his knees giving out under him. Pepper moved quickly to his side and threw her small body against Bucky's, wrapping him up in a hug. She tried to hold him up the best she could, but they crumpled to the ground together.

"I'm so sorry, Bucky." She cried. Her hands grabbed the back of his shirt, like she was trying to keep him from falling apart. It wasn’t working. It felt like someone was chiseling away at his heart. He clutched the ultrasound pictures to his chest, another sob wracking through his body. He wanted Y/N. He wanted you here with him, mourning the loss of your child together. "I'm so sorry." Pepper repeated. Bucky gently pushed her away and tried to calm himself down.

"Thank you for these, Pepper." He babbled. "But I need to be alone. Please leave me alone." She shook her head at what he was saying and tried to protest. He held up his hand to stop her. “Go. Just go.” He pleaded. Finally, she left him there, sitting in the door way, holding the only pictures of his son that he would ever get.

Bucky woke up with a gasp, his clothes were soaked and sticking to his skin from his sweat and it felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest, his stomach churning in knots. He scrambled out your bed and into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. These fucking dreams would not leave him alone. Ever since you left that's all he was able to dream about.

He spilled his guts out a few more times before slumped down beside the toilet, he shoved his head in hands and took a few deep breathes, trying to ease his spinning head. He gagged at the taste of vomit in his mouth and spit into the toilet again. Standing up shakily, he looked at himself in the mirror that was above the sink. He hated the person looking back. He looked sick, disgusting.

Saying Bucky looked rough was an understatement. His eyes were sunken in, which were accompanied by dark bags. His hair was ratty and dull and he hadn't trimmed his beard in weeks. He had also lost weight and muscle mass from not being able to eat. He couldn't. The only thing he was able to keep down was chicken broth and he hardly even eat that. He had no desire to work out either. His metal arm, which he usually polished at least once a week was dull too. And covered in scratches from him clawing at it in the middle of the night.

Bucky sighed heavily and rinsed his mouth and face with water. Patting his face dry with a towel he realized for the first time, he was starving. He could smell someone cooking bacon down in the kitchen and it made his mouth water.

Maybe Sam was right, Bucky did need to talk about this. Or maybe Steve was the one who was right. This was all his fault. He made the first move on you. The baby was his. Everything was his fault. Maybe if he had just left you alone, none of this would have happened. He couldn’t think straight anymore, nothing made sense without you here.

He pushed his thoughts out of his head as he remade your bed. Picking up his boots from off the ground, he slowly made his way back to his room. It was a hot mess inside, more than normal. Bucky doesn't remember the last time he picked anything up. He discarded his sticky clothes and got into the shower, letting the hot water fall over his skin. He hummed contently as he washed his hair, yanking to get the knots out. While he was in there he trimmed his beard the best he could without looking in a mirror.

Getting out and rubbed the steam off the mirror and looked at himself again. His beard and his hair looked better, but his eyes still looked empty. He still felt empty. Bucky tossed on some clothes that smelled the cleanest, which happened just an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

Taking a deep breath he left his room, or his cave, as Sam called it, and went down to the kitchen. It seemed like everyone was there, talking and laughing together. Bucky felt an instant nauseous feeling build in his stomach as eyes fell on him. He felt like an outsider, no, he was an outsider. Always has been as always will be

"Hey, Buck." Sam greeted, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. "There's coffee in the pot if you want some." Bucky gave him a small smile and poured himself a cup, and grabbed a few pieces of bacon and fruit that was cut up. He sat down beside Sam and cleared this throat. Sam looked down at the small amount of food that Bucky had gathered and frowned slightly, but refrained from saying anything. He should be glad he was eating at all.

"Where's Steve at this morning?" Bucky asked, taking a sip of coffee, which stung going down his throat.

"Oh, he went to visit Y/N." Sam replied nonchalantly.

"Hm." Bucky stared down at his food, which suddenly repulsed him. Maybe this was a mistake, he should have stay in his room. Sam silently cursed himself for bring you up and tried to change the conversation.

"Sleep any better last night?" Sam questioned.

"A little. Fell asleep about an hour after we got done talking." He shrugged. “Woke up a little bit ago.”

"So you slept for 14 hours?" Sam chuckled. "We got done talking at 5, so you were out for 14 hours. I'd call that pretty good sleep."

"Doesn't mean it was restful."

"It's still a good thing that you slept through the night." Sam took a bite out of his bacon. "Oh my god, I swear Vision makes the best food." He goaded. Sam was obviously trying to get Bucky to eat.

"I know." Bucky faked a smile as he couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to get sick again. The feeling suddenly got overwhelming and he suddenly stood to his feet, his chair scrapping loudly against the floor, which caused everyone to stop and look. They watched as Bucky disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

There was nothing in Bucky's stomach for him to throw up, besides that little bit of coffee. He was now just dry heaving, spit trickling down his chin. He just wanted this to go away, why couldn't it go away? Bucky heaved into the toilet one last time before picking his head up, wiping away the spit that was now traveling down his neck. He noticed there was a slight red tinge to it.

He brought his knees up to his chest and his hands shook as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. The room was spinning, he was so dizzy. His mouth felt he had just chewed on chalk. He was a super solider, god damn it. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Something wasn’t right.

He slowly got to his feet, hanging onto the sink for support. Slowly he made his way back to the kitchen, leaning against the wall so he wouldn’t fall over. He just needed to get to Banner. Banner would know what to do.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky could hardly see. His vision was darkening and his ears were ringing. He could feel eyes on him. Gripping the wall for support, he dry heaved again. “Bucky?” Someone asked, concern in their voice. That voice. He knew that voice.

“Y/N?” He panted, his head snapping up. The quick action made his head spin and his grip on the wall loosened. He caught a glimpse of you right before he fell on his face, vision going black, everything falling silent.

part 3

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: Su!c!de attempt, graphic description of bl00d, mentions of death, medical procedure talk, loss of pregnancy, PTSD, lots and lots of angst, mentions of drinking.

Female!reader, love triangle with Steve and Bucky (kinda?)

Word count: roughly 2,076

Please don't read if any of these warnings will trigger you :)

I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME

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Bucky's eyes snapped open, his advanced hearing honing in on the soft wails coming from down the hall. It was you, it always you. He inhaled sharply and pushed himself out of his warm bed, his dog tags clinking against his bare chest. It gets worse when Steve isn't here; your night terrors. He's the only one that can rock you back to sleep, soothing your tear stained cheeks and calming your raging mind. Bucky isn't very good at it, but he can get the job done.

His door slid open and he walked quietly down the hallway, careful not to wake anybody else up. Tony had to semi soundproof your room. When you first came to live in the compound, your screams would keep everyone up all night. Now only Bucky and Steve could hear your cries, which often made for sleepless nights. But lately it’s been getting better, which he was thankful for. Both for your sake and his sake.

Bucky stopped in front of your door, expecting it to just slide open like it normally does. But it didn't. Confused, he waved his hand in front of the sensor but it didn't budge. "Friday?" He yawned, annoyed. What couldn't Tony just put in normal doors? They're so much simpler. "What's wrong with the door?"

"It seems that Ms. Y/L/N has locked it." Strange. You never lock it.

"Well, unlock it." He snapped back at the AI.

"I cannot. She has over-ridden my capabilities to unlock it."

"What?" Bucky asked, suddenly more awake. The hairs on his arms stood up and a gut wrenching feeling began to churn in his stomach. He could hear you on the other side, still crying. "Y/N!" Bucky yelled pounding on the door. The cries grew harder. "Y/N open the door!"

"Go away!" You screamed. "Just go!" This wasn't a night terror, you were awake. “I don’t need you, Bucky!”

"Friday, get Tony down here." Bucky yelled, pounding on the door again. "Y/N please just open the door! Let me help!"

"Don't need your help." There was the sound of the bathtub starting up. "Just go."

"Bucky,” A tired voice groaned from behind him. Sam. "It's 2:30 in the morning, why in the hell are you screaming."

"Y/N locked us out." He muttered, pressing his ear against the door. He could hear you whimpering on the other side. "Friday can't open it."

"Friday, get Tony-"

"He is on his way." She replied back. "Ms. Y/N also disabled her cameras. I can't see inside there either."

"Y/N!" Bucky tried again, his voice cracking just enough for him to notice. Hopefully not enough for Sam to notice.

"Does someone wanna tell me why I am down here in the middle of the god damn night?" Another voice said behind them.

"Just get the fucking door open." Bucky snarled. Tony took note of the worry and urgency in his voice and unlatched a panel that was next to the door. He moved some wires around and the door hissed open.

Bucky rushed in and the state of your room hit him like a truck. It was a wreak. Your mattress was halfway off of its frame, your dresser was knocked over with all the clothes torn out, and there was a smashed chair in the corner. You had also punched out your mirror, making Bucky's footsteps crunch as he walked through her room. How did he not hear this? Why didn't he wake up? But that's not what bothered Bucky. His nose instantly picked up on a coppery smell that stung the inside of his nostrils, making him instantly nauseous. He pushed into the bathroom, where somehow the cupboard was shoved in front of.

The sight before him was enough to make him cry and vomit at the same time. You were submerged in the bathtub, the water stained a bright red color. A long shard of glass from the mirror was laying on the floor, stained with your crimson blood. Two deep long cuts had been carved into your forearms. The ringing in his ears slowly subsided and he heard the sound of either Tony or Sam dry heaving behind him. He wasn't sure who it was.

"Friday, prep medical bay. Get Banners ass up. Now." He heard Tony growl.

Bucky sunk to his knees, his sweatpants become stained with the blood soaked water that had sloshed over the edge. "Y/N." He muttered. She was pale. Too pale. "Y/N!" He yelled grabbing her by the shoulders. “Open your fucking eyes and look at me!" You didn't open her eyes, the only movement was coming from your chest. You were taking quick short breaths, which Bucky figured wasn't good. "Please don't do this to me, please. I need you, fuck-" He choked back a sob.

"Buck, we have to get her down to-" Before Sam could finish his sentence, Bucky was lifting you out of the water and took off towards the med bay.

Banner was already down there, a suturing kit already laid out. "How much blood has she lost?" He asked immediately as soon as Bucky came barreling through the doorway.

"A lot." Was all he could manage. He carefully laid you down on the cot. His thoughts were going a mile a minute. You were supposed to be getting better. Sam and Banner were supposed to be helping you, the therapy was supposed to be helping. Not killing you. Why wasn’t it helping? Why were you so selfish? How could you do that to us? To me, to Steve. To this whole team?

"Well good thing most of the team is A Positive so we have some on standby for her." Banner said. Bucky wasn't sure if he was talking to him or to himself.

Banner flushed out your wounds with what looked like water, and carefully began to stitch you up. Bucky noticed the slight shaking in his wrist and he pulled your skin together.

"Where is Steve?" Bucky whispered to Tony, not taking his eyes off of Y/N and Banner. For once, you looked like you were at peace. Your features were smoothed and relaxed, nothing like your previous state.

"His teams on their way back. ETA 4 hours." Tony whispered back.

A heavy silence fell over the med bay. Bucky felt drained. He couldn't keep his thought straight in his head, and it was numbing. He just kept asking the same thing. Why? You were doing so good. You were laughing, smiling, and actually making progress to talk to people outside your comfort zone. Of course you were still having night terrors, Sam said those wouldn't go away for a long time. But other than that you were fine. You said you were fine. He couldn't understand why.

Banner was done with one side. He moved over to the other and began to repeat the process, but one of the machines she was hooked up to began beeping rapidly. His head snapped up and his brows furrowed.

"Friday do a full body scan please." He grunted.

"What? What's wrong?" Bucky pleaded, his skin tightening and his stomach doing loops.

"Blood pressure is dropping. Not good." Was all he heard over the several machines firing at once.

"There is hemorrhaging. Location: uterus." Friday said back. "Surgery is recommended."

Banner quickly finished the last of the sutures and yanked your water and blood soaked sweatpants off. There was a large amount of blood pooling in between your legs.

"Bruce what is that?" Bucky yelled rushing over to them. "What's wrong with her, did she stab herself there?" He felt like he was going to vomit.

"Bucky-" He started as he fumbled with some tubing.

"What are you doing to her?!" Bucky yelled again his voice become more and more distressed. "You're gonna kill her please help her!"

"Tony get him the hell out of here!" Banner screamed finally, the Hulks voice peaking behind his anger and frustration.

Bucky was being yanked out of the bay by Sam and Tony. He could fight back easily, fight them off so he could be with you. But his legs were so shaky he could hardly stand on his own two feet. The windows that looked into the bay dimmed and Bucky caught one last look as Banner yanked down Y/N's underwear. A sob escaped from Buckys lips as he crumpled to the ground. What was happening now? Y/N must be so scared. He was so scared.

He felt that hot tears prick at his cheeks and dribbled down into his beard hair. He was crying. Crying for the first time in who knows how long. He couldn't loose you. You were the only one who truly understood Bucky. You meant too much to him.

"Buck-" Sam started but Bucky just cut him off.

"Leave me alone." He sobbed. It felt like a metal pipe had been shoved down Buckys throat. He couldn’t breathe. "Please just go away." Tony and Sam shared a look before the disappeared down the hallway.

He sat there for what seemed like days. But it was only hours. Soon enough Steve came jogging down the hallway to where Bucky sat.

"Buck." Steve gasped, kneeling down next to him. "What happened?"

"I thought she was having a night terrors." Bucky's voice was raw and it hurt to swallow. The crying must have stopped hours ago, but he couldn't remember when it ended. "But she locked me out. Tried to...tried to..."

"Oh god." Steve whimpered, understanding what he was saying. “Is she...?" Bucky shook his head.

"She started bleeding. I think Banners still doing surgery." Steve's face was screwed tightly together as he stood back up. Bucky couldn't tell what he was feeling. He paced the hallway for a bit before he slid down against the wall across from Bucky, his eyes blankly staring at the door. He could see the trembling in his chest when he inhaled.

They sat there in silence for about another hour, when suddenly, the doors to the med bay swung open. Banners eyes fell on them. He sighed heavily and put his hands in his pockets.

"What? What is it?" Bucky pleaded getting to his feet, which caused Steve to stand up.

"Is she okay?" Steve asked, his brows closely knit together.

"Yeah. She's stable. Woke up for a few minutes but she's sleeping now. I had to give her some medicine to calm her down. And I had to..." He trailed off. "Restrain her. She's very agitated." Bruce exhaled and wrung his hands together.

"Then what happened? Why did you have to do surgery." Bucky prodded. He could tell Banner was hiding something.

"The bleeding was caused by a mixture of shock and her blood pressure tanking. I couldn't-" He cleared his throat like he was keeping back tears. "I couldn't save the fetus. She miscarried."

It felt like someone had punched Bucky in the gut. Fetus? Miscarried? She was pregnant?

"From what I could tell she was about 15 weeks along. I ran the DNA because I wasn't...I wasn't sure who the father was."

"I had a child?" Steve whimpered. Tears were falling freely down his face.

"No, Steve.” He whispered softly. “Bucky, it was yours.”

"What? No. That's impossible." Steve scoffed. "You must have your science shit mixed up. There is no way."

"No, he's right." Bucky whispered, absolute shocking talking grip of his body.

"I'm sorry. It was a boy."

"What? No. No! It's wrong. Go test it again Banner! I know it's wrong!"

"Steve-"

"You were fucking her?!" Steve screamed, turning to Bucky. "You knew I was in love with her and you were fucking her?!"

"It was once Steve! Almost 3 months ago! We were drunk and you were away on a mission and I came onto her!" Bucky bargained, staring into the flames of his best friend’s eyes.

"You fucked my girl! My girl!" Steve was irate, barely able to contain himself.

"She isn't yours Steve, you're not even together!"

"I told her that I loved her! And you went and fucked her anyway! What, do you always follow your dick!? I bet that's why she refuses to look at you!"

"No, she told me that she loved me!" Bucky screamed back, his voice echoing in the hallway as silence washed over them. Bucky took a deep breath. "She said it first. And I told her it was a mistake and should be with you." He said quietly.

Steve let out an animalistic growl, and his fist made contact with the side of Bucky's cheek and the back of his head smashed against the wall.

"I love you Bucky." Y/N's soft voice said. Your head was currently buried in Bucky's bare chest. "It's you. It's always has been." You whispered.

Bucky reached down and cupped her cheek, making you look at him. He has been waiting to hear that since they first met. He didn't believe in love at first sight but ever since he first laid eyes on you, he started to believe.

"You don't mean that, doll." He muttered back. Alcohol was still running its course through their bodies. "You're drunk."

"Drunk words are a sober mans thoughts."

"Y/N-"

"I want you Bucky. Just you. No more going back and forth between you and Steve. I can't do that anymore, Bucky. Please believe me." You pleaded, your large eyes staring into his.

"You deserve someone like Steve, not like me. You can't love me." He sighed, letting go of your face.

"I love Steve. He’s amazing and kind, but I love I have for him isn’t like how I love you.”

"No. You love the thought of me." He snapped, rising off the bed. "But you don't love me Y/N. I promise you, you don't. You shouldn't." He gathered his clothes from the floor and shimmied into them. He reached the door and stopped at the sound of your voice.

"But-" Bucky winced at the sound of your voice as it was filling with tears.

"I'm sorry." He whispered turning away, his own eyes brimming with tears. "I don't deserve you. You can't love me. I'm sorry."

part 2

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the tower isn’t what it used to be. no more clean metal shine. no more stark’s weird robot jazz echoing off the walls. now there’s throw blankets that don’t match, mismatched mugs in the kitchen sink, and half a pizza box abandoned on the coffee table under a forgotten tablet glowing faint blue. the new avengers are spread across the sectional like dropped laundry. yelena belova was upside down with her legs hanging off the top, scrolling on her phone like the fate of the universe depends on it. john walker's asleep with one arm tossed over his eyes, pretending not to be listening. and you, you’re tucked in next to bucky barnes cause it’s always been that way.

his arm’s around your waist, the metal one, heavy and cool through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. your legs are half across his lap. there’s a blanket barely clinging to both of you. you lean in slowly, kissing the corner of his mouth first, he hums something. so you do it again, softer. your lips trail across the edge of his jaw, warm and lazy. and he finally looks at you, real slow, real tired.

“you tryin’ to distract me?” he says, voice rough with sleep or maybe something else.

“from what?” you whisper. “yelena's tiktok rabbit hole? pretty sure the world’ll keep turning.”

he chuckles, breath fogging warm against your temple. “you’re gonna get us kicked off the couch.”

“then we’ll take the beanbag. better view of the stars anyway.”

there’s a long pause, no one talking, just the low thrum of the tower’s power system and distant sirens down in the city, muffled by double pane glass and altitude. bucky doesn’t say much when he’s tired. doesn’t need to. his hand settles over yours, thumb dragging lazy circles over your skin.

your powers flicker under your skin when you’re this close. heat like static behind your ribs. reality bends easier around you when he touches you. he doesn’t flinch anymore when it happens. the way light bends a little around your fingertips. how your shadow twitches half a second slower than your body.

“you’re glowing again,” he mumbles.

“can’t help it.” you grin against his throat. “you make me all… photonic.”

“that a scientific term?”

“yup. real cutting edge. avengers approved.”

he turns toward you fully then, presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. it’s nothing hurried. like sunday mornings. like breath.

near you, yelena mutters, “jesus. get a room.”

you don’t look away. neither does bucky. just smirks against your mouth.

a/n: i actually hate this so much! but forgive me for i was puking my brains out yesterday when i wrote this.

read pt.1 here

uh warning for blood again and again it's not that descriptive lol

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

it was late when bucky finally came home. you heard him before you saw him, the soft shuffle of boots by the door, the quiet clink of keys landing in the dish you’d both agreed was “aesthetic” even though neither of you actually cared.

he let out a long, tired breath, the kind that said today had been a lot. maybe it was training. maybe it was meetings. maybe someone said something stupid and he had to keep himself from punching them through a wall. again. you were curled up on the couch, wearing one of his old shirts, frayed at the collar, soft from years of washes, still smelling faintly like him. you’d gotten home an hour or so earlier, dropped your things, kicked off your boots, and started to decompress. or at least, you tried. but you were hungry.

not food hungry. not in the usual sense. not in the way normal people were after a long day. no—this was the kind of hunger that settled behind your ribs and tugged at your spine. it stirred quietly at first, but by the time bucky walked in, it was loud. gnawing. electric. he stepped into the living room, face softening the second he saw you.

“hey, baby,” he said, dropping his bag near the table.

“hi,” you murmured, eyes locked on him.

he paused. tilted his head, a little amused. a little curious.

“you eat?”

you shook your head. “not yet.”

he gave a low, knowing laugh and moved toward the bookshelf. “figured. you’ve got that look in your eye.”

you watched him as he pulled out a dog eared paperback, one you’d seen him reread a dozen times. his vibranium arm caught the lamplight as he settled into the armchair across from you, thumbing open the book.

you didn’t move for a second. just watched him. the curve of his throat, the line of his jaw, the way the muscles in his forearm flexed slightly as he turned the page. the gold and brown light painted across his skin like something holy. you rose without a sound. padded across the room, slow and careful, but there was nothing predatory about it. not really. this wasn’t about taking. this was about wanting. needing. he didn’t flinch when you slid into his lap. didn’t say a word when you nuzzled your nose against his neck, breathing him in.

“rough day?” you asked, voice soft.

“mm,” he hummed, eyes scanning the page. “long. annoying. too many people talking and not enough doing.”

your lips brushed the edge of his jaw.

“you gonna fix that for me?” he asked, teasing now, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“maybe,” you said, letting your lips trail down the column of his throat. “depends if you let me.”

he tilted his head back slightly, exposing more skin, still pretending to read. “i always let you.”

your fangs pressed gently to his pulse point. he didn’t flinch. didn’t tense. just sighed, low and content.

“you smell good,” you murmured.

“you always say that,” he muttered, flipping the page.

“it’s always true.”

you licked a slow stripe across the side of his neck, tasting the salt there, the warmth, the faintest trace of iron beneath his skin. his heart beat steady and strong.

“go ahead,” he whispered.

you didn’t need to be told twice.

your mouth opened over his neck, your fangs sinking in with practiced ease. he inhaled sharply through his nose, his hand tightening on the armrest. the blood hit your tongue warm and rich, heady like dark wine and something deeper underneath. like rain on hot pavement. like warmth in winter.

he kept reading. barely even twitched.

you fed slowly, taking your time, mouth sealed to his skin, one hand on his chest to steady yourself. he was warm, solid beneath you. grounding. he murmured something you couldn’t hear, probably reacting to something in the book. your hunger quieted, replaced by that soft hum of connection, the bond between you thick in the air. this was trust. this was something holy.

when you finally pulled back, lips still tingling, you licked the punctures clean. they were already closing, healing faster than they should. his eyes met yours, still half lidded, still calm.

“better?” he asked.

“mmhm.”

you shifted in his lap, curling against his chest. he closed the book and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“good,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “hate seeing my girl all hungry.”

you smiled.

you fell asleep like that, tangled up in him, warm and full, the city beyond your windows fading into a hush. let them call him a hero. let the world watch him save it over and over again. you had him first. and he was home with you.

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the apartment is quiet except for the soft sound of the stove and the distant rhythm of traffic outside. your daughter is at the table, her little legs swinging from the chair, tongue poking out in concentration as she draws. crayon in one hand, juice box in the other. there's a mess of purple scribbles that sort of look like a shield. or maybe a cat. you’re chopping vegetables one handed, phone balanced on your shoulder, listening to a voicemail from your sister you’ve already heard twice today. the mundane feels good. normal. still. the front door doesn’t creak anymore—bucky fixed the hinge last week—but you still hear him before you see him. boots scuffing the hallway floor. the rustle of that jacket he won’t get rid of. you glance up and he’s there, like he always is lately. a little tired around the eyes, jaw set, still half lost in whatever mission they just pulled him from.

he drops his duffel at the door and steps out of his boots before he even says hi. you know what that means. it was a rough one.

“hey,” you say, not turning around yet.

“hey.” his voice is low, rasped at the edges. he moves into the kitchen slowly, like he’s not sure how to belong in the quiet after everything loud.

“daddy!” lily shouts, twisting in her seat. she scrambles down and runs to him.

his face softens the second she touches him. “hey,” he says, crouching low to catch her. “what’d i miss?”

“i drew you!" she announces proudly, pulling him by the hand toward the table.

he gives you a quick glance, something grateful in it, like he’s thanking you just for being here, for holding it all together.

you dry your hands and join them. lily is explaining the drawing: him in a suit, you with a bow and arrow (which you definitely don’t use anymore), and some kind of flying car in the sky. bucky listens like it’s the most important briefing he’s ever received.

“that me?” he asks, pointing at the stick figure with messy scribbles for hair and something that might be a star on his chest.

“yeah,” she grins. “you’re an avenger now.”

bucky huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “guess i am, huh.”

he doesn’t sound proud. not exactly. more like he’s still trying to believe it. still doesn’t know what it means to be one of the good guys. still doesn’t feel like he belongs in the lineup. but you see it. in the way he kneels on the kitchen floor to listen to his daughter’s stories. in the way he checks every window and door before bed. in how he wakes up in the middle of the night just to look at the two of you and make sure it’s real. he’s not the winter soldier anymore. he’s something new. something softer. something harder to define.

after dinner, he helps clean up without being asked. washes dishes with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that vibranium arm gleaming under the kitchen light. you lean against the counter, watching him in the quiet.

“you okay?” you ask.

he nods slowly. “just… tired.”

you reach for him without thinking, resting a hand on his back. “i can’t tell if you mean physically or existentially.”

he gives a small, tired smile. “both.”

there’s a pause. then, quieter: “they’re calling us something new now,” he says. “not 'thunderbolts' anymore. it’s more official. more public.”

“new avengers?”

“something like that.”

you nod. you expected this. since val’s people started cleaning house and putting the new lineup together. since they sent him back into the field with an actual team and something that looked like purpose.

“you good with that?” you ask.

he shrugs. “i don’t know. i keep waiting for someone to realize i’m not supposed to be there.”

“bucky,” you say, serious now. “you’ve earned this.”

“have i?”

“you show up. every day. for us. for them. for yourself. what more do you want?”

he leans in then, forehead to yours, just breathing you in.

later, after lily’s asleep and the apartment is dark except for the low lamp by the bed, he crawls in beside you and wraps an arm around your waist.

“i don’t know how to be the guy she thinks i am,” he murmurs.

you press a kiss to his collarbone. “you don’t have to be. just... be here for her.”

he exhales against your neck. “that, i can do.”

you two couldn't sleep. the blankets in the bed are pulled up to your waists, your legs tangled without thinking. the lamp casts a warm gold over the room. he’s lying on his side, head propped on his hand, his hair’s still damp from the shower, curling just a little at the ends, and his skin smells like your body wash.

“you're pretty.” he praises lowly, voice rough and tired.

you smile, eyes closed. “mm. pretty sure you said that yesterday.”

he leans in, nose brushing your jaw, lips finding the edge of your neck. slow, unhurried. “yeah, well. still true.”

you hum, tilting your chin up for him without even thinking. he kisses the spot just beneath your ear, where your pulse flutters, and you feel him smile against your skin. his hand slides over your hip under the blanket, fingertips tracing the shape of you like he’s grounding himself there. he tugs gently at the edge of his old henley you’d stolen months ago. his hand doesn’t stop moving. just slow passes over the curve of your waist, your thigh, your back. it’s not rushed. not needy.

he mouths at your jaw, your neck, just a press of lips. not quite kisses. you think maybe he’s too tired for anything more. you’re so caught up in the press of his body, the feel of him in your space, that you almost don’t notice when his hand presses into the small of your back and tugs. he pushes you gently until you’re on your back, flat against the bed. he shifts, moving to hover over you like always. he leans in for a proper kiss then, slow and warm. something like coming home. you meet him with a hand in his hair, keeping him there, and feel his answering smile against your lips. it’s not long before it edges deeper, rougher. he bites at your lip, tugging softly, and you arch up against him with a sharp inhale. "lily's right there—" you breathe out.

he doesn’t pull away. just hums against your mouth. he noses at your neck again, the rough edge of his stubble dragging over your skin. "she’s the heaviest sleeper on the planet. we’ll be fine.”

you kiss him, warm breath mingling in the hush between heartbeats. he smiles into the kiss, hand sliding up to cup your jaw, thumb sweeping over your cheek. steadying you as your mouth moves in a quiet rhythm, tasting the moment. it’s soft but deliberate, each kiss deepening just enough to make you both lean in more, wanting, needing, sighing into eachother. the world narrows to skin, and lips. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. it’s so gentle, so careful.

just as he’s pulled back a fraction, the bedroom door creaks open. he’s off you in a second, dropping to his elbows at your side. you’re both breathing heavy, heart going wild. lily stands in the doorway, looking tiny in her little white nightgown. “can’t sleep?” bucky asks, running a hand through his hair. you notice in the low light that the tips of his ears are flushed pink. your shirt collar is askew, his henley twisted around your waist. she shakes her head and pads over. she’s rubbing one eye with a tiny fist and dragging her blanket on the floor behind her. bucky props himself up, shifting to make room for her on the bed. 

“alright. come here,” he murmurs, lifting her up. she slots herself in between you easily, shoving her face in your shoulder like she always does. she’s warm from sleep, the side of her little body pushing flush against yours. bucky’s hand is splayed across her back, his thumb rubbing idle circles. 

“how are you doing?” you ask, smoothing her messy hair down. usually, once she’s down for the night, she’s out for the count. 

she looks up at you, blinking sleepily, then at him. his cheek is resting on top of her head. “i had a nightmare,” she mumbles into your shirt. 

his face softens instantly. you can feel his hand on her back pause for a second. “what about?” he asks. 

“you an’ momma were gone,” she mumbles, voice going soft. “for a long time.” her little fist grips your shirt tighter. 

“not going anywhere, kid,” he says, voice low. he presses a kiss to her head, eyes still on you. “promise.” 

bf/husband!bucky is SO old fashioned

bro grew up in the 1920’s/1930’s/1940’s

he thinks bouquets of flowers are very romantic

he bought a second-hand phonograph for you two to dance

he pays for the dates at the restaurant

a real gentleman 😔

also he forgets to wear a condom when you don’t remind him

Hi! I had this idea and thought you might be the perfect person to bring it to life: a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic where Reader finds an old journal of Bucky’s from his early post Winter Soldier recovery days. She reads it without meaning to at first, but what she finds inside is raw and heartbreaking. stuff he never talks about. Maybe they’ve been growing distant lately, and this gives her a look into just how much he’s been struggling. Would love if it ends with her wanting to comfort him but him not being ready to let her in yet. Quiet, emotional tension, please!

I READ YOUR DIARY EVERY LINE.

it starts with dust. not metaphorical, just actual dust.

you’re cleaning. or pretending to. rearranging the living room like that’s gonna fix the silence that’s been creeping in between you and bucky like fog under the door. you’ve been feeling it for weeks now. how he’s been moving quieter, speaking less, disappearing into rooms with the kind of stillness that makes it hard to follow. you don’t even remember the last time he touched you without pulling back like his hands burned after.

so, yeah. you’re cleaning. touching all his stuff like you’re trying to find a thread back to him. and then a book falls. black. beat up. spiral bound, barely hanging on. it looks like it’s been shoved there on purpose—stuffed behind old war books and a mug you’re pretty sure he stole from a hotel in zurich. you almost leave it. almost. but then you see the corner of a folded photo sticking out from between the pages. and your name, just a sliver of it, so you sit. floor cold against your legs, journal in your lap, breath a little too tight. you tell yourself you’re just gonna peek. just a glance.

but it’s not that simple. because the first thing you read feels like walking in on someone mid nightmare, mid prayer, mid– something holy and bleeding.

“it’s been 2,190 days since she stopped calling me asset. i still don’t feel like a person.”

the handwriting’s rough. not messy, just tired. you can feel it in the way the letters lean too hard in places, press too deep in others. like he needed to write it down or it would claw its way out some other way.

“i keep dreaming about the way the metal felt when it was first fused to me. like i was being welded shut.”

you shift. knees pulled up now. the room’s gone quiet in that specific way that makes you feel like the walls are listening.

“sometimes i think about running. not because i want to leave, but because i don’t want to rot here. it feels like i’m leaking poison into the lives of people who love me. like i’ll never stop being dangerous.”

you swallow. the last few months fall into place, a soft collapsing. all the nights he stood outside on the fire escape, just watching the sky. the mornings he’d say he was fine but his voice would crack on the i. the way he stopped playing music in the apartment. stopped sitting beside you on the couch. stopped falling asleep beside you, slowly replacing your shared bed with the cold of the guest room. your eyes burn but you keep reading.

“she touches me like i’m breakable. looks at me like i’m something to fix. i don’t know how to be held without feeling like an apology.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the page blurs. until the paper soaks a little beneath your fingertips. and you hate that he felt like this. that he couldn’t tell you. that you didn’t see it sooner. that he had to carve this into paper in the middle of the night instead of speaking it out loud to someone who would’ve dropped everything just to hold his face and remind him he's still here. still human. still loved.

there’s one more entry. dated a week ago.

“she asked if i wanted to go out tonight. i told her i was tired. the truth is, i didn’t want to be seen. some days i still feel like a weapon pretending to be a man. and i think if she ever looked too close, she'd see right through me.”

you close the journal. you sit with it in your lap for a long while. the kind of long that makes the afternoon light shift across the floor like slow, golden water. you don’t say anything when you hear the door open. keys hitting the bowl. footsteps slow.

he sees you before he says anything. standing in the doorway to the living room, hand still on the frame, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed in. his eyes drop to the journal in your hands. they stay there. his mouth twitches. not quite a flinch. not quite anything. "you read it," he says, voice low. not accusing. just… accepting. you nod. barely.

he closes his eyes. presses his lips together like he’s swallowing something sharp.

"i didn’t mean for you to see that."

“i know,” you say. voice softer than it’s ever been. “i didn’t mean to find it.”

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s full of everything you don’t say. everything he can’t. he walks past you. sits down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. you want to go to him. every cell in your body wants to close the space. to curl up beside him and press your forehead to his shoulder and tell him he’s not too broken to be loved. not too sharp to be touched. but you don’t. you sit down a few feet away. not touching. not even looking directly at him. just… near. a presence. a quiet offering.

“i didn’t know,” you whisper.

his voice cracks when he says, “i didn’t want you to.”

and there it is. the heart of it. he’s not ready. maybe he never will be. but he’s here and so are you.

the room is dim now. soft golden light painting the walls. somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks as the house settles around you. the air smells like dust and the last bit of coffee he made this morning.

you don’t speak again. you just sit. two people in the quiet. the kind of quiet that aches and comforts at the same time. maybe this is love, too. not the easy parts. just the staying.

a/n: luv this req. i literally just need to hug him omg... also sorry this is terribly written i was almost blackout drunk when writing it

hi lovely! could i request a bucky barnes x female reader fic where the reader is on her period and comes home absolutely exhausted from a long day at work? she's crampy, moody, and just DONE. but bucky is the sweetest and takes care of her in all the best ways (wink wink). a little comforting + spicy combo? soft!bucky being extra gentle and attentive would be amazing. thank you!

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

warning for period sex if that makes you uncomfy. (the blood descriptions aren't really graphic but just in case!)

the door clicked softly as you stepped inside, the quiet of your apartment a stark contrast to the chaos of your day. the relentless meetings, the endless emails, the pressure of deadlines, everything had piled up, and the world felt like it was leaning just a little too heavily on your shoulders. and to make matters worse, your period had hit hard today, with cramps that had you feeling like you were being twisted in every direction.

you kicked off your shoes at the door, your limbs heavy and exhausted, the only thing on your mind being the thought of curling up on the couch and disappearing into a world of blankets and comfort. you barely had the strength to take off your jacket before you heard his voice from the other room.

“hey,” bucky’s voice called, warm and inviting. “you home?”

“yeah,” you muttered, letting out a long sigh as you leaned against the doorframe. the world felt like it was spinning, and you just couldn’t muster the energy to fake being okay.

bucky appeared from the living room, a soft smile on his face. his eyes softened immediately when they landed on you. his hands, usually so confident and steady, seemed to reach out for you with a tenderness you could never get used to. it was usually like this with him. his care never came in bursts, it was always consistent, unwavering.

“long day?” he asked, the concern clear in his voice as he crossed the room toward you.

“yeah,” you sighed, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm. “just... a lot. and cramps. ugh, it’s just... too much.”

he immediately moved toward you, his hands going to your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. you hadn’t even realized how tense you were until his touch made you aware of it. he was always so in tune with you, reading the unspoken signals you never even realized you were sending.

“you want to sit down?” he asked softly, already guiding you toward the couch. you nodded in gratitude, feeling your body practically melt against his gentle insistence. as you sat, he moved to grab a throw blanket, draping it across your lap. his touch was tender, like he was handling something fragile, though you didn’t feel fragile in his care, just loved.

bucky had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, even in your most exhausting moments. he didn’t need to say much; his presence alone was enough. he knew when you wanted space, when you needed silence, and when you needed his comforting touch.

“how about i make us some tea?” he suggested, his voice low and comforting. “i could use a little break, too. you want some ginger or chamomile? or both?”

your smile was small, but it felt like the first real one all day. “chamomile sounds perfect.”

he nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen. you listened to the quiet sound of him moving around, the clink of mugs, the soft hum of the kettle. it was nice. simple. it was the kind of sound that made you feel like you were exactly where you needed to be.

bucky returned moments later, his hands carefully carrying two steaming mugs. he sat next to you, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace between you. he handed you one of the mugs, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“how’s the back, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes searching your face.

“better now that i’m sitting down,” you said, leaning back into the cushions, feeling the warmth of the blanket and tea start to ease your discomfort.

bucky watched you for a moment, his brows knitting together with a protective concern. he’d seen you struggle with this before, but he could never quite get used to the sight of you not feeling like yourself.

“i know it’s not much,” he said softly, his fingers brushing through your hair, “but if there’s anything i can do to help, just let me know.”

his words, simple as they were, were a balm to your soul. you didn’t even realize how much you needed to hear them until he said them. he didn’t expect anything from you, didn’t push you to talk or make you feel like you had to smile. he just gave. and that was more than enough.

“i just need you here, buck,” you whispered, leaning into him a little more, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

bucky immediately wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his embrace warm and grounding. his fingers traced slow circles along your arm, the motion rhythmic and soothing. he didn’t speak for a while, just letting you lean against him and drink your tea in quiet comfort.

the silence wasn’t awkward. not with him. it was the kind of silence that said everything and nothing at once. a peaceful, unspoken understanding between the two of you that you didn’t need words to be comfortable in each other’s company.

“tell me if you want something more, baby,” bucky murmured after a while, his voice a little raspy. his thumb continued its slow, calming circles on your arm. “anything at all.”

you hummed softly, a content sound. “'m good..”

his eyes softened as he looked down at you, his lips pulling into a gentle smile. he didn’t respond with words, just tightened his arm around you in a way that made you feel safe and cared for. his warmth was a shield against the world outside, and in his arms, you could finally let go.

“okay,” he said simply, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “just let me hold you– for as long as you need.”

you closed your eyes, letting yourself drift into the kind of quiet peace you could only find in his presence. bucky was everything you needed in this moment: patient, kind, and so incredibly thoughtful. he didn’t try to fix you, didn’t tell you to feel better or to stop being upset. he just let you be. and that, in itself, was the greatest comfort. you had everything you needed right here, in his arms. and for the first time today, everything felt okay. his touch was firm but gentle, as he rubbed soft circles over your back, the pads of his fingers tracing aimless patterns against your shoulders. he knew you probably wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he simply held you close, his heartbeat steady and reassuring. he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

your hands gently squeeze his big forearms, his forearms flexed automatically under your touch, the firm muscle shifting beneath your fingertips. he gave you a small smile, his hands continuing to move in slow, soothing circles over your back. “you alright?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a murmur. "cramps are bad.." you mumble, your voice strained from the sharp feeling in your stomach.

his expression shifted, the lines of his face softening even further as he listened to you. he could tell that your cramps were giving you hell, and a protective instinct flared in him. he shifted you gently so that you were nestled even more closely against him, his fingers continuing their soft, rhythmic movements. he made a sympathetic sound, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your shoulder. “i’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “is there anything else i can do? heat pack? more tea?” he shifted a little, trying to get a better look at your face.

you prop your chin up onto his shoulder, giving him those pretty doe eyes. his heart softened even more at the look in your eyes, the expression so impossibly sweet that he couldn’t help but melt. he let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving to tuck stray pieces of hair behind your ear. “oh, there you go,” he murmured, voice low and affectionate. he leaned in a little, tilting his head to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. “can’t say no to those pretty eyes,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “name it, doll. tea, hot pack, back rub, foot rub- i’m yours to command.” his hand slid down to gently massage the inside of your knee.

you gently gnaw on your puffy bottom lip, debating whether to ask him, unaware if he would be comfortable. he noticed the way you were gnawing at your lip, your hesitation and need so obvious that he didn't even have to verbalize it. he could see the mix of desire and uncertainty in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you were thinking. his hand continued its gentle massaging of your knee, and he met your gaze with a soft smirk. "go ahead and ask," he murmured, his voice tender. his gaze flickered down as you nipped at your lip, and a sharp stab of desire shot through him, his fingers tightening momentarily around your knee. he swallowed a little thickly, torn between wanting to give you whatever you needed and holding back, not wanting to press you when you were in pain.

"um... well i was just wondering... well yaknow..." you nervously mumble, your eyes flicking down to his thighs.

he shifted a little, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. his expression was patient and open, waiting silently for you to continue. he could read the hesitation and shyness in your body language, and he let his hand slide from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb absently tracing the line of your bottom lip, where you'd been biting at it. "go on," he murmured, gentle and encouraging.

"you know there's ways to relive cramps.." you shyly mumble. you hadn't done anything too nasty with him, sex was a rarity in your relationship anyway.

he caught on immediately, his hand flexed at side, fingers twitching, wanting to touch you more. he leaned in a little, the hand that was still on your knee shifting to gently squeeze it, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rumble. "yeah?" he murmured, "and what would that involve?" he knew exactly what you were hinting at, but he just wanted to make complete sure.

you mumble his name and his heart leapt a little at the sound of his name from your mouth, soft and pleading, and the desire and tenderness in your voice had his self control fraying at the edges. his expression shifted to one of near-overwhelming adoration, his hand releasing your knee to cradle your jaw instead, thumb stroking over the soft curve of your cheekbone. his other hand slid down to your thigh, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin, and he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "i'm right here," he murmured. you kiss him. and he responded eagerly, his lips moving against yours in a slow, sensual kiss, his hand at your jaw moving to cup the back of your head, holding you close. it was a little desperate, almost as if he wanted to drown out the pain he could sense in your body, replace it with only the heady, overwhelming feeling of wanting and being wanted. he nipped gently at your bottom lip, tugging softly, before his tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting the heat of your kiss and the sweetness of your desire.

it had been a long day. and all you needed was some relief. the two of you had been curled up together on the couch, lazily kissing, your body pressed against his. the warmth and the comfort of his body had a soothing effect, and the simple, easy intimacy had slowly been growing more heated, both of you craving the closeness. in a moment his hips had pushed up, slotting between your thighs, and without any words he was guiding you down onto him, your bodies joining and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. he groaned softly, the sound deep and rough in his throat, as you sank down onto him, his head falling back against the couch. he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close, and he murmured your name like a prayer, his eyes closing and his expression going utterly blissed

your body was a soft, warm weight on top of his, your skin a smooth, delicate contrast to the hard muscle and rougher scars of his own. he shifted his hips a little, his hand sliding down to grip at your thigh, a strangled gasp leaving his throat at the feeling of you wrapped around him. your blood slipped down his thick shaft, leaving it's warm mark. "god, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a quiet, rough whisper that was almost lost in the heavy, tension-filled silence of the room. he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips trailing down to bite gently at your collarbone.

he could feel the way you tensed and relaxed against him, the way your body seemed to melt as he filled you, and a wave of affection and protectiveness washed over him. as he felt the pain and tension start to ease from your body, he murmured soft, soothing words, "that's it, sweetheart, i've got you. i've got you." he shifted, his hips moving lazily underneath you, and he groaned silently as he felt you press against him, your bodies fitting together like they were made for this. his hands gripped your thighs, holding you gently but firmly in place, and he buried his face into your neck. your blood gathered into his rough pubic hair, neither fresh-cut nor forgotten, just in-between. it caught in the hair before gravity slowly guided it down his flesh. it didn’t rush. it painted. smearing across the surface of his shaft like thick ink, glinting like a dark ruby under soft light.

"stay— still—" you moan out. and he immediately obeyed your command, going perfectly still underneath you, his hands gripping you a little harder, his body tense and expectant. he let out a soft, strangled groan, the unexpectedness of your command sending a sharp jolt of need through him. he was desperate to keep moving, but he would wait and obey your every word, his eyes half lidded as he looked up at you, breathless and tense.

he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the effort it took him to keep still. his hands flexed once, involuntarily, on your thighs, the desire to move almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to remain obedient, to do as you told him. he could feel the heat and tension building between the two of you, like electricity crackling in the air, and his head fell back against the couch cushion as he let out a low, strangled groan.

half a hour passed like this, with you sitting on his lap, his body trembling with the effort of keeping still. his expression taut with need, but he obeyed your command to remain motionless. the only sound in the room was the harsh breaths the two of you exchanged, and the occasional whine or gasp that escaped his lips. it was a slow and torturous pleasure, the sensations building and building with no release, and bucky could feel the tension and anticipation coiled tight in his stomach. finally, finally, you let him move. he didn't need to be told twice, his body moving before his mind could even catch up. his hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he began to move beneath you. he was desperate, rough and almost feral in his movements, his control snapped clean in half as he finally, finally got the friction he craved. he let out a sharp groan, the sound low and ragged, as he found a fast and steady rhythm, his body moving with yours as he chased his pleasure. your blood came thick, still spilling slow and hot, like something torn open too suddenly. it didn't trickle it gushed, still coating his shaft in a deep, slick red that clung to his skin, and the couch. he shuddered against you, hips rocking hard against yours, a low groan came out his lips as he found his release, the pleasure washing over him in a wave so intense it had him seeing stars for a moment, his vision going white and his back arching up of the couch. his lungs screaming for air as he panted desperately, the pleasure and tension slowly easing. he fell back against the couch, body shaking slightly, the aftershocks of his release still lingering along his nerve endings. as he finally relaxed, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded, his face flushed. you're both lying still together, your bodies tangled up on the couch in a mess of limbs and bloody skin. sweat glistens on both your bodies, the smell of sex heavy in the air. between your bodies, a sticky, bloody, wet mess of release slowly oozes down both of your thighs. bucky is panting softly against your skin, his body still trying to come down from the high, his hand rubbing up and down your back in a gentle, soothing motion.

his breath is warm against your neck, and you can feel the soft, shaky gasps as he tries to catch his breath, his body still trembling a little. he lets out a small, soft moan, his hand grasping at your hip, his fingers just barely pressing against the skin. he's still holding you close to him, his grip firm and protective, as if he wants to keep you close and never let you go. he's trying to find words, but he's still too speechless from the intensity of his orgasm, his mind hazy. your bodies are both still shaking a little, the aftershocks of your lovemaking still lingering on your skin. he finally speaks, his voice still gruff and rough, a low sound against the sensitive skin of your neck. "you alright?" he murmurs sweetly, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, his touch unexpectedly gentle. that rare kind of gentleness he only ever showed you.

"feel better." you mumble, a soft relieved smile on your face, your cramps subsided for now. he nodded, "good, that's good, sweetheart." he murmured, his voice a little rougher than usual, still tinged with the echoes of the intense pleasure he'd experienced just moments before. his gaze was soft and tender, his expression almost adoring as he looked up at you, his eyes drifting over your face, taking in every little detail.

you exhaled slowly, sinking into the softness of the moment, the weight of the day finally peeling away.

you brush your fingers through his hair, it was soft, a little damp with sweat, sticking up in places from your touch. a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he leaned down, slow and unhurried, resting his head lightly on your belly. you felt him breathe there, felt the way his whole body relaxed against yours like you were home for him, too. neither of you said anything for a while. there wasn’t much that needed saying.

eventually, he shifted just enough to press a delicate kiss to your before curling up beside you, pulling the blankets over both of you with that one strong arm of his. his other hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing without a second thought. he whispered something into your hair. you smiled, eyes fluttering shut as you sank into his warmth. bucky pressed another kiss to your temple, and then you both went quiet again, wrapped in soft blankets and softer love, the storm of the day left behind. you were tired, still, but you didn't feel alone. never with him.

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the apartment was quiet in the best way. the kind of silence filled with low music from an old record player, the occasional thump of alpine leaping off furniture she wasn’t supposed to be on, and the rhythmic scrape of a whittling knife against wood. you sat cross legged on the couch, a bowl of cherries balanced on your knee, fingers stained just a little red. alpine was curled beside you, batting lazily at your sock with one paw between quick cat naps. you plucked another cherry from the bowl and popped it in your mouth, letting the sweetness distract you from anything else going on in the world.

across the room, bucky sat in his favorite chair, hunched over a block of wood he’d been shaping for the past few days. his brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together in that way he did when he was deep in a project. you weren’t entirely sure what it was going to be, a bird maybe? or a wolf? but whatever it was, you could already see the quiet pride in the little details he carved.

you watched him for a moment, chin propped in your hand. his hair had fallen in front of his face again. you knew he’d huff and push it back soon, probably without even realizing. it made you smile.

eventually, he looked up, catching you staring.

“what?” he asked, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.

“nothing,” you said innocently, though your voice gave you away. “just admiring the view.”

bucky snorted and set the carving down, brushing wood shavings from his jeans before making his way to the couch. alpine immediately stretched and climbed into his lap like she owned him—which, to be fair, she kind of did.

he leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “you’ve had, like, ten bowls of those."

you plucked another one from the bowl and held it up like a peace offering. “they’re good.”

he rolled his eyes fondly but took the cherry anyway, biting into it with a soft crunch. you watched him chew, then reached for another, tongue fiddling with the stem like you’d done a dozen times already.

“hey,” you said, glancing sideways at him. “did you ever hear that thing about cherry stems?”

he raised a brow. “what thing?”

you smiled, trying to sound nonchalant. “supposedly, if you can tie a knot in the stem with just your tongue, it means you’re a good kisser.”

bucky blinked. then he smirked a little. “oh really?”

you nodded, biting back a grin as you held up a stem. “wanna try?”

he plucked it from your fingers without hesitation, eyes glinting with mischief. “watch and learn.”

you watched as he worked the stem between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration again, but this time, it was entirely for your benefit. alpine chirped softly, as if judging the performance.

a few moments passed, and bucky pulled the stem out, tied in a surprisingly perfect little knot.

you stared. “okay, show off.”

he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop a little. “guess you’ll have to test the theory now.”

your breath caught just slightly, heat blooming in your cheeks. “maybe i will.”

he was still smiling when he kissed you, it was slow and warm, the cherry bowl nearly tipped off your lap, but neither of you really cared.

from the corner of the couch, alpine meowed in protest.

bucky smiled lazily while kissing you, his hand fisting into your hair in an instant, tugging you even closer. the cherry bowl hit the floor with a thump, but neither of you paid attention. his lips move against yours like a slow burn, he pulled you closer, one of his legs sliding under you to bring your body against his own, the warmth of him spreading through your entire body. he tugged at your lower lip with his teeth, gently, before he finally pulled back with a soft gasp of air. he murmured, “enough proof for you?”

you hummed out a soft laugh, tilting your head in order to brush your lips against the underside of his jaw. “maybe,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, one of your legs slinging over his hip. “but it wouldn’t hurt if you wanted to provide more. just to be sure.”

he chuckles, and you feel his free hand slide up your back, his palm tracing your spine. he pressed his lips to your neck, his breath warm as his lips grazed the sensitive skin just behind your ear. “well, i’ve always been something of a overachiever…” he murmured, his mouth moving slowly down your neck. he slid his hand under your shirt, his fingers a warm brand against your skin, as his mouth found the hollow of your collarbone. you let out a soft sound, arching against him, as he traced the line of your collarbone with his kisses, his fingers dipping lower, the touch a slow burn against your stomach.

his lips moved against yours, slow, lazy and warm, his hands moving to your hips, gently guiding you to straddle him. you tasted like the sweet, tart flavor of the cherries you'd been eating. as his hands drifted upward under your shirt, fingertips tracing their way over your back. he murmured your name, his voice low and a little rough, against your lips, and when he pulled back to meet your gaze, his cheeks were flushed.

his lips were soft and warm, the kiss slow and deep, your mouths moving together in a gentle rhythm. your hips pressed against his, and his fingers traced a slow path up your bare spine, his kisses grew just a little more insistent, his tongue slipping between your lips as he tugged you closer. the hand at your back slid under the edge of your bra strap, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below, the touch sending a cold shiver through you.

the kiss heated, his tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring the wet heat of it, before coaxing your own tongue into his mouth, tasting you with slow, lazy strokes. he let out a soft groan, as you pressed your hips down against him, his hands gripping your waist to guide your movements. you felt the hard muscle of his thighs against you, the tension in his body a clear sign of his desire. he was beginning to kiss you desperately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your stomach flip, lips moving against his in a messy and needy kiss. palming your waist gently.

he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a little breathy. “do you believe me yet?” he murmured, his eyes half lidded as they roved over your face, taking in the way your lips were still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

you hummed out a laugh, rolling your hips again, feeling a little thrill of satisfaction when his expression shifted, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he let out a low groan. “i don’t know,” you murmured, “i think i might need a little more convincing.”

i only have inappropriate things to say omg

this is (not) fine [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x personal assistant!reader

personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You’d never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.

No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.

You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt ‘Bruce’ as ‘Broose’ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.

You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didn’t think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way you’d never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.

And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookies—messy ones—overloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to. 

Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. You’d been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didn’t know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something he’d regret.

There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, you’d hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.

He never smiled. Not really. But sometimes—sometimes—you’d catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.

And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.

As the Avengers’ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.

You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clint’s kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldn’t touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tony’s designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.

And then there was Bucky.

With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the tower’s training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so he’d be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didn’t ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.

Every day, you’d beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffee—black, two brown sugars, just the way he liked it—and in return, he’d offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldn’t even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.

So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didn’t know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just… carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.

And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyone’s birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clint’s kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower. 

So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. And it wasn’t their fault that you’d let yourself hope.

—

Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.

Just as the door to Bucky’s apartment clicked open, you rounded the corner—folder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, you’d catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all. 

“Morning,” you said lightly, handing him the week’s itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder you’d triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.

You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). You’d highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragements—seize the day! 

The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didn’t let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didn’t smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasn’t there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe he’d missed a note tucked inside.

You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clint’s revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ‘repurpose as target practice’. You’d have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyone’s dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.

You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.

But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.

It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldn’t stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise you’d caused yourself. 

You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. You’d already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybe—just maybe—if you tried hard enough, you’d earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. And that was fine. It had to be.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea he’d broken your heart.

But it was Bucky’s voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. “Hey.”

You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. “What’s up?”

He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadn’t thought before he called out. 

“Uh. Nothin’. Just—” He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. “You usually give me the rundown. Y’know… what everyone’s doing. Who’s where. Who I’m stuck with.”

You swallowed. Of course, he’d noticed. Of course, he’d grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. You’d always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged. 

But after what you’d seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didn’t need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. She’d keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing interesting’s happening,” you shrugged. “Just the usual.”

He didn’t move. “Well… there’s that dinner. On Friday.”

You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. “Yes.”

“Wanda’s dinner,” he added, as if you hadn’t already acknowledged it.

“Correct.”

He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. You’d helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.

You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall you’d tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.

“It’s in there,” you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. “On your schedule.”

“Right. It’s just… for me, you usually…” His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. “Sorry. You’re probably busy—”

That felt like a punch to the gut. 

You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling ‘Wanda’s Dinner – Friday’ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Bucky’s hands. 

His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didn’t quite understand why it mattered so much. “Thanks.”

You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering in your throat.

“She said…” Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. “Wanda said she’s going to do curry.”

You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?

“That’s nice,” you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.

“Are you going?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned.

“I wasn’t invited—” You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didn’t want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.

“You should go,” Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. “I’ll tell Wanda you’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be busy that night anyway…” You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Bucky’s face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further.  “You’re going to be late. For the gym. It’s nearly six.”

“Right, shit, yeah. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.

—

Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to ‘accidentally’ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.

Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadn’t gone unnoticed.

In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.

There was the time you’d practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast you’d shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

You’d even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.

And yet, instead of giving you space like you’d expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasn’t buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.

You’d assumed that the moment you stepped back, he’d naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadn’t made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around. 

But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.

You’d taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky now—too many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.

You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. He’d know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.

It was a nightmare. And a daydream.

A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing you’d managed to piece together.

So you steeled yourself.

Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe he’d let you go. Perhaps he’d pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.

You nearly made it.

But of course, he noticed.

“Hey, wait—”

His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like he’d almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve. 

He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “Did I… forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or… did you not bring it?”

A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.

“No, sorry. That’s on me. Slipped my mind.”

The lie didn’t sit well in your mouth.

It hadn’t slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. You’d brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then you’d walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.

God, you were pathetic.

Your stupid fucking brain couldn’t even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasn’t distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste him—

He didn’t move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.

“You’re usually down by the gym by nine,” he said, his voice low. “It’s eleven.”

“I’m running a bit behind today.”

“You usually text me if you’re running behind.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “I didn’t this time.”

He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem off.”

There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasn’t unravelling you by the day.

Your shoulders tensed. “Off?”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Just… I dunno. You’ve been quiet lately.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way you’d stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.

Why you couldn’t stop thinking that if you’d just told him—confessed that stupid crush before Natasha did—maybe you wouldn’t be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.

Maybe then he’d be yours.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate,” you finally mustered, tone strained. “Tony’s soirée. The fittings. Admin crap. Didn’t even have breakfast today.”

His brows furrowed further. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll survive.”

Would you, though?

Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didn’t exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?

He didn’t speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.

“The oranges in the fridge are gone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And the tea. The fancy one,” he added. “The one with the dried raspberries in it. You’re the one who always restocks them, aren’t you?”

You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. “I just… I didn’t realise it was you. Doing all of that.”

Of course, he hadn’t because you’d made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practised—silent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.

You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldn’t quite bear not knowing.

You dropped your gaze. “I said I’ll do it.”

He paused. You could feel him thinking again.

Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

But he didn’t move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadn’t yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity. 

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.

—

If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupid—no, lovesick—enough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.

It had all started a month ago, when you, like a fool, volunteered to collect the tailored suits and dresses for some little soirée Tony Stark had decided to throw. Of course, in true Tony fashion, what was pitched as a ‘casual get-together’ had evolved into a full-blown, black-tie spectacle. The first warning sign? Tony footing the bill for everyone to have custom outfits made to their specifications. Translation…this was going to be a thing.

You’d spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under control…until the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailor’s waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.

The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...

Of course he did.

Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, he’d spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhale—

You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.

It had been an hour—sixty minutes of waiting while Bucky’s suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasn’t single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when he’d stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.

This wasn’t like you. You weren’t usually this wound up. Maybe it was the exhaustion, days of juggling your regular duties with Tony’s ever-growing list of soirée demands. Perhaps it was the heartbreak. Or the missed meals. Or the fact that you genuinely had no idea what day it was anymore.

“Would you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?” the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.

Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry—again—this is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you are—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just go.”

He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.

Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. “Long day?” she asked gently.

You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only going to get longer.”

You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.

And then your brain stopped working.

Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like he’d done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.

He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. “How’s it look?”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. “It’s weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesn’t work, I told her I wasn’t sure about it—”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “No, it’s… It’s perfect. You look… great. Seriously.”

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe? 

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. “I feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.”

The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. “Wonderful. I’ll box it up immediately once you’re out of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.

“And for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?”

You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. “My what?”

She gestured toward the row of garment bags. “Mr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. There’s a gown here for you.”

You frowned. “That must be a mistake. I’m just the assistant. None of those are for me.”

The tailor hesitated. “I don’t think so… He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.”

Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like he’d seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.

“Tony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,” he said, voice low and casual. “You’ve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look smug or teasing. Just… earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.

“Fine.” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Just to check it fits.”

The tailor clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. It’s a beautiful gown, I promise.”

You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.

From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Just wait 'til you see her,” the tailor murmured to herself, and you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.

The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.

Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush. 

You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.

You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.

“Need a hand?”

You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bucky! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was rougher than usual, like he’d just cleared his throat. “Heard you cursing. Tailor said she’d be a minute out back.”

You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. “Yeah. I—I can’t get it up.”

“Okay,” he replied, oddly determined. “Turn around.”

You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.

You turned slowly, presenting your back. “Just the zipper,” you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.

“Sure,”

A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasn’t even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch. 

The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.

He was savouring it.

His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he commented.

You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response. 

When he reached the top, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.

He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck. 

“Should’ve let me help sooner,” he whispered, voice like a purr. “Would’ve had you dressed in seconds.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didn’t move. You didn’t step away.

You leaned in.

Only a fraction. Just enough.

He noticed.

You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasn’t choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.

The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you did—legs shaky, palms sweating—like a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasn’t about to burn.

—

Your plan to avoid Bucky after the tailor incident had gone off without a hitch, maybe a little too well. You'd buried yourself in helping Tony pull together the final touches for his ‘soirée’ (which, if you were honest, was less soirée and more ‘black tie circus in a penthouse’).

You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. You’d folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.

The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like that—in a public changing room, no less—when he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?

No time for that now. Not when Tony’s precious ‘soirée’ was already in full swing upstairs and the caterers had somehow forgotten an entire section of the food. You’d scrambled together an emergency order from some overpriced restaurant Tony swore he was ‘basically family’ with, and by some miracle, they came through in the nick of time.

Now you were in damage control mode, hauling three boxes of overpriced canapés up to the penthouse. Your heels bit into your feet with every step, your dress clung too tightly to bend properly without your tits spilling out, and your patience was hanging on by a single goddamn thread.

You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.

Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.

The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your arms—

Then someone slipped through at the last second.

Him.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didn’t seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.

You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

You didn’t look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, “What?”

“I just…” His voice was rough. Tired. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit.

He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You hardly talk to me anymore,” he continued. “Won’t even look at me unless it’s about work. And even then, it’s like you’re somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.

“You haven’t done anything,” you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.

“Then why are you doing it now?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Bucky…”

“Please. Just tell me.”

You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It’s me… I just…”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Please,” he said again, quieter now. “Tell me the truth.”

And that was what did it. The tremor in his voice. The way his brow creased like he couldn’t stand not knowing. Something broke open inside your chest, raw and unhealed. The dam cracked, split, then gave way completely, and the truth came spilling out before you had the chance to swallow it back down. You were exhausted. Wound tight. Running on fumes and nerves and far too many feelings. You’d tell him, you decided. Then drop off the canapés, quit on the spot, and flee the country if necessary. Stark would write you a killer reference. You’d survive.

“Okay,” you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. “You want the truth? Fine. You’re going to think I’ve completely lost it.”

He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered. “I like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fine—manageable—until it wasn’t. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe… maybe you liked me too.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.

“I’ve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know it’s weird, and probably unprofessional because you’re kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tony’s my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, and—ugh, I’m rambling.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I like you. And I’ve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since you’re dating Natasha, which just made everything worse—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice sharp. “I’m not dating Natasha.”

Your eyes snapped open. “That’s what you took from all of that?”

“No, I—wait. You think I’m dating Natasha?”

“Yes!” you burst out, cheeks flaming. “I saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowers—”

His brow furrowed. “What flowers?”

“The bouquet you gave her.”

“I didn’t give Natasha flowers.”

You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper loves—”

Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like he’d just remembered he’d left his stove on.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “The flowers. Those weren’t for Natasha. They were for Wanda.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Vision,” Bucky groaned. “It was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Maria’s birthday. That’s all it was.”

You blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied earnestly. “I didn’t know you thought that. I swear, I’m not with Natasha. I never was.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god.”

“Hey—”

“No. No-no-no.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. “This is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. I’ve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.”

He snorted. “You’re not serious.”

You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Bucky’s expression melted into something far too amused. “Oh, you are.”

“I might never recover from this,” you mumbled. 

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

“I confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.”

His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re spiralling.”

“I’m going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.”

As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.

You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. “Okay, I’m going to deliver these and then I’m leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.”

But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.

And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. “Oh my god,” you gasped, teetering.

Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“No more running,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You could barely breathe. “You stopped the elevator?”

“Didn’t want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. “No, you don’t.”

You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.

And somehow, somehow, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t shut down. Please.”

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.

He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.

“I like you too,” he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. “Christ, I was so blind. I didn’t see it. It didn’t click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.”

Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.

“I smelled every shampoo at the store one day,” he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Hoped I’d find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“Bucky…”

“I don’t know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like I’m not some monster, like I’m normal. And then one day you were just… gone. I didn’t realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.” He groaned, somehow pressing closer. “I missed the sound of your voice… and it made it hurt even more… I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss you—”

“Bucky.” You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevator’s handrail bar.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Tell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.”

Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.

It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect. 

“I want you, Bucky.” You panted.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.

His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.

But he didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In the goddamn elevator.

You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice wrecked with want, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.

Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit. 

You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.

“I’ve thought about how you’d taste,” he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. “How you’d sound.”

You whimpered.

And then, he peeled your panties to the side.

The groan that tore from him was obscene.

“Jesus,” he hissed, voice muffled. “You’re fucking perfect.”

And then, his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.

“Oh my god—Bucky—fuck—”

Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if he’d let you.

His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to pant. “I could stay here all night.”

His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessed—

Bzzzzt.

A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevator’s emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.

“Hello? This is Tower Maintenance. We’re registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?”

You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

This was it. This was how you died—legs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.

Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.

He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like he’d just taken the intercom as a challenge.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.

Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. “Hi! Uh—h-hi, yes, sorry! Must’ve been a—a small electrical fault. I’m fine! Everything’s… fine!”

Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.

There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.

“Ma’am, we’re not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?”

You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.

Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.

You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together something—anything—resembling human speech. “Oh. Oh, that—um, I must’ve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. It’s, uh—crowded. In here.”

Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.

A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.

“…Right. Well, we’re releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.”

The line disconnected.

The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “Crowded, huh?” Then—with zero mercy—he sped up.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You shattered.

It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.

Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament. 

You staggered slightly as Bucky stood smoothly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while the other casually reached down and grabbed the stack of forgotten canapés off the floor like he hadn’t just—

“Evening,” he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.

You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.

“Well, damn,” came Sam’s voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. “Buck, next time you’re gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.”

Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.

You nearly combusted on the spot.

“Bathroom?” he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.

You nodded quickly and wordlessly.

He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.

---

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Forgotten Alarms

CHAPTER 1 | ASHES TO EMBERS

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbour!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Mentions of night terrors, trapped in small spaces, brief mention of reader being worried about bucky holding her weight, nothing else other than bucky being cute af

SUMMARY: When you get stuck in an elevator with your neighbour (who also happens to be your crush), you discover your interest in the firefighter isn’t as one-sided as you thought.

WORD COUNT: 2736

NEXT CHAPTER

“You’re late, doll.”

The teasing voice of your neighbour catches you off guard when you open your front door; your hand slaps over your heart as you jump from shock.

“Says you” you smirk as you come down from the surprise. You step out of your door fully, turning and pulling it shut behind you.

Bucky chuckles, locking his own door while you do the same. He can’t help but sneak another glance your way - a light blush creeping up your neck under his gaze.

You think you’d be used to him by now, have your little crush under control seeing as you find yourselves leaving for work at the same time regularly. And yet here you are, heart beating faster than you’d like while you fumble with your keys.

Despite being late for work, Bucky waits for you to finish locking up before falling into step beside you as you walk down the hallway to the elevator.

“So let me guess, you slept through your alarm again?” The firefighter raises a brow, amused by your flushed appearance - unsure if that’s his effect on you or the fact your shift started five minutes ago.

“Worse,” you wince, “didn’t even set the damn thing.”

If you didn’t love it so much so much, you’d be inclined to be offended at the snort of a laugh he lets out. “Oh, doll.” Bucky shakes his head with a grin still left on his lips.

“What ‘bout you, Barnes? Spend too much time doing your hair?”

One unamused glare your way and now you’re the one giggling. Walking up to the elevator, you press the button to go down before stepping back to face Bucky.

“I’ll have you know, I woke up looking this good” He winks at you, hoping you’ll accept his non-answer for an answer. But you both know why he woke up late.

He barely even fell asleep, now that his nightmares are back.

His screams travel through the thin walls at night, falling on concerned ears. You pretend as though you don’t hear his night terrors but he sees the slight tug at your brows the next morning, the way you’re desperate to ask if he’s okay. But you never do; you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You offered your help once, and you’re not sure you have the right to ask again.

“Who said you look good?” You tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

The elevator dings and the doors open. “Well the old lady whose cat we saved yesterday said I was the most handsome man in town” He smirks as you both step inside.

“Oh that’s high praise, Barnes” You reply, watching as he presses the ground floor button.

A comfortable silence falls upon the elevator as it roars back to life. Pulling out your phone, you fire a quick text to your boss to apologise for being late before shoving it back into your back pocket.

Bucky turns to you, “What time do you fin-“

A loud clunk sounds from above the lift and it stops moving, dropping a couple inches before coming to a halt again.

“Oh, shit” You all but whisper, almost afraid of speaking too loudly in case it sends you tumbling down.

“Well,” Bucky’s eyes are on the ceiling, “that didn’t sound great”

If you weren’t so nervous, you might slap him for stating the fucking obvious. Your eyes fall to your hand that’s grabbed his, not even realising you’d reached for him when the lift stopped.

Your cheeks burn crimson before you release the death grip you had on his wrist, ignoring the sparks resting beneath your fingertips.

“You okay, doll?” His voice softens when he sees the fear in your eyes.

“Umm..” You stutter, voice as shaky as your hands are.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky’s hands are on your shoulders now, “you’re shaking, Y/n. What’s wrong? What do you need me to do?”

Clenching your eyes shut, you take a deep breath. “Tell me we’re not about to fall to our deaths, please”

Your neighbour lets out a breathy ‘Oh, doll’ and strokes his thumbs over your shoulders. When you open your eyes, his blue ones bear into yours reassuringly, “We’re not gonna fall to our deaths.”

“This hunk of junk hasn’t been serviced in years but i’m pretty sure it’s just jammed or the powers cut out. Either way, we’re gonna be just fine” He continues.

You let out a wavering breath and nod slowly. “Okay. So what now?” You ask.

Bucky drops one of his hands to get his phone (much to your dismay), “I’m gonna call for the crew to come get us”

“Wait,” You frown, “why not press the help button?”

Bringing his phone to his ear, Bucky replies as it starts ringing. “Well, after Mr Garvey lugs his ass outta bed, he’d be calling them anyways. Might as well avoid being stuck here longer than we have to”

Ahh, Mr Garvey; the landlord to the whole building who also happens to be the laziest fucker around.

You mumble and ‘okay’ and roll your bottom lip between your teeth - completely unaware of the admiring eyes on you.

Eventually, a voice sounds from the other side of the phone and Bucky explains the situation, rambling off the information they need to find you. With a quick thank you, the call is over and you’re left with nothing but time to waste.

Your eyes follow the man before you as he approaches the far wall, sliding down it till he’s sat with one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee where he rests his elbow.

“It’s alright, doll. You can sit down, it won’t break anything” He cocks his head to side, eyeing up your hesitant features.

You choose to trust him; after all, he is the one best qualified to know what will and won’t make this obnoxiously small lift crash to the ground.

Letting yourself drop to the floor, you sit with your knees up due to the lack of space to stretch your legs. Bucky is right in front of you, the tight squeeze seemingly not bothering him.

“Great day to be late, huh” You scoff lightly.

“Yeah well, at least we’re together”

A laugh escapes you, drawing a confused expression from your neighbour. “Let’s not pretend as though you need me here. If it weren’t for me you’d probably be climbing outta this thing”

“You overestimate my abilities, sweets. I’m no spider-man” He replies. Those damn pet names make you blush every time.

“You know,” you tilt your head a little to the left, “I can’t think of anyone who still uses ‘doll’ or ‘sweets’ aside from you”

You swear there’s a glint in Bucky’s eye when he replies, “Do you blush when someone calls you ‘baby’ as much as you do when I call you ‘doll’?”

Thinking for a moment, you shyly shake your head in response; he raises his brows at you, as though your answer proves his point. You wonder if he’s old fashioned in other ways. If he’s one to buy his girl flowers or open a car door for them. Maybe he’s just as polite in bed, though you find yourself disappointed at the thought. God, you need to stop thinking of him like that, no matter how hot he would look between your-

“You seeing that fella from last week again?”

Bucky’s question brings you out of your day dreams and you’re surprised by it, unaware he had any interest in your love life.

“Peter?” He nods. “No, I don’t think so. We weren’t really one the same page, if that makes sense”

“How so?”

You shrug slightly, “He’s fresh out of college and looking for a fuck buddy, not a genuine relationship.” You look away from Bucky as you continue. “And even if I wanted that, he’s hardly mature enough to know what he’s doing”

With your gaze settled on your hands, you miss the way Bucky starts biting his lip as he wonders what type of man would fulfil your needs. He shakes his head clear of those thoughts, not wanting to make a fool of himself.

“What about you? Haven’t heard any visitors at yours for a little while” You comment, hoping he doesn’t think you’ve been spying on him.

He lets out a dry laugh, “Lets just say I prefer my nights off with a beer and listening to you play the piano.”

“Oh god, you hear that?” You cover your face with your hands when he nods. “I hope I don’t disturb you. I didn’t think it-“

“It’s fine, doll,” he nudges your thigh with his boot, “I like it”

Your cheeks burn yet again as you drop your hands. “You do?”

“How could I not? You play beautifully. I’ve thought of slipping a request under your door but I didn’t wanna be the creep next door”

You giggle, “You couldn’t be creepy if you tried, Barnes”

“In that case, you should know my cat loves your music too”

With a gasp, you lean closer to Bucky till you’re sat cross legged barely a foot away from him. “James Barnes, the firefighter, has a cat!?”

You revel in his hearty laugh, eyes dancing across his face. From the crinkles at the corners of his eyes to the deep smile lines framing his mouth, you can’t help but be drawn to his beauty.

He sobers up. “Her name’s Alpine.” He says, “She was left at the firehouse a couple of years ago so I took her home with me. She’s probably the only thing that loves your music more than me”

A grin tugs at your lips as you enjoy the thought of your neighbour cuddled up with a little cat.

“If we make it outta here alive, I wanna meet her”

“We’ll be fine, doll. The crew’ll be here any minute now”

You hum and silence consumes the air once more. The soft dim glow of the overhead lights falls gracefully on your features and Bucky can’t pull his eyes away. He knows you’re not too fond of the situation you’re both in and yet he can’t help but thank whatever beings made this happen; to finally have an excuse to talk to you longer than your usual small talk, to tell you how much he’s in awe your piano playing.

He’s not ready to tell you that he’s rather in awe of you, too. Maybe next time you’re stuck in a lift together.

With the silence so heavy on your ears, your mind drifts to the reason you’re here in the first place. The reason he is here.

The nightmares.

You know he hasn’t slept properly in weeks; the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a glimpse of his exhaustion. And as much as you’re scared of pushing him away, the weight on your chest is growing too heavy to bear.

“I know you’re having nightmares again.”

Bucky stills.

“Those screams, James, I-“

“It’s nothing” He cuts you off with stern words. Your brows pull together, eyes laced with worry.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing. I thought they got better.“

His head falls back against the wall behind him, “Well you thought wrong.”

You curse yourself beneath your breath as you run your hands through your hair, searching for the right thing to say.

“I’m worried about you, James.” You breathe, eyes fluttering shut. You’re scared that if you look at him, you’ll cave in and promise to never ask about it again. “I get that i’m just your neighbour but I can’t keep acting like I can’t see there’s something wrong.“

“There is nothing wrong!” Bucky’s tone is sharp, not quite shouting but no longer calm.

Your eyes snap open, training on the clench of his jaw, the sole hint of any emotion on his face.

“I’m dealing with it. So you need to stop acting like you know me because you don’t.”

And there it goes. The worry in your chest morphs into regret. Regret for bringing it up, regret for thinking you could help, regret for hearing his screams in the first place.

“Okay”

Bucky hates how timid your voice is, barely loud enough over the ringing of his own heartbeat. That and the voice in his head telling him he’s a piece of shit. He wishes he could take it all back but he doesn’t know how to, so he decides that silence is better than opening his damn mouth and making things worse.

The pair of you sit there in silence, one that’s far less comfortable than before, and stare at the ceiling, waiting for help to arrive.

When it does, you count your lucky stars that the lift stopped just at the doors to the second floor. Bucky helps the crew pull the doors open enough for you both to climb through. You feel his blue eyes on you as you wait for them to stabilise the lift, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

“Okay, Ma’am,” One of the firefighters calls, the name ‘Rogers’ written on his jacket, “we need you guys to climb up here and we’ll pull you out.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of pulling yourself up there, suddenly very aware of your frankly appalling upper body strength.

Rogers catches the hesitation on your face. “Don’t worry, Buck will help you up so you can get out first”

Turning to look at your neighbour, you lock eyes for the first time in ten minutes. His lips are turned into an awkward half smile, changing his entire demeanour from one of a brooding firefighter to a sheepish kid.

You don’t know how long the pair of you stand there staring at each other, but it’s long enough for Roger’s to clear his throat in attempt to regain your attention.

Bucky steps closer to you while the crew get ready above you. “You okay with this, doll?”

You nod, “As long as this thing doesn’t fall while i’m half way through and snap my body in half, i’m good”

That heartwarming laugh fills your ears and the firefighter shakes his head in amusement. At least he doesn’t hate you enough to leave you to get out on your own.

“Well lucky for you, that ain’t gonna happen”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay, how is this gonna work?”

Bucky moves to stand below the gap, facing you. He lowers himself down to one knee before reaching for your hand.

His skin is warm but rough, gentle but strong as he pulls you closer to him. The unexpected tug on your hand sends you tumbling toward him, your right hand bracing yourself on his shoulder to regain your balance while his free hand lands on your hip.

You mumble an apology, flustered at the intense heat beneath his hands and the way Bucky is looking up at you.

“You good?” He asks, voice dripping with awe, though you’re oblivious to the admiration, still plagued by the way he shut you down earlier.

When you nod, Bucky removes his hand from your hip and taps his knee. “You’re gonna step on my knee, then on my shoulder and you then should be close enough for Steve to grab you and pull you out”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you” You admit, nervous at the thought of letting Bucky take your body weight on his shoulders.

He looks up at you through his lashes “Do you trust me, sweets?”

“Yes” You reply, not even having to think about it. There may be some walls between you, but you know he’s on the other side, waiting.

“Good, then get up here”

Bucky shouts up to the crew that he’s giving you a boost now and after hearing them shout back that they’re ready, you place your foot on Bucky’s knee and push yourself up.

“Don’t drop me” You warn, reaching up to the gap in preparation.

“Wouldn’t dream of it”

And with that, you climb onto your neighbours shoulders and stretch up for Steve to grab your hands.

Along with Bucky pushing your feet up, Steve pulls you out and you slide through the gap until you’re free of that god forsaken elevator.

“Well thank fuck for that” You groan, spread across the floor on your back, making the crew laugh.

You barely have time to recover before Bucky is stood above you, having lugged himself out with ease.

“Guess you won’t be forgetting to set your alarm again, ay?”

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: first chapterrrrrr! hope you enjoyed, if you have any questions dm me or drop an ask <3

new chapter will be out soon, thanks to everyone to voted on the poll i put out, i hope it’s as good as you wished it would be :)

comment if you’d like to be added to my ashes to embers taglist 🧡

I randomly started thinking about this fic again after like at least two years and I'm re-obsessed and couldn't find it in my reposts so I'm re blogging it again :)))))))

Just One Kiss Masterlist

(photos not mine, storyboard very much mine)

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU)

Series Warnings: Language, excessive amount of fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Part One - The Beginning

Part Two - A Walk Home

Part Three - Moving Day

Part Four - A Dance

Part Five - Girls’ Night

Part Six - The Fight

Part Seven - Christmas

Part Eight - The Question

Part Nine - First Date

Part Ten - Afternoon in the Park

Part Eleven - Last Date

Part Twelve - The Goodbye

Part Thirteen - The First Letters

Part Fourteen - Broken Silence

Part Fifteen - Finale

Epilogue Pieces

Bonus Material Masterlist

Faking It

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN

a/n:​​​ This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?” 

Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?” 

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.” 

“He was talking shit about the team!” 

“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.” 

“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown. 

In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was. 

An opportunity to see you. 

And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box. 

“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away. 

Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.” 

“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?” 

“Hey, he did.” 

“They always do.”

Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated. 

“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?” 

Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.

“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.” 

“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him. 

But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one. 

Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not. 

But, damn, were you busy right now. 

Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you. 

Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off. 

God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you. 

He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free. 

“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.” 

You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.” 

Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations? 

Never. Because you were so damn busy. 

“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.” 

You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could. 

“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?” 

“Yes.” 

Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.” 

“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.” 

Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck. 

He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo. 

“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey. 

Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.” 

You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.” 

You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three. 

“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair. 

“I don’t know. In the night.” 

“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?” 

You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.” 

“Baby—”

“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.” 

“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back. 

“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.” 

“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.” 

You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you. 

“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.

“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.” 

You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin. 

Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him. 

“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream. 

You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.” 

“I wouldn’t call it lying.” 

The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face. 

“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.” 

“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.” 

“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.” 

Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.” 

“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?” 

“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away. 

“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented. 

Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him. 

With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen. 

After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real. 

God, he loved you. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.” 

Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.

“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin. 

“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—” 

“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.” 

“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.” 

Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—” 

“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.” 

“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.” 

“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.” 

“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—” 

You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow. 

Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”

Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more. 

“Can’t help it. I love you.”

Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for. 

But he always got what he wanted in the end. 

And, more than anything, he wanted you. 

“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?” 

When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.

“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend. 

He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.” 

“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.” 

“I know what first means, baby.” 

“Good.” 

But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually. 

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket. 

You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?” 

“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”

You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.” 

“Always, baby.” 

this is so sweet i'm so cozy

Hey!!! I just finished reading song of Achilles and I have been crying for the better part of the last hour while reading, hence in serious need of some Bucky comfort. So how about college or lumberjack Bucky (cuz they’re my favorites) who don’t really understand the whole fuzz over books but still holding his girl while she sobs her chest out out about a book (you can change the book of you want), hot tears down her face, ugly crying yknow?

It’s okay if you don’t want to :)) Have a great day 💕💕💕

Pairing: lumberjack!bucky x reader (can be read separately from undisclosed, but also a little reference to it)

A/n: Okay sooo this was so sweet and I had to write a drabble for it!! All this angst I've been writing needs some comfort! :)

~~~

He hears the crying first. 

It’s a terrible sound that constricts his chest each time it meets his ears. Bucky would like to consider himself partially responsible for your tears becoming a rare occurrence, so when he hears them, he experiences an array of emotions—fear, panic, a twisted sort of heartbreak. 

At the front door of his home, Bucky strains his ears to confirm what he’s already dreading. Because maybe you weren’t crying. Maybe you were sick? That wasn’t much better, but at least it was a more concrete issue. 

When he hears the tissue box and the loud meow from Alpine—the closest thing to concern he’d ever heard from a cat—Bucky doesn’t even take his coat off before he’s barreling into your bedroom. 

You startle, puffy eyes darting up to him as he takes up space in the small room. 

And he’s devastated. You hadn’t looked like that in a long time, all tear-stained cheeks and frazzled hair. Bucky considers the multitude of reasons you could be so upset, but then decides it doesn't matter. Not when you’re looking at him like that. 

“Oh, honey,” he coos. His socks make soft sounds on the carpet as he walks over to you, but the action only sends more tears down your face. Bucky could collapse. “Sweetheart, what happened?” 

You don’t say much at first, opting to bury your face into his chest the second he makes contact with the bed. It’s too warm in here for the amount of clothes he’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t really care. You keep crying—Bucky keeps running his fingers through your hair. 

Each sob that leaves your lips sounds more broken than the last, breaking Bucky down bit by bit. He wants to fix this, make it better, but Bucky has never been good with words. He’d been trying, for you. He will try now. 

“Tell me what happened, sweet girl?” he mumbles into the skin of your temple, lips hesitant to leave your skin. He was always better with physical communication. He was also the best at loving you like this. 

Your breathing gets choppy as you try to calm down. Shallow puffs of air meet the stitching of his sweater, and he rocks you as a way to coax a more steady pattern into your lungs. Even though he was wrought with panic, you were okay. Bucky had you, so you were okay. 

“He—he died, Buck,” you eventually choke out. “He died and then there was no—there was nothing—” your words cut off again as more tears soak his chest. 

“Who?” he stresses, although his tone doesn’t give that away. “Who, honey? Someone you know?” 

“No,” you sob. The sound knocks the air from Bucky’s lungs. 

Taking inventory in his head, that means all of his friends are safe, all of your friends. It means your awful family is alive as well, and while that doesn't matter much to him, at least he knows it isn’t the source of your strife. But the pain in your voice, the way you were limp against him and fighting for air. 

Bucky couldn’t understand. 

“Tell me who. What has you so sad, hm?” he tries, voice dropping into an even gentler tone. 

You dig your fingers into Bucky’s jacket, pulling away after a moment. Bucky reaches for you, trying to chase your figure because he wasn’t done trying to make this better, he needs to make you better. But then you slap something into his lap and he’s confused again. 

“Them,” you all but sob, turning back into the material of his jacket. 

Bucky wraps an arm around your shoulders as he inspects the book on his thighs. He’s still lost, but your crying has morphed into sniffles so he asks, “What was that, sweet girl?” 

He’s packing it on with the endearments, but seeing you like this is brutal. 

“In the book,” you explain. “They were so in love. And then he died. And afterwards—Bucky it was awful.” 

Oh. 

A book. 

This is manageable, to Bucky. You’re not in pain and he can handle this. 

He hauls you closer into his chest. You shuffle until your frame is enclosed by his. Bucky’s size had always been something he found inconvenient until you came into his life. Because after that, he found it was good at making you feel safe. A way to protect you from anything. 

Even… a book? 

Surely a book. 

“Hey, it’s alright, I got you,” he hums.

“Never die,” you whisper, and Bucky's mouth twists uncomfortably. 

“I won’t.” 

rereading my favorites <3

Cold, Cold Water

summary: While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive. pairing: Bucky x reader word count: 10.5k warnings: SMUT (18+), 🎶stake-me-out tonight🎶, some violence, near drowning, hypothermia, that good ol’ we-gotta-share-body-heat-or-you-might-die trope a/n: this was written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s follower celebration! My prompt was “have you been crying?” This clearly took on a whole life of its own…

Bucky didn’t care much for the cold. It always seemed to be more of a challenge to his mind than his body. It took him back to darker memories of enclosed spaces and lapses of time, to handlers barking orders and the electricity of the chair. Whenever a chill swept up his spine, he had to remind himself of who he was, had convince himself he was safe and not about to lose another decade under ice.

The serum pumping through his veins aided in keeping the shivers to a minimum and allowed him to tolerate more than most when it came to freezing temperatures but it didn’t make it any easier to sit in an unmarked car, deep into central Russia, watching as his breath left his lungs in small, isolated fogs.

He started to wonder why he ever agreed to take on a reconnaissance mission in a place where the icy cold of the air stung in his nose with each inhale. That was, until he heard the soft rustle of your jacket beside him as you yawned, readjusting your position, and he remembered.

He went for you.

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Control

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: filthy smut with a smidge of fluff, femdom, restraints, blindfold, 18+

Word Count: 1.7k

THE MOOD™ CONTINUES. Inspired by this ask. Oops.

Bucky isn’t one to relinquish control. He needs it like he needs air, needs to be two steps ahead of any situation, needs to feel like he’s ready for whatever might come his way. And when he’s in control, he is. He’s always ready.

Except when you tempt him not to be.

Your lips and tongue taste of fine champagne, tart and strawberry sweet – heady with love and lust and everything he’s ever wanted. When he kisses you a little more roughly, your pretty plum lipstick smears. It stains his mouth, and then his cheek.

Just a peck.

Just enough to disarm him before you shove him down onto the bed. His body bounces a little when he lands on the mattress, and Bucky stares up at you in surprise.

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favorites 🥰

Just One Kiss Masterlist

(photos not mine, storyboard very much mine)

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU)

Series Warnings: Language, excessive amount of fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Part One - The Beginning

Part Two - A Walk Home

Part Three - Moving Day

Part Four - A Dance

Part Five - Girls’ Night

Part Six - The Fight

Part Seven - Christmas

Part Eight - The Question

Part Nine - First Date

Part Ten - Afternoon in the Park

Part Eleven - Last Date

Part Twelve - The Goodbye

Part Thirteen - The First Letters

Part Fourteen - Broken Silence

Part Fifteen - Finale

Epilogue Pieces

Bonus Material Masterlist

I'm in love with this

Congratulations on your milestone! 😘

Can I request a little Bucky fic with an angsty/fluffy mix?

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

❤❤❤

Thanks love! Have a bartender!bucky <3

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x Artist!Reader

Word Count: 1124

Warnings: minor injury, mention of blood and alcohol, bucky's a sad boy in this for a little bit.

come celebrate with me! || Series Masterlist

The turning of the key in the door had you springing to your feet with a giddy smile. 

Bucky had been working at his bar day in and day out while Natalia was away on vacation. He didn't mind at all, in fact, he told you how he missed serving customers and talking to them all night. You just missed spending so much time with him, but you still got the hours in the early morning when he'd come home and shower with you and love on you and cuddle you. 

You always had mugs for tea ready just in case he wanted one. The towels for your shower together were already warming up in the dryer, and the next episode of your show was set up and ready for when you got into bed.

But when he swung that door open and you saw the exhaustion on his face and the wrap on his hand, your smile fell into a frown of worry. 

"What happened to your hand?" You asked, doing your best to wait a few feet away and give him time to decompress before you enveloped him in your arms. 

He sighed as he shut the door and dropped his keys on the counter. "Just a little cut." 

"Oh, okay. . ." You kept eying the bandage, knowing it had to be worse than that for him to use as much bandage as he did. But you couldn't get a glimpse of any bleed through, so you didn't say anything. "Did you wanna shower together?" 

He gave you a tired smile but shook his head. "Not this time, sugar. You go on ahead, I'm gonna take a minute to relax," He rounded the counter to grab your waist, pulling you in for a peck on the lips, "Today was exhausting and I just need a minute." 

Despite the sudden gnawing in your stomach, you nodded and put on a smile for him, "Okay." 

The whole shower, you couldn't shake the weird sinking feeling in your gut. You knew you didn't do anything wrong, you didn't do anything to upset him. That he just needed some alone time, which was perfectly normal and fine. 

It was just so unusual for him to not want to join you. For him to not be all over you the second he walked in the door. 

There just had to be more to it.

And your suspicions were proven correct when you walked out of the bathroom. 

You were patting off the moisture on your face when you walked out and froze. Bucky was seated at the table. A bottle of liquor - no glass, paper towels, bandages, and a bowl sat on the wooden surface next to him. He was hunched over his hand, tweezers in his uninjured fingers and a look of concentration on his face. 

You waited until he wasn't poking his skin with the tweezers to step into his bubble, kneeling in front of him and reaching for his hand. "Can I hold your hand?" 

You waited with your hand open, giving him a small smile when he looked at you. When he placed his hand in yours you gingerly pried his fingers open. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" You asked, looking up at him. His eyes were avoiding yours as he let you gingerly hold his hand. "Bucky." 

He glanced at you, and you could see there was something else wrong. His mood wasn't due to his injury, but you also knew he wasn't going to spill it right away either. 

So, you sighed as you settled on to your knees in front of him before reaching to take the tweezers from him. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

You covered your legs and the floor in your towel, catching the crimson droplets as you got to work removing the glass as gently as you could. After a moment, you peaked up at him to see him take a swig of his whiskey. 

"Are you gonna tell me how this happened?" You asked, setting the tweezers aside and reaching for the antiseptic. He hissed as you cleaned his hand, but cleared his throat, ready to answer. 

"My hands just aren't. . ." he trailed off, sniffing as he sat up straighter, "My hands just don't work the way they used to, I guess. Was just trying to make a drink and I don't know what happened. The glass broke against the ice. I don't know if I just didn't have a good hold on it, or what." 

You finished wrapping his hand back up, "Well, I don't think you need stitches, but it's gonna hurt for a while." 

"Yeah, I kind of figured," he scoffed at himself, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Here's to getting old." There it was. 

You knew he'd been growing insecure in his age for awhile, and that it'd been getting worse. But he didn't talk about it often and you never wanted to seem pushy asking about it. Now, you knew you should've asked, and he knew he should've come to you. 

"Sorry," He muttered, "We don't need to talk about this right now, it's late, I'm sure you're tired." 

You pulled yourself up from the floor, wrapping the towel up and placing it on the table to be dealt with later. Perching on his knee, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into your chest, resting your chin on the top of his head as his arms wound around you in a death grip. 

"I think you're perfect," You muttered into his hair before kissing the crown of his head, "If your hands hurt or they shake, just let me hold them. Teach me how to bartend, I'll make drinks while Nat's gone. Hell, maybe I'll even keep it as a part time thing, what do you think?" 

He pulled back from your chest, "Oh, Sugar. What about your art?" 

You giggled at him, "I can do my art during the day silly. And on my days off." You brushed his hair off his forehead, "Plus I need an income while I wait for commissions." 

He chuckled at you as he shook his head, "Alright, alright." He placed a kiss to your sternum before resting his cheek against your skin again, "Tomorrow, but right now I just wanna hold you."

Soak with Me

Pairing: Bartender!Neighbor!Bucky x artist!reader (intended female reader)

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: Bucky didn’t use to love baths, but with you? How could he not?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, Bucky is a menace, fingering, naked people in a bath, fluff, Bucky’s in love

If you enjoy the story, please consider supporting me on myKo-fi <3

Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

Baths weren’t really something Bucky did very often, only succumbing to them when he’d had a particularly grueling day and his muscles needed to relax. He’d fill the tub with hot water and throw in some bath salts, the green ones that filled the air with eucalyptus, menthol, and spearmint, and let his body relax in the hot water until he deemed himself fine again before getting out. 

Now that he had you though, baths had sort of become a staple in his life. 

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literally so in love with this

A Million Reasons - Masterlist

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, with all of his trust fund money and family connections, gets assigned community service. You, as someone that’s technically part of the community, now have to put up with him. Every day. And he won’t stop killing your plants.

Warnings: Enemies (annoyance) to lovers, Bucky’s old money at an ivy league, angst, minor injury, drinking, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **)

a/n: Hello! I’ve decided there won’t be a set posting day for this series. This is something I’ve been super excited to share (even with my writing steam dying out) and I want to get it out here without extra pressure. I’ll be adding the dates for upcoming chapters as they are ready :) And thank you @traitorjoelite​ for that second, beautiful moodboard 🤍

♡ Series playlist 🪴

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