kiatjuddae

[kiatjuddae]

Quiet Rewards

◟♯ . / pairing . ! bucky barnes x fem!reader

◟♯ . / synopsis . ! after a failed mission, you decide to take care of bucky and his injuries—and so does he, but in a different way.

◟♯ . / word count . ! 3.2k

◟♯ . / content warnings . ! 18+ mdni, enemies to lovers, smut with plot (i guess), p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, orgasm denial if you squint, pussy nicknames, slight voyeurism, sub!reader, dom!bucky and sweet!bucky at the end, messy makeout, kitchen counter sex, pet names (baby, sweetheart), bob being unaware of his surroundings as always, NOT PROOFREAD sue me.

◟♯ . / author’s note . ! guess who watched ‘fresh’ for the first time? yep, me. i was traumatised but i can fix him (no really i can), jokes aside, this idea came to me when pinterest showed me a pic of bucky’s bruised face.

The compound was thick with tension, everyone’s faces a bit unrecognizable due to the never-ending fight you had endured in the past hour. Humiliation wasn’t a strong enough word, but the damage your ego received was bigger.

It wasn’t every day that your team—as Yelena called the group of mentally unstable assassins—were this quiet. Walker was somewhere in his room probably praying that his beautiful face would be as flawless as before.

Alexei had taken a Vodka from the counter half an hour ago, walking with Lena into a secluded part of the Watchtower for more privacy when he’d break down and claim that he was supposted to be the best of the century.

And Bob? He was zoned out and tucked into the couch, almost merging into it as a soldier that wanted to hide from his enemies.

You didn’t leave the kitchen, too busy sorting the war inside your head that was clouding your thinking. Failure was something that you couldn’t help but fear—in every way of your life, it didn’t matter if it happened a year ago or seconds ago, it still lingered in you.

The sudden hiss of pain that came from the hall got your attention, snapping you out of your self-critising moment. When you turned to identify to find out who the sound came from, his blue eyes were already mentally throwing daggers at your head.

If you had to rate your teammates from how much you liked them, Bucky would’ve been at the end, if not in the negative numbers in the rating. The feeling was mutual, he never showed any care or affection toward you—and you didn’t pay much attention to it, feeling the same about him.

But there was always that unmistakable tension between you, filled with something neither of you dared to explore—too caught up in ignoring each other.

Bucky’s face was littered from small and pink cuts all the way to bigger cuts that were still leaking with his crimson blood. Rolling your eyes, you snapped your head back to stare at the glass that had been the victim of your constant fidgeting.

His footsteps became louder and closer, reminding you of his presence. As he came into your peripheral vision, you noticed his knuckles looking similiar to yours—damaged and slightly hesitant with their movements.

You were abruptly aware of how the small the kitchen seemed, with him in it. The lingering smell of his perfume filled the air, occupying your space that you created.

“Shit,” The swear he let out was louder than he intended, making you shift your gaze onto his tugged up sleeve that was now revealing his flesh—covered in red, the cut spreading across his whole forearm.

Injuries like this shouldn’t be taken lightly, his veins standing out more than they should have—making you worry, but not about him, not really, your concern was targeted only on the limb itself, at least that’s what you told yourself when you raised up from the chair you were previously sitting on, approaching him.

“God, where’d you get that?” Your fingers brushed against the cut, earning you a quiet whimper that came out of his mouth before he could stop it, internally cursing himself for it.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as it fell back against the cabinets, “Well, I remember us protecting ourselves earlier, but I dunno if you were there too.” The joke dripped with deep sarcasm, making you question why you bothered to help him in the first place.

Your legs were thinking before your brain could, carrying you into the direction up the hallway and swiftly disappearing into the bathroom that was neatly cleaned, mirror almost too shiny—reminding you of what your messed up face looked like.

Targeting the first aid kit, you rumarged through the whole cabinet with hurry in your movements, telling yourself that it was just because of your instinct to take care of everyone and everything.

He yelled your name into the air, as the sound echoed off the walls, you sped up in need of the kit. When you finally spotted it, your hands clutched it with unneccessary force as you picked up your speed making your way back to him.

“Sorry,” You mumbled as you stepped back into the kitchen, rounding the kitchen counter as you stood in front of him again, noticing his closeness and how his body surrounded yours almost poetically.

Bucky closed his eyes in need of a distraction from the pain that shot up into his system as you pressed an alcohol pad over it. He was a supersoldier, but lately the minor wounds were more painful than years ago.

Maybe it was because of the serum slowly leaving his veins, already being there for more than a hundred years—or maybe it was because the injuries demanded your attention silently.

As his gaze settled back on you, he observed your motions carefully as if he was mentally sizing you up and judging the potential danger you could put him in. It was an old habit that never quite got away, accompanying him even after he escaped his old self.

“This is gonna hurt,” He stiffened at your sentence, suddenly aware of your presence that was slowly wrapping around his body. His eyes traveled down to where you were holding a needle, along with some medical things that he didn’t quite care about.

“Just get it over with.” You nodded at his words, slowly sliding through the skin with a hint of gentleness in your digits as you stitched him up with care.

The silence wasn’t tense anymore, filled with a calm but healthy tension between both of you as you focused on the job, he couldn’t help but scan how precise the stitches were.

He wasn’t used to someone taking care of him and never did he think that you’d be taking care of him in the kitchen of the compound that he was supposted to act like an invincible soldier in.

Your touch wasn’t intended to turn him on in any way, and he knew that—however he couldn’t help and envy every person that you laid hands on recently or that received the same care that he was experiencing now.

As you tied the last knot into his skin, your teeth smoothly broke off the thread and threw it into the trash without a word.

Bucky didn’t move from where he was standing, looking at you as if you were something sacred he should keep locked somewhere safe, and as you stood in front of him—organising the necessities back to where they belonged, you accidentally brushed against the front of his jeans, earning a small grunt from him.

You tried ignoring it, but when you felt him against your back, the heat spread across your body and settled between your legs, almost mocking you that you were feeling like that just because of a minor movement.

Quickly gathering the things, you tried leaving the kitchen, but unsuccessfully. His cold, metal fingers wrapped around your wrist smoothly, pulling you back into his body as he took the small bag out of your hands, setting it beside him on the counter.

“Not so fast, where’d you think you’re going?” He leaned down into your ear, his breath tickling the sweet spot on the back of your neck—sending shivers down your spine, “Just wanted to take it to the bathr—“

Before you could finish the sentence, you were pressed against the kitchen island, trapped between his body and the cold marble that decorated the surface of the furniture.

“I’m a gentleman, baby.” His words were like a promise that was meant to be just between the two of you, escaping his mouth too softly for you liking. “Wanna give you what you deserve.” He added.

Your gaze settled on his, the grin that was plastered on his face now widening at your dazed and chaotic state of mind, as if he was trying to mock you. You gradually relaxed in his hold, earning a nod of his head out of him.

The space between your bodies was now non-existent, your chest flushed against his, you were sure that he could feel your hardened nipples against the soft leather that covered his torso.

“You gonna be quiet f’me? Yeah?” Bucky’s question made you squirm, uncomfortably pressing your thighs together in the stiff suit that was still clinging to your body.

As you nodded, he gently kissed your temple, moving your hair behind your ear—holding you delicately in his arms as if you were a trophy he was too afraid to break or press too hard into.

You couldn’t think clearly, lust and want clouding your mind, already begging for him to do something. You didn’t care if you sounded desperate, too drunken by his touch to care at this point.

He sank to his knees, his shoulders just in level with your hips as he caressed the sides of your thighs tenderly, reminding you that he was still there. Still with you.

And even if he didn’t kiss you, yet, you were already gone for him—the sight before you was something you haven’t even dreamed about, your eyes rolling back out of reflex as his hand slowly disappeared under the waistband of your suit.

His eyes were locked on your face that was now out of his reach, studying the way your neck moved as you swallowed, smiling to himself he pressed a teasing kiss on your lower stomach, but not quite where you needed it.

The teasing continued with how slowly he pulled your pants down, as you looked down you found him looking sinfully exquisite.

Never in your wildest dreams would you think that the most feared super soldier in the world would be kneeling, before you, for you. It was something that you were sure would stick in your mind for years—if not decades.

Trying to relieve the uncomfortable wetness between your folds, you shifted as if trying to escape. His metal hand pressed hard into your waist, not letting you move in the slightest, he looked like he belonged there.

When his fingers finally tugged at the lace of your underwear you couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped from the back of your throat, immediately regretting it as his digits stopped what they were doing.

“Bucky— Please.” Your begging didn’t get you anywhere, his pointer and middle finger finding their way up your body, stopping on your chin as you looked down.

“Suck, sweetheart,” His words should’ve thrown you off guard, but leaving you to feel pathetic as your mouth softly parted letting his flesh into it.

You tried your hardest to focus on the task, fighting the urges to just grind your hips into his face like a bitch in a heat—which you were currently feeling like.

It felt pathetic, him having you wrapper around the back of his hand so easily, right there in the kitchen that you used every day to make the team dinners and lunches.

Despite that, your tongue greedily swiped, sucked and licked his fingers, as if proving to him that you could do it and take it, even if you were convinced otherwise.

He removed the digits with a wet and obscene pop, catching you off guard as he instantly buried them in your needy cunt, making you throw your head back in the satisfaction that shot through your body.

You were suddenly in heaven as his mouth devoured you, eating you up as if it was his last meal in his life—putting in extra effort and sucking your sensitive bud into his mouth.

“Fuck,” The curse combined with a whine rolled off your tongue as your hands found their way into his too-long hair, kneading and pulling at the strands as if they did something to you.

The heat of the moment is too much, you’re too far gone as he whispered, “Come for me, doll, give it to me, yeah?” He smiled maliciously, burying two of his fingers into your tight hole.

Your pussy makes wet, creamy sounds that you didn’t know you were capable of, riding his hand slowly as the fire ignited in your body—suddenly snapping like a thread.

“Such a good girl.” His tongue soothed your pulsing heat, calming you down as you came back to your senses, almost gasping for air from the satisfaction that coursed through your body.

Bucky stood up, studying your face and searching for a hint of discomfort—yet he found none. Your face only showed signs of mild exhaustion, but over all you were content, the euphoria wrapping around your body.

His fingers were wet with your fluid, glistening against the angry white lights that were turned on, as he placed them into his mouth, tasting you once more before threading them through your hair and moving your head as he wanted.

You were surrounded by his body, touch and smell—it was intoxicating, but it was something you enjoyed, as if the waters didn’t want to swallow you, but let you live.

Desperate, you reached for his lips first, pulling him into a messy kiss that quickly turned into a make-out, his tongue pushing against your lips, seeking entrance as you parted your mouth for him gently.

He tugged on your hair, licking deeper into your throat, swallowing you whole. It was maddening, how suddenly things snapped and you two adressing the heat and want.

Both of you were a little sweaty, the buzz of the adrenaline slowly wearing off, making you aware of the ache between your legs, yearning for more of his attention.

His palms found the back of your thighs, setting you up onto the counter with hidden gentleness in his actions—carefully spreading your legs, exposing you completely to him, “Trust me? You still with me?”

The words meant more than you could imagine, even though the both of you were on the verge of losing control, he still made sure you were okay, when you nodded, it felt like he was waiting for a proper answer.

“Mhm,” You murmured softly, latching onto his neck with light kisses as you heard him unbuckle his belt between your calves with ease.

There wasn’t any hurry in him anymore, savoring the moment—not wanting this to end so soon, he wondered if you felt the same, or if it would all go back to the ignoring gazes and short sentences between you.

But when you bit down on his neck, surely leaving a deep mark on the flesh, he pulled out his cock—pulling you to the edge of the cabinet, nudging his leaking head against your pink entrance.

You looked down, staring at how perfectly he fit you, as if he was made for you, or as if you were made for him, but it didn’t matter, not now, not here.

He pushed inside, stimulating your clit to make it less painful—even if he was slow, gentle and patient, he was aware that he was big, and so were you. Your cunt squeezed him so perfect, making it harder for him to keep his focus.

“You good? Keep talkin’ to me, baby,” He swiped his dick through your folds, pushing out and thrusting inside in one smooth motion, it made you cry out, burying your head in the crook of his neck, you tried to keep quiet.

As you regained some control, you mumbled a small, “Yeah—keep going, please.” You begged so beautifully as his hips sped up, nudging the spot deep inside you from time to time.

You both got lost in the sensation, moaning and whimpering into each other’s ears as if this was the normal thing between you. When you opened your eyes, you found his closed—nose scrunched up in pleasure.

Shifting your gaze down, you couldn’t help but admire how good you were stretching around him, his cock filling you in the best ways possible. His finger remained on your bud, the metal one sneaking around your neck as he pressed a kiss into your shoulder.

“‘M close,” He managed to choke out, slowly but surely reaching the high that threatened to take over him, snapping his body against yours in more frequent rhythm.

As you felt the warmth of his cum fill you up—you couldn’t help but gasp, whining loudly, maybe too loudly based on where you were. The buzz finally cracked, your moistruse coating him and spilling down onto the cold marble.

You both breathed hard, trying to calm yourselves down just by each other’s presence, and it more than worked.

His hand slid to the back of your head, stroking it with hidden protection and possessiveness, pressing light kisses on your sweaty forehead, “What did you do to me?”

The words made you chuckle, shaking your head you looked up at him with something deeper than lust in your eyes—smiling, you casually replied, “Didn’t expect you to turn soft on me now.”

What snapped you both of the haze of pleasure and long-lasting enjoyment were faint footsteps that were now approaching the kitchen, “Fuck, shit—get dressed!” You whisper-yelled at Bucky in horror, pulling up your underwear and pants on quickly.

He rolled his eyes, buckling his belt back into place and pressing one last kiss against your wet lips that were now covered in his saliva, not that you even minded.

“You guys… okay in here? I heard some…. sounds.” The voice belonged to the guy in his messy pyjamas that padded into the room, barefoot as always. Bob scanned you both, tilting his head curiously, trying to figure out what happened between you two.

You and Bucky nodded at the same time as you spoke up first, “Yeah, we were, uhm—“ You looked up at him for help, widening your eyes at him in desperation, “We were fighting, that’s what we were doing.”

His words completed yours perfectly, his significant stupid grin now across his face, proud of what he successfully hid from the oblivious Bob standing right before him.

Bob tilted his head, pointing at the counter— “What’s that?” He asked, making you shift your gaze onto the wet spot that was shining on the white surface, your cum.

“I spilt my drink, so fuck off,” Bucky shifted back to his usual, cocky self, grabbing a wipe and smoothly erasing the evidence of what sin happened right there.

Bob’s mouth tipped up a bit, as he vanished back into the living room in his unaware state, humming to himself softly as if nothing happened back there.

Back in the kitchen, you turned to Bucky.

“What the fuck was that?” You frowned, hitting his chest playfully, no real anger behind the gesture, teasing him about it instead.

“I don’t know who came on the kitchen counter, baby.” He muttered before sealing your lips in another passionate kiss, silencing your stupid chuckle.

And there, you were whole.

With him in your arms, and with Bob being… Bob.

© kissesforbucky original work !

[kiatjuddae]

Panties & Motorcycles

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || During a day off, you and Bucky enjoy a picnic in the park that quickly turns heated.

Word Count || 1392

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, pet names, teasing, public lewdness, exhibitionism, praise kink, fingering, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

You and Bucky had a day off from work and decided to spend it outside in the beautiful sunshine, away from your apartment and the hum of your daily routines.

He had taken you for a thrilling ride on his motorcycle, the wind tugging playfully at your hair due to the speed as you held tight to his waist. The world blurred into colors as you rode to your favorite secluded spot in the park. The one tucked behind a cluster of trees.

You had come prepared with a picnic basket filled with homemade sandwiches, fresh fruits, pastries, cold drinks, along with a soft blanket and the books you had both been meaning to finish.

Bucky’s strong hands spread the blanket on the soft ground, and you both settled in, sitting across from each other, legs stretched out.

Bucky looked casual yet irresistible in a crisp linen t-shirt and light shorts, while you had chosen your most flattering summer dress—one that accentuated your curves perfectly while remaining breezy against your skin.

There was a comfortable silence as you read your books, enjoying the soft breeze and sounds of nature around you.

Every so often, your fingers brushed, lingering a moment longer than necessary, before you pulled away with a teasing retreat.

Bucky’s eyes drifted to you more often than you realized as you read, eyes soft and alive with that unmistakable hunger only you could ignite.

You had become so deeply absorbed in the pages of your book, lost in the peaceful fantasy world, that you failed to notice Bucky had abandoned his novel entirely and been admiring you for the last few minutes.

The way you were laying on your side had your breasts pushed together, and your dress had ridden up, giving Bucky an enticing view of your cleavage and the lace trim of your panties peeking out from beneath the fabric.

You finally caught him staring, his eyes dark with desire. “What are you looking at, babe?” you asked as you nibbled on your bottom lip.

He shook his head, chuckling at how utterly oblivious you were to the temptation you presented, sprawled there so innocently on the blanket.

“It’s hard to focus on anything when you look like that, doll. Those little panties of yours are going to be the death of me,” he said, voice low.

Your gaze flicked down, and you suddenly realized how deliciously indecent you looked, making your cheeks warm. You bit your lip teasingly and made a show of slowly pulling down your dress to cover yourself again.

“Take them off, doll,” he commanded softly, but with urgency.

Your eyes met his, and they were dark with need, sending shivers down your spine.

“W-what?” you whispered.

“You heard me. I said take off your panties and give them to me.” His voice was firm but gentle, leaving no room for arguments.

A quick glance around confirmed you were alone. Your heart raced, but excitement took over. With trembling fingers, you slid them off, handing them to him. He tucked them into his back pocket, his lips curved into a satisfied smirk.

“Now what, Bucky?” you challenged, voice breathier than intended, heat rising in your chest at the anticipation as you wondered where he would take this.

“Spread those gorgeous legs for me,” he commanded without hesitation, making your breath catch.

You hesitated for a second, glancing around the empty park to reassure yourself. “What if someone sees?” you whispered, though the possibility only heightened your arousal.

“No one can see us, and even if they did, I don’t care. Now, spread those legs for me, doll,” he repeated.

Obediently, you laid back, elbows propping you up so you could watch him. Slowly, teasingly, you spread your legs and pulled up your dress, revealing yourself to him. The cool air kissed your bare skin, and you could feel heat and slickness already beginning to pool between your thighs.

“Suck my thumb, get it nice and wet for me,” he instructed, voice husky with desire.

Taking his thumb between your lips, you sucked and swirled your tongue around the digit, maintaining eye contact as you moaned softly. Bucky let out a deep groan at the sight of you sucking his thumb so eagerly while your body was displayed for him.

“Good girl,” he praised, the words sending warmth through your chest.

He withdrew his thumb with a soft pop and brought his hand beneath your dress. His touch was gentle but confident as he began circling your clit in painfully slow, deliberate strokes.

You threw your head back, a moan escaping your lips as he gradually increased both speed and pressure.

“Shh… be quiet, doll. Read your book and don’t make a noise,” he commanded with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You desperately tried to focus on the words on the pages, your fingers trembling against them, but the words blurred before your eyes. Every brush of his skilled fingers working their magic made it impossible to concentrate. You bit your bottom lip hard, struggling to keep your whimpers and moans muffled.

“Look at you, doll,” Bucky whispered. “Out in public like this. My hand on your pussy, making you fall apart like this. Such a good girl for me, baby.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, Bucky. Please…” you gasped, feeling the tightness in your belly build rapidly.

“Not yet, doll.” He moved his thumb down to your entrance and teased you mercilessly, barely dipping inside before withdrawing, leaving you aching for more.

“P-please, Bucky,” you sobbed quietly, desperate for release.

“Please what, doll? Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want,” he demanded softly.

“Put your thumb on my clit again and make me come… pretty please, Bucky,” you begged, giving him your most innocent, pleading expression—the one you knew he couldn’t resist.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groaned, giving you want you needed.

He returned to your clit, circling it in tight, precise strokes, applying exactly the right pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves. His touch was confident, purposeful, perfectly cruel, bringing your body to the edge again.

“Let go, baby. Let go for me. No one is around,” he encouraged, his blue eyes locked on your face, wanting to witness every second of your pleasure.

His words were your undoing, and you came hard. You threw your head back as the orgasm crashed through your body like a wave, his name falling from your lips as you fell apart. Your body trembled as Bucky continued to stroke you gently, helping you ride out the pleasure, leaving you breathless.

When you finally came down, panting softly, Bucky slid his thumb into his mouth and sucked it clean, savoring your taste with a groan of appreciation.

“Mmm… just as sweet and wet as always, doll,” he murmured with a satisfied smile.

You pulled him down to you, kissing him deeply and passionately, tasting yourself on his tongue as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Let’s go home, Bucky. Please,” you whispered against his lips. “I need you… I need you to fuck me properly. I want to suck your cock. Please take me home now,” you begged breathlessly.

He groaned low in response, pressing a hard kiss to your lips, clearly as desperate as you were. “Let’s go home,” he agreed, voice rough with need.

Your started packing up in a rush, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. But then you remembered—

“Um… can I have my panties back, babe?” you asked, glancing around for them.

“No,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“W-what do you mean no? I can’t ride on your bike without my panties on,” you protested, though the idea sent a rush of desire through you.

“You can, and you will, doll,” he said, low and commanding. “You’re gonna grind that bare little pussy all over the seat and get it nice and wet while we ride home. If you don’t, then I won’t touch your for the rest of the week.”

Without another word, you grabbed his hand and practically dragged him towards his motorcycle—in a desperate hurry to get on the bike and then get home.

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people! I would really appreciate it 🖤

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[kiatjuddae]

I (a baptised catholic) lost my virginity to a satanist the night before Pope Francis died. I fear this may be my fault.

noooooo that's so funny! It was definitely you

[kiatjuddae]

You Drive Me Crazy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The Thunderbolts are used to you and Bucky’s harmless teasing and bickering, but in all of the time the two of you have been together they’ve never seen you fight. However, when an argument breaks out after a mission, they realize that your relationship is a lot more passionate (and entertaining) than they previously thought.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of violence, No sex but things get a lil hot and heavy at the end, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's Note: This cute and crazy lil drabble is almost completely inspired by the argument scene in the movie Trainwreck. Also, it’s my first Thunderbolts drabble! I hope you guys like it!!

-

You burst out of the elevator and into the tower, Bucky hot on your heels.

“Don’t walk away from me, I’m not done.” His voice borders between a shout and a growl. He reaches for you again, and you dart away. The movement only makes him look even more furious.

“I am done. Fight over. I’m calling it now.”

He says something in Romanian. Whether it be a curse or some infuriated comment, you’re not sure. Still, you whirl on him and shove your finger into his chest. “You know for a fucking fact that I don’t speak that. Knock that shit off right now, Barnes.”

“Oh, so now you want to-“

“Oh my God, what the hell is happening?” Yelena says from the couch, and you hear Ava’s exhausted voice as she walks out of the elevator and drops down beside her.

“Don’t ask.” She sounds exhausted.

You ignore them. Bucky ignores them.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal.” Bucky says, again, and you meet his words with an exaggerated groan.

“For the last time, I saw the shot and I took it. You would have done the same fucking thing if you-“

“If John hadn’t blocked you, you would have died.”

John’s voice cuts through the fight, and he sounds just as exhausted as Ava as he makes his own way to the couch. “If I hadn’t blocked her, the plane ride back would have at least been a whole lot quieter.”

“Shut up.” You and Bucky snap in unison, both fixing him with your own glares. He throws his hands up in mock surrender.

Bucky keeps going. “You never listen. That’s the problem, doll. You need to-“

“Don’t doll me right now. You’re not the only capable member of this team, Sarge. I can take care of myself if you would just-“

“You almost got shot! Again!”

“But I didn’t!”

“Oh great!” Bucky’s own hands fly up, rage still sparking in his eyes. “That makes all of it go away. Everything’s fine now.”

Yelena’s voice cuts through now. “How long have they been doing this?”

“Hours.” John and Ava respond, sounding more worn out from listening to the two of you than they do from the battle.

The fight continues. Right in the middle of the common room.

It’s one of those arguments that just doesn’t stop. Anger and adrenaline and the horror of nearly losing each other keep the fire fueled to the point that you lose the original point of why you’re fighting. You’re just matching each other’s energy now, both refusing to back down.

“They’ll never stop. We will never sleep again.” Yelena says at one point, though none of them have left the couch. In fact, they’ve all watched and commented to each other through the entire argument, all feigning annoyance but clearly too entertained to want to leave the room.

“And you’re always kicking the blankets off of the bed in your sleep!” He shouts at one point. You feel multiple pairs of eyes move to him, and then back to you when you respond like your little audience is watching a movie. There might be popcorn out by this point. You’re too angry to care.

“Because you run like a furnace and you’re always attached to me like a fucking octopus when we sleep!”

“Oh, so you want me to sleep on the other side of the bed now?”

“No! I love it! But it’s fucking hot and we don’t need ten pounds of comforter on top of us!”

“Maybe I want ten pounds of comforter on top of us!”

“Do you?!”

“No!”

The argument moves all around the room. In front of the couch. Near the hall. In the kitchen. The energy remains the same.

“And you know what? You go down on me too much!” You shout, poking your finger into his chest.

“What?!”

“No, you - don’t look at me like I’m crazy. You do! And you act like it’s for me but I think it’s really for you because you’re such a good person whose always trying to help people and-“

“So you want me to go down on you less?”

“Don’t twist this into me not wanting you to go down on me as much! That’s ridiculous. Of course I want you to go down on me that much.”

“I want to go down on you that much. Are you telling me to take it down a notch?”

“No! Of course not! I- okay, just forget this whole part of the argument. Keep doing that.”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

“This is starting to get gross.” John says, and you both turn to him again to shout at him to shut up in perfect unison before you continue.

Ten minutes later, you’re still going. No one has moved.

“And maybe if you woke up later than dawn every day, you would be less grumpy all the time!”

“Why are we fighting?!” He shouts back, and his words finally seem to crack through the spell.

You still refuse to back down. “Because you’re so annoyingly protective all the time. We’ve covered this. You’re just-“

“Because I love you.” He snaps, energy still furious despite his words. “And the idea of anything happening to you makes me lose my mind. Why can’t you see that? Why are you always arguing with me about it?!”

“Because I love you too! I took the shot because they were aiming at you, jackass!”

He surges forward, crashing his mouth to yours with so much force that it knocks you backwards into the wall. Your hands fly up to tangle in his hair. His fly down to the backs of your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he all but snarls into your mouth.

If you weren’t so distracted by Bucky, you might see money exchange hands on the other side of the room.

“You see this? Passion.” Alexei says, and everyone groans. “Is good thing. They fight with love. Like warriors.”

“They’re basically eating each other.” Ava says, tone laced with disgust.

Bucky’s mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you groan, and the sound immediately draws his mouth back to yours.

“Okay, I’m done. I have a feeling they’re not going to make it to their room, and I definitely don’t need to see that.” John says, standing from his spot on the couch. The others stand, too, all grumbling with annoyance. The moment the couch is free, before they’ve even left the room, Bucky throws you down on it and crawls on top of you.

“Drive me fucking crazy.” He’s murmuring against your neck, calloused hands sliding up beneath your shirt as his hips press against yours. You make a noise that makes him grip you harder, his teeth scraping against your skin. “Gonna make you-“

His words are cut off by a cup of water splashing over the two of you, cold and shocking, and you both shout with surprise. You look up, only for another cup of water to splash on you.

“Take it to your room! It’s like two floors below us!”

You almost laugh, despite the heat still surging through you, and sputter as a third splash of water lands on you. Did they all get cups of water? Seriously?

“Okay, we get it! Stop with the-“ You start to say, only to squeak in surprise as Bucky stands and pulls you with him, wrapping your legs around his waist once more as he starts moving towards the elevator. He’s soaked, hair sticking to his face as he presses you up against the wall and slams his mouth back against yours, hand flying out to slam against one of the buttons - you don’t even know if it’s the right one - before it comes back up to start ripping at your tactical gear.

“Oh God, not in the elevator. It’s easier to disinfect the couch!”

The words are lost as the doors close, and there’s no more fighting after that.

[kiatjuddae]

buying size small condoms on accident or as a prank for bucky and he takes personal offence because how dare you

he kinda looks at you with an amused but also hurt look like…are you taking him for a fool? “baby you know i can’t fit these.” and he’s not even trying to be all like yeah i got a big dick. he just CANT fit them

[kiatjuddae]

would risk it all for him

[kiatjuddae]

Literally though like everything you lose is a step you take!!! So make the friendship bracelets!!!!! Take the moment and taste it!!!! You’ve got no reason to be afraid!!!

[kiatjuddae]

reverse cowgirl with caleb

you’re on top of caleb straddling him with your knees sinking down on the mattress, thighs spread wide as you slam yourself down on his cock. every bounce makes your ass smack wetly against his thighs, the fat length splitting you open again and again. your body is arched, tits bouncing, sweat dripping down your back, your hands braced on his knees as you ride him like you’ll die without it.

the sound is obscene—sloppy squelching, skin clapping, your pussy drooling down his cock in messy strings. you moan loud and unashamed, high-pitched cries mixing with guttural sobs. “ahhh... ahhhnn—c-caleb! fuck—fuck, right there, nghhh—” your voice breaks every time his cockhead slams into your cervix, eyes rolling back, tongue slipping out between moans.

caleb’s gone, completely drunk on how your pussy grips him so tight, eyes glazed as he stares at your messy cunt swallowing him over and over. “fuck—pips, you’re a mess,” he groans, voice ragged, chest heaving. his big hands grab your ass cheeks, spreading them so he can watch his cock disappear inside. “hear that? hear how sloppy your sweet little pussy is? shit—angel, you’re dripping down my balls.”

you grind down hard, whining through your teeth, your cunt squelching as slick gushes out, soaking his lap. you can’t stop babbling, whiny and incoherent. “so big—so deep—oh gooodd, caleb, your cock—mmm, i love it, i love it—” your cries pitch higher as you start bouncing faster, greedy for more.

“yeah? that’s it, baby—ride me like that,” he growls, snapping his hips up to meet yours, each thrust brutal, making your body jolt and scream. his hand slides to your lower stomach, pressing hard so you can feel his cock bulging inside. “look, angel—see how deep i am? fuck, this pussy’s mine. y‘hear that? mine.”

you squeal, body convulsing as you gush again, squirting across his abs and thighs. the wet slap grows filthier, your cunt clapping messily against him. “caleb, ahhh—cumming, i’m cumming again, fuckfuckfuck—”

his head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. “fucking hell, pips—look at you soaking me. fuck—ride me harder, baby, fucking soak my cock—yeah, that's it—” he slaps your ass once, the sting making you cry out prettily before grinding down even harder, desperate for more.

he ruts up into you, thrusts needy, broken groans spilling from him. “fuuuck—i’m so close—gonna fill you, baby—paint this pretty pussy ‘til you’re dripping—” with a rough growl, he yanks you down flush, cock buried to the hilt. hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, the sensation unbearable as you whimper and twitch on top of him, his cum leaking out around his cock, smeared down his balls.

caleb groans wreckedly, his voice hoarse, forehead damp. “fuck, baby… that was good. think you can handle more, hm?” before you could even answer, he was already flipping you over onto your back.

© luvsaes

[kiatjuddae]

right? we know they're there to help us or what but growing up doing things on ur own its really hard to depend on others 😬😬 auggh! i love bucky so much for not giving up !!

in the silence, i stayed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader (Y/N) Genre: Hurt/Comfort - Slow Burn - Angst with Fluff - Smut – Humour - Petty!Reader - Angry!Reader - Protective!Bucky - Suffering!Bucky - Domestic Intimacy - Post Argument Reconciliation - Mild Claustrophobia Themes - Silent Treatment - Begging - Soft!Dom Bucky - Mentions of Soreness/Bruising · Implied Aftercare Word count: 5119 Summary: Y/N is an amazing avenger but stubborn as a rock. Bucky, her teammate and boyfriend is worried for her after an injury. He extremely pushed her when she took a decision for her, and she won't take that as well as he think

She returned from the mission with a bloodied side and a stubborn fire in her eyes that made Bucky want to scream. “You need rest,” he had said the second they stepped through the door, practically carrying her inside. “I’m fine,” she had hissed through gritted teeth, brushing off the crimson soaking through her suit.

Now, twenty-four hours later, he stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her. She sat on the couch with one leg propped up in a brace, a book in her lap that she clearly wasn’t reading. Her jaw was clenched. Her eyes stared straight ahead like she was trying to will her body back into shape with pure defiance. Bucky sighed and walked over with the tea.

“Here,” he said, holding the mug out. She didn’t even glance at him. “I told you, I don’t need-”

“You need to drink something other than your own frustration.” That earned him a look. Sharp. Tired. Vulnerable, in a way she tried to hide. “Thanks,” she muttered, finally taking the mug from his hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, and Bucky noticed the way she subtly shifted to hide a wince as she moved. He sat down beside her, giving her space but staying close enough that his presence felt solid. Steady. “You’re not weak for letting someone help you,” he said quietly. “I’m not helpless,” she snapped, the words hitting too hard, too fast. “I know that” he said, calm and unwavering. “You’re the strongest person I know. But even the strongest need a break. Hell, you almost got yourself killed out there. And if I hadn’t-” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

She stared down into her tea, fingers clenched around the mug. Her mouth opened, then closed. It took her a second to find her voice. “I don’t like feeling useless,” she said finally. Her voice cracked on the last word. That shattered him more than any scream would have.

“You’re not useless. You’re injured,” he said gently. “There’s a difference. And if it were me in your place, you’d have dragged me to bed by now and threatened to tie me to the damn headboard if I so much as looked at the door.” Her lips twitched despite herself. “Not my worst idea.”

“Not your best either,” he said with a faint smile, brushing his knuckles over her shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, doll. I already know you’d go through hell for the team. For me.”

She looked at him then, really looked, and something in her hardened expression gave way.

“I hate feeling like this,” she admitted. The words came out in a whisper. “I know,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. “But I’m here. Let me be here for you.” She hesitated. Then, without warning, she leaned into his chest, letting the mug slip onto the coffee table with a soft clink. Bucky froze for half a second before wrapping his arms around her, slow and careful. One hand settled just above the bandaged wound on her side, the other pressed gently between her shoulder blades. “Okay,” she whispered. “Just… for a little while.” He rested his chin on top of her head and closed his eyes. “For as long as you need,” he whispered back.

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The next morning, the apartment was quiet when she opens the door. Too quiet.

She winced slightly as she stepped inside, carefully closing it behind her. The cool morning air feels incredible against her skin, and she only walked around the block. Maybe two. But the limp in her step got worse, and the dull ache in her side became a pulsing reminder that she disobeyed direct doctor’s orders. And Bucky’s orders. Not that she planned to tell him that.

But when she turned the corner toward the living room, she froze. He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, head low like he’s been there for hours. The look he gave her was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw was razor-sharp.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked.

His voice is low. Controlled. Which is worse than yelling.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She tried again.

“Just needed some air. I didn’t go far.”

“You're not here when I get back.” He stood slowly. “Your crutches are gone. Your phone is off.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” His eyes burn cold. “You’re limping harder than you were last night. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

When he left the apartment last night for a last-minute recon on a suspected Hydra factory, she was already limping but she let him go. He called later, promising to return by late morning. And at dawn, she decided sneaking out to enjoy the sunrise and a few quiet blocks of fresh air.

“I’ll come back before he gets here,” she though.

She gritted her teeth. “You don’t get to babysit me, Bucky. I needed to clear my head.”

“And I need to not walk in here thinking someone took you, or you bled out somewhere, or that I should’ve stayed instead of trusting you’d rest like you promised.”

That stopped her. The fire in his voice faded into something heavier, darker. A flicker of fear. She looked at him again and realized he was scared. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just terrified.

“Buck…”

“I’m not mad you left,” he said, quieter now. “I’m mad you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to say, ‘Hey, I need to get out for a minute.’ You don’t have to keep pretending you’re invincible. Not with me.” Her chest twisted painfully, and this time it wasn’t from the bruised ribs. “I’m not thinking,” she admitted. “I just… I hate feeling stuck. Weak. I need to move, to feel normal for five minutes. I don’t think it’d scare you.” “You think I care if you’re weak?” he asked, stepping closer. “You’re bleeding and limping and probably tore your stitches, but you still look like you’d bite someone’s head off if they tried to help. That’s not weak, sweetheart. That’s stubborn as hell.” She huffed a laugh, then winced and grabbed her side instinctively. That’s all the opening he needed. Bucky moved to her side in an instant, his metal arm curling around her waist like it’s second nature. He guided her to the couch before she can argue. She dropped onto it with a groan and let her head fall back against the cushion.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You’re forgiven,” he said after a beat. “But you’re still not moving for the rest of the day.”

“Bucky-”

“I’ll glue you to this damn couch.”

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her head toward him.

“You don’t have any glue.”

“I have zip ties. And Sam owes me a favor.”

That made her laugh, and the sound released the tight coil in his chest. He sat beside her, and for a moment, she leaned into him just enough that their shoulders touch. His warmth sinks into her.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she said quietly.

He turned his head to meet her eyes.

“You’re not. You’re mine to worry about. Let me do that.”

And in that moment despite the ache, despite the shame, despite the stubbornness she let him.

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The morning sun peeked through the curtains when she limped into the kitchen, a crutch under one arm, hair in a messy bun, still sore but determined to exist somewhere other than the couch. The postman knocked, like he always did, since the buzzer had been broken for weeks. 

“Postman. I left the pack on the mat,” he called through the door, then walked away. She reached for the handle.

Locked.

Her brows furrowed. She tried again. Turned the bolt. Nothing. “What the hell…” She yanked harder. Still wouldn’t budge. Then she spotted it, a shiny reinforced deadbolt that hadn’t been there yesterday.

He didn’t. Oh, he did.

Her fingers curled into fists as she snatched her phone off the counter, stabbed Bucky’s name, and pressed it to her ear with vengeance. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice came through, far too casual. “You feeling okay? Took your meds yet?”

“Did you fucking lock me in the apartment?” A pause. “…Technically, yes.”

“Technically? Bucky, are you serious?!”

“I didn’t want you sneaking out again-”

“So you locked me inside? Like a child?!” she yelled. “And what the hell is this lock? I’ve never even seen one like that!”

“Stark gave it to me. It works with my phone,” he replied, tone maddeningly even—but she caught the thread of guilt hiding under it. “You’re still recovering. I figured this way you wouldn’t feel tempted.”

“Tempted?! I wasn’t planning a fucking jailbreak! I was answering the door! The postman knocked, and I couldn’t even get to him because my insane cyborg boyfriend decided to imprison me in my own goddamn home!”

“I wouldn’t call it imprison-”

“If you are not back here in ten minutes to unlock this door, James Buchanan Barnes, I will rip it off its hinges with my bare hands, stitches be damned, and when I’m done, I’m throwing it at you.” He let out a long sigh. “You’re overreacting.”

“I am two seconds from climbing out the window. I swear to God-”

“Don’t you dare climb anything,” he snapped, all soldier now, no boyfriend. His voice cut sharp with panic. “You’ll tear your ribs open.”

“Then maybe don’t lock me inside!”

There was silence on the other end. “Okay. Okay, I’m coming. I’m two blocks away. Just… sit down, alright? Don’t do anything stupid.” “Too late. I live with you.” She hung up.

By the time Bucky came through the door, slightly breathless, she was sitting on the floor in front of it, arms crossed, crutch lying dramatically beside her, and a scowl that could kill a man. Possibly had. He barely got one foot inside before she began. 

“You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do. I’m hurt, Bucky. Not broken. Not fragile. You don’t get to put locks on me just because you’re scared, if I’ll bleed a little.”

“I’m not scared of you bleeding,” he said, closing the door behind him softly. “I’m scared of walking in one day and finding out I’m too late. That I could’ve stopped it. That I should’ve done something.” Her breath caught. That hit harder than she expected. “I know you’re angry,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “I know it’s not fair. But I can’t lose you. Not after everything. So yeah, I locked the door. Because it was the only thing I could control.”

“I’m not yours to control,” she whispered.

“No,” he agreed, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not. But you’re someone I care about more than I’ve let myself admit. And watching you pretend you’re not in pain? Watching you try to act like you’re not terrified of staying still long enough to feel it? It’s killing me.” The silence between them thickened. Pressed in from every side. Finally, she let out a slow, shaking breath. “Next time,” she said, voice softer but still sharp, “you ask. You tell me what you’re afraid of. You don’t build a cage and throw away the key.” Bucky nodded. “Deal.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing her knee. “Can I help you up?” She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. And for the first time since the injury, she let him hold her weight not because she had to, but because she chose to.

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She woke up angry, irritated. The kind of simmering, inexplicable rage that built overnight like a storm cloud gathering in her chest and focused on the man lying next to her.

Bucky Barnes. Her stupidly handsome, tragically oblivious boyfriend.

There he was, stretched out beside her in the early morning light like some goddamn painting—hair tousled, face peaceful, lips parted just slightly in sleep. And worst of all?

Smiling. Smiling in his sleep. She narrowed her eyes.

What the hell did he have to smile about? After locking her in for “her own safety”? No. Absolutely not. Not today.

She stared at him, arms crossed under the blanket like some vengeful queen. Her jaw set, brow twitching. And in that moment, she silently declared war.

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Bucky Barnes had been through torture. Literal, psychological, physical. Hydra had broken him in ways no one could imagine. But this? This was worse. Because Y/N wasn’t yelling anymore. She wasn’t glaring or threatening to throw things at him. No. Now she was smiling. Sweetly. Politely. At everyone but him. They come back to the apartment from the hospital for follow-up checks, and it was killing him.

“Need anything, doll?” he asked from the kitchen as she hobbled into the living room. She didn’t answer. Just walked right past him like he didn’t exist, grabbed her water bottle from the table, and turned around without so much as a glance. “Cool. Great talk,” he mumbled to himself, frowning.

Later, he made her tea, just the way she liked it, down to the exact number of seconds the honey stirred in. He set it carefully beside her on the coffee table.

“Thought you might want some.” No response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. He sat down beside her on the couch, arms crossed, giving her the look—that soft, pleading, “please just look at me” kind of look. She flipped a page in her book. Not even a twitch. Bucky stood up and started pacing. He tried compliments. “Your hair looks nice today.” Nothing.

He tried humour. “Hey, you know what’s worse than getting glared at by you? Getting ignored by you.” Still nothing. The worst part? She smirked. Not a smile. A full-blown smug, evil, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing-to-you smirk. Just for a second. Before she hid it behind her water bottle.

He groaned and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I deserve this. I totally deserve this. But if you’re going to treat me like a ghost, at least haunt me back, say something creepy. Anything.” Silence. He was losing it.

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By lunchtime, Bucky was practically begging. “Do you want grilled cheese or soup?” he asked, hovering in the doorway. “Or… both? Or whatever you want. Steak? Lasagna? I’ll cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner if you so much as blink in my direction.” She was texting. Smiling. Not at him. He collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “This is psychological warfare. I hope you know that. I trained for this kind of thing in a lab.” She leaned over, grabbed the remote… and handed it to him without a word. Now that was just cruel. Bucky stared at her for a long, tortured second. “You’re enjoying this.” She gave the faintest shrug. Elegant. Dismissive. Like he was a waiter who forgot the sauce. “Y/N.” Nothing. “Sweetheart.” Still nothing. “Please.” She finally turned to him, her voice soft, sweet, and deadly calm. “You locked me in an apartment like Rapunzel and expected me to what? Bake cookies and thank you for it?”

“I apologized,” he said, arms spread in surrender. “Multiple times.”

“You did,” she nodded, thoughtful. “And I’m accepting that apology. Silently. Over a few days. Possibly a week or two.”

“A week or two?” He looked horrified. “You can’t be serious.” She smiled.

Then she stood, slapped his reaching hand away with a smirk, and walked off. Shoulders relaxed, victorious.

Bucky slumped back onto the couch and let his head fall against the cushion. He was in hell. And the worst part? He couldn’t even complain about it. Those few words might be the only ones he’d hear for the next week.

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“Please talk to me.” Bucky’s voice from the kitchen doorway sounded almost painful. Raw. Like someone scraping at a wound that refused to heal.

She didn’t flinch. She scrolled. Instagram was so interesting that morning. He stepped closer, desperation creeping into his tone.

“Sweetheart. I’m dying here.” She gave him a perfectly neutral glance and then calmly returned her attention to her phone. Like he was nothing more than background noise. Faint. Barely tolerable.

“You can punch me,” he offered, growing more frantic. “Stab me. Shoot me in the leg. You’ve done all of that before.” Silence. “I’ll let you aim for the vibranium side. No complaints.” Still nothing. “You wanna go through my phone? Break it? Read my group chat with Sam and Steve? You’ll see I said you were the hottest Avenger. Even while limping.” No reaction. Bucky dragged a hand down his face and groaned, pacing like a man on the verge of collapse.

“I miss you, dammit. I miss your voice. I miss your death glares. I even miss the way you insult me when I leave the toilet seat up.” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee. The kind of sip that was choreographed for maximum psychological damage. He stared like she’d just stabbed him.

“Are you really-are you timing that sip for dramatic effect?” Still no answer. He flopped onto the floor across from her, limbs sprawled like a dying man in a battlefield. “Okay. Fine. I deserve this. I deserve every second of it. But I’m losing my mind. Do you want that on your conscience?” She scrolled again. “I googled how long the silent treatment is supposed to last in a healthy relationship,” he said, completely serious. She didn’t look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched—barely. He saw it. He pounced. “Aha! You smirked. I saw it. You’re cracking.” She locked eyes with him for two long, silent seconds. Then picked up her phone again. Scrolled. His head dropped to the floor with a dramatic thump. “I’m gonna die like this.” She stood up without a word, empty mug in hand, and walked toward the kitchen. Bucky rolled over to watch her leave like a starving man watching someone walk away with the last piece of bread on earth. “I’ll do anything,” he called after her. “I’ll do the laundry and fold it. I’ll let you win at Mario Kart. I’ll wear that stupid shirt you like. The pink one. With the hearts.” No response. Just the clink of her mug on the counter. “I’ll sleep on the couch for a week,” he tried. “Or the floor. Hell, I’ll sleep standing up in the hallway if it makes you feel better.” Still nothing. “I’ll shave the beard.” Her head snapped around. She stared at him. He froze. “Too far?” She raised an eyebrow. He held up both hands in surrender. “I take it back.”

She walked back into the living room slow, deliberate, like a queen returning to her throne. Bucky scrambled to his knees in front of the couch, like a knight begging for mercy.

“Please, baby. Talk to me. Tell me I’m an idiot. Tell me I’m the worst boyfriend in the world. Just—please. Anything.” She leaned in close, her eyes dark, calm, and unreadable. He blinked. “What?” Then she leaned back with a wicked smile, crossed her arms, and went completely silent again. His head dropped onto the couch cushion with a groan of pure defeat. “I fucking love you, but this is actual hell.” She reached for the remote. Turned on reality TV. He whimpered.

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The apartment was filled with an almost unbearable quiet that morning. Bucky moved around like a ghost careful, quiet but she didn’t glance up once from the book resting limply in her hands. Her jaw remained tight, lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. The only sound came from the occasional turn of a page, though even that felt reluctant, like a task she didn’t want to be doing.

He had tried, several times, to reach out. A soft “Hey.” A gentle touch on her shoulder. Even a joke about how she could win the “Most Stubborn Patient” award.

Nothing.

He eventually settled on the couch across from her, arms folded, eyes soft but determined. “I get it,” he said quietly. “You’re mad. You don’t want to feel like you need me.” She gave him a pointed look but said nothing. “And you’re right,” he continued. “You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.” She scoffed under her breath but didn’t look away. “But even strong people need someone to lean on sometimes. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you try to push me away.”

Her lips twitched, just barely, into a ghost of a smile. He grinned, that slow, easy grin that softened every line on his face. “I’m not going anywhere. Silent treatment or not.”

She closed the book, finally setting it aside but still said nothing.

He hadn’t been touched, smiled at, or spoken to in too many days. And while he’d lived through decades of torture. This was worse.

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So that morning, when she walked past him in the hallway without even glancing in his direction wearing that oversized hoodie that always made his brain short-circuit, Bucky finally snapped.

He followed her. She sat down on the couch with her coffee, scrolling through her phone, looking maddeningly unbothered. And Bucky, with dark circles under his eyes and a desperate kind of tension riding high on his shoulders, just stood in front of her like a kicked puppy.

Then, dead serious, he dropped to his knees. Again. She blinked. Paused. She was forced to speak because she was too stunned.

“…What are you doing.”

“Begging,” he said, without hesitation. “Absolutely begging.”

“Bucky-”

“No, no. I can’t do this anymore,” he rushed out, voice frantic, eyes wide, hands hovering like he couldn’t decide whether to grab her hands or kneel at her feet. “You win, okay? You win. I’m going insane. You haven’t looked at me in days. I haven’t heard your laugh. You didn’t even tell me I put too much pepper in the eggs. You always tell me that.” She stared at him, the smile tugging at her lips clearly trying to break through. “Maybe I liked the eggs.” He groaned and collapsed forward, burying his face in her lap. “No. No. Please don’t say that. That’s even worse. I burnt them.”

She let her fingers hover near his hair. He didn’t move just let out a miserable sound against her thigh. “I’m sorry I locked you in. It was stupid. Controlling. I was scared and I handled it horribly. You have every right to be pissed at me. To ignore me. To punish me but please, sweetheart. Say something. Yell at me. Threaten to punch me. Anything. I just need you to come back to me.”

There was a long pause. “I’ll do anything for you, doll. Just say the word.”

Then, finally, her fingers threaded through his hair. Slow. Gentle. She tugged just enough to make him lift his head and meet her eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?” she asked softly. “Even when I’m pissed, I’m yours, Bucky. I’m always yours.” He let out a breath like he’d been drowning for days. “You’re gonna make me cry,” he muttered, voice cracking. “You deserve it.” A shaky laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I do.” She cupped his face in both hands and leaned down, finally, finally, pressing her forehead to his. “But don’t ever lock me in again.”

“Never,” he promised immediately. “Even if I’m being a menace.”

“Especially then.” She smiled. And then she kissed him. And Bucky? He swore he’d never piss her off again.

(He absolutely would. But next time, he’d beg better.)

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She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, one brow arching, lips quirking with a glint of mischief. “Anything, you said?” she asked, voice light and teasing. Bucky blinked, still catching his breath, the weight of everything she’d just said sinking in—but the spark in her tone made his heart stutter for a different reason now. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I did say that. Didn’t I?” She nodded slowly, her fingers brushing along his jaw. “Dangerous thing to promise, Barnes.” He tilted his head, voice low and playful. “I like danger.”

“Oh yeah?” Her nose brushed his as she leaned in. “Good. Because I’m thinking… foot rubs for a week. No complaints.” He snorted. “A week?”

“At least. And dessert on demand.”

“Done.”

“And you’ll watch that show I love and never complain about the plot holes again.” His lips twitched. “You drive a hard bargain.” She smiled sweetly. “You said anything.” He let out a dramatic sigh, then pulled her closer. “I did. And I meant it. Foot rubs, dessert, plot holes and all. I’m yours.” She kissed him again, grinning against his lips. “Good. You remember that next time you even think about locking a door on me.”

“I will,” he said softly. “I swear.” Pause. “But I’m still not crying at the season finale.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that, Barnes.”

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True to his word, Bucky didn’t just do what she asked he went above and beyond. Every night, like clockwork, he rubbed her feet with quiet devotion. He brought her dessert without being asked, sometimes even trying to bake something himself, usually ending in minor disaster. Chocolate smudges on his cheek and that sheepish grin that made her knees weak. He sat through her favourite show, biting his tongue through every absurd twist, one arm around her, kissing her temple every time she lit up over a scene. But more than anything, it was how he looked at her now, like blinking might cost him a moment too precious to lose. Like losing her again wasn’t an option.

And one night, after a long shower and a lot of laughter over burnt cookies, he walked into the bedroom wearing only a towel and a determined look in his eyes. She lay curled up under the sheets, scrolling her phone. When she looked up and saw him hair still wet, chest bare, eyes dark with want. She felt the shift in the air. “Need anything else, doll?” he asked, voice teasing, but with something heavier beneath. She tilted her head, smirking. “Still holding you to that ‘anything’ promise?” He stalked over, towel hanging low, muscles flexing as he moved. “Then tell me what you want.” Her phone hit the nightstand with a soft thud. “You,” she said.

That was all he needed. He crawled onto the bed slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. His hands braced on either side of her hips as he kissed her slow, deep, reverent. She tangled her fingers in his damp hair, pulling him closer. The towel dropped unnoticed. When he moved over her, when her back arched and his name slipped from her lips like a prayer. It was forgiveness. It was claiming. It was love.

Wrapped in his arms, her bare back traced gently by his fingers, he whispered into her hair, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, you know.” She kissed his collarbone. “You already are.” He hovered above her again, lips brushing down her jaw before pausing. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured. She cupped his cheek, locking eyes with him. “I’ll tell you. I promise. Just… don’t stop looking at me like that.” His gaze softened. Even as his touch burned, it remained careful, skimming the side of her ribs where bruises still faded. He kissed her again, slower now. One hand propped near her head, the other traced down her thigh, curling behind her knee and pulling her leg around his waist. “God, I missed you,” he breathed. “Touching you like this. Hearing those sounds you make.” She arched into him, guiding his hand to where she ached for more. “Then touch me, Bucky. I’m okay. I want this. You.” He groaned, forehead pressing to hers for a moment before he moved. Every kiss, every motion held intention. He kept the pressure away from her injury, hips moving in slow, devastating rhythm. “You feel so good,” he whispered against her throat. “Missed the way you move under me.” Her fingers dug into his back. “Bucky…” He kissed her through the moan. Still, his hand slid down again, brushing near her side. “I’m okay,” she assured, voice shaking. “You’re not hurting me.” “Not gonna let anything hurt you again,” he murmured. “Ever.” The heat climbed, breaths grew ragged. Their bodies moved as one, slick and desperate. She came first, his name on her lips. He followed, buried against her throat, groaning.

Afterward, he didn’t leave her side. Just tucked the blanket around them and kissed whatever part of her he could reach, temple, shoulder, hand. “Still okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded, lips curving tiredly. “Better than okay.” He smiled, kissed her again, and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done proving myself.”

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Morning came with golden light slipping through the blinds, striping across tangled sheets and sore limbs. She groaned as she swung her legs off the bed. Bad idea. The second her feet touched the floor, a familiar ache bloomed deep in her thighs. Not from her injury. “Oh my God,” she muttered, laughing and wincing all at once. “Worth it.”

She shuffled no, limped, toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee led her to Bucky, shirtless and grinning, flipping pancakes like he hadn’t absolutely wrecked her six hours earlier. He turned as she leaned on the counter with a dramatic sigh. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said innocently. “Sleep okay?” She shot him a flat look. “I would’ve slept like the dead if I didn’t have to fight for my life trying to get out of bed.” His grin widened. “Ah. That kind of sore.” “You planned this.” He held up the spatula. “Swear I didn’t. It started as an apology. Got a little… intense.”

“A little?” He pulled her close, kissing her temple. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I couldn’t form words last night,” she shot back, poking his ribs. He chuckled and nuzzled into her neck. “Do you want ice, or do you want me to carry you around like a princess?” She raised a brow. “You say that like I can’t have both.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.” She kissed his jaw. “Damn right I am. Now hand me coffee before I collapse dramatically.”

He did, with a wink, and already moved to grab her a pillow for the chair. Because yeah, he ruined her but at least he knew how to take care of his mess.

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[kiatjuddae]

I RELATE TO READER A BIT!! HAHAHAH

in the silence, i stayed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader (Y/N) Genre: Hurt/Comfort - Slow Burn - Angst with Fluff - Smut – Humour - Petty!Reader - Angry!Reader - Protective!Bucky - Suffering!Bucky - Domestic Intimacy - Post Argument Reconciliation - Mild Claustrophobia Themes - Silent Treatment - Begging - Soft!Dom Bucky - Mentions of Soreness/Bruising · Implied Aftercare Word count: 5119 Summary: Y/N is an amazing avenger but stubborn as a rock. Bucky, her teammate and boyfriend is worried for her after an injury. He extremely pushed her when she took a decision for her, and she won't take that as well as he think

She returned from the mission with a bloodied side and a stubborn fire in her eyes that made Bucky want to scream. “You need rest,” he had said the second they stepped through the door, practically carrying her inside. “I’m fine,” she had hissed through gritted teeth, brushing off the crimson soaking through her suit.

Now, twenty-four hours later, he stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her. She sat on the couch with one leg propped up in a brace, a book in her lap that she clearly wasn’t reading. Her jaw was clenched. Her eyes stared straight ahead like she was trying to will her body back into shape with pure defiance. Bucky sighed and walked over with the tea.

“Here,” he said, holding the mug out. She didn’t even glance at him. “I told you, I don’t need-”

“You need to drink something other than your own frustration.” That earned him a look. Sharp. Tired. Vulnerable, in a way she tried to hide. “Thanks,” she muttered, finally taking the mug from his hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, and Bucky noticed the way she subtly shifted to hide a wince as she moved. He sat down beside her, giving her space but staying close enough that his presence felt solid. Steady. “You’re not weak for letting someone help you,” he said quietly. “I’m not helpless,” she snapped, the words hitting too hard, too fast. “I know that” he said, calm and unwavering. “You’re the strongest person I know. But even the strongest need a break. Hell, you almost got yourself killed out there. And if I hadn’t-” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

She stared down into her tea, fingers clenched around the mug. Her mouth opened, then closed. It took her a second to find her voice. “I don’t like feeling useless,” she said finally. Her voice cracked on the last word. That shattered him more than any scream would have.

“You’re not useless. You’re injured,” he said gently. “There’s a difference. And if it were me in your place, you’d have dragged me to bed by now and threatened to tie me to the damn headboard if I so much as looked at the door.” Her lips twitched despite herself. “Not my worst idea.”

“Not your best either,” he said with a faint smile, brushing his knuckles over her shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, doll. I already know you’d go through hell for the team. For me.”

She looked at him then, really looked, and something in her hardened expression gave way.

“I hate feeling like this,” she admitted. The words came out in a whisper. “I know,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. “But I’m here. Let me be here for you.” She hesitated. Then, without warning, she leaned into his chest, letting the mug slip onto the coffee table with a soft clink. Bucky froze for half a second before wrapping his arms around her, slow and careful. One hand settled just above the bandaged wound on her side, the other pressed gently between her shoulder blades. “Okay,” she whispered. “Just… for a little while.” He rested his chin on top of her head and closed his eyes. “For as long as you need,” he whispered back.

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The next morning, the apartment was quiet when she opens the door. Too quiet.

She winced slightly as she stepped inside, carefully closing it behind her. The cool morning air feels incredible against her skin, and she only walked around the block. Maybe two. But the limp in her step got worse, and the dull ache in her side became a pulsing reminder that she disobeyed direct doctor’s orders. And Bucky’s orders. Not that she planned to tell him that.

But when she turned the corner toward the living room, she froze. He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, head low like he’s been there for hours. The look he gave her was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw was razor-sharp.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked.

His voice is low. Controlled. Which is worse than yelling.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She tried again.

“Just needed some air. I didn’t go far.”

“You're not here when I get back.” He stood slowly. “Your crutches are gone. Your phone is off.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” His eyes burn cold. “You’re limping harder than you were last night. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

When he left the apartment last night for a last-minute recon on a suspected Hydra factory, she was already limping but she let him go. He called later, promising to return by late morning. And at dawn, she decided sneaking out to enjoy the sunrise and a few quiet blocks of fresh air.

“I’ll come back before he gets here,” she though.

She gritted her teeth. “You don’t get to babysit me, Bucky. I needed to clear my head.”

“And I need to not walk in here thinking someone took you, or you bled out somewhere, or that I should’ve stayed instead of trusting you’d rest like you promised.”

That stopped her. The fire in his voice faded into something heavier, darker. A flicker of fear. She looked at him again and realized he was scared. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just terrified.

“Buck…”

“I’m not mad you left,” he said, quieter now. “I’m mad you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to say, ‘Hey, I need to get out for a minute.’ You don’t have to keep pretending you’re invincible. Not with me.” Her chest twisted painfully, and this time it wasn’t from the bruised ribs. “I’m not thinking,” she admitted. “I just… I hate feeling stuck. Weak. I need to move, to feel normal for five minutes. I don’t think it’d scare you.” “You think I care if you’re weak?” he asked, stepping closer. “You’re bleeding and limping and probably tore your stitches, but you still look like you’d bite someone’s head off if they tried to help. That’s not weak, sweetheart. That’s stubborn as hell.” She huffed a laugh, then winced and grabbed her side instinctively. That’s all the opening he needed. Bucky moved to her side in an instant, his metal arm curling around her waist like it’s second nature. He guided her to the couch before she can argue. She dropped onto it with a groan and let her head fall back against the cushion.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You’re forgiven,” he said after a beat. “But you’re still not moving for the rest of the day.”

“Bucky-”

“I’ll glue you to this damn couch.”

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her head toward him.

“You don’t have any glue.”

“I have zip ties. And Sam owes me a favor.”

That made her laugh, and the sound released the tight coil in his chest. He sat beside her, and for a moment, she leaned into him just enough that their shoulders touch. His warmth sinks into her.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she said quietly.

He turned his head to meet her eyes.

“You’re not. You’re mine to worry about. Let me do that.”

And in that moment despite the ache, despite the shame, despite the stubbornness she let him.

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The morning sun peeked through the curtains when she limped into the kitchen, a crutch under one arm, hair in a messy bun, still sore but determined to exist somewhere other than the couch. The postman knocked, like he always did, since the buzzer had been broken for weeks. 

“Postman. I left the pack on the mat,” he called through the door, then walked away. She reached for the handle.

Locked.

Her brows furrowed. She tried again. Turned the bolt. Nothing. “What the hell…” She yanked harder. Still wouldn’t budge. Then she spotted it, a shiny reinforced deadbolt that hadn’t been there yesterday.

He didn’t. Oh, he did.

Her fingers curled into fists as she snatched her phone off the counter, stabbed Bucky’s name, and pressed it to her ear with vengeance. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice came through, far too casual. “You feeling okay? Took your meds yet?”

“Did you fucking lock me in the apartment?” A pause. “…Technically, yes.”

“Technically? Bucky, are you serious?!”

“I didn’t want you sneaking out again-”

“So you locked me inside? Like a child?!” she yelled. “And what the hell is this lock? I’ve never even seen one like that!”

“Stark gave it to me. It works with my phone,” he replied, tone maddeningly even—but she caught the thread of guilt hiding under it. “You’re still recovering. I figured this way you wouldn’t feel tempted.”

“Tempted?! I wasn’t planning a fucking jailbreak! I was answering the door! The postman knocked, and I couldn’t even get to him because my insane cyborg boyfriend decided to imprison me in my own goddamn home!”

“I wouldn’t call it imprison-”

“If you are not back here in ten minutes to unlock this door, James Buchanan Barnes, I will rip it off its hinges with my bare hands, stitches be damned, and when I’m done, I’m throwing it at you.” He let out a long sigh. “You’re overreacting.”

“I am two seconds from climbing out the window. I swear to God-”

“Don’t you dare climb anything,” he snapped, all soldier now, no boyfriend. His voice cut sharp with panic. “You’ll tear your ribs open.”

“Then maybe don’t lock me inside!”

There was silence on the other end. “Okay. Okay, I’m coming. I’m two blocks away. Just… sit down, alright? Don’t do anything stupid.” “Too late. I live with you.” She hung up.

By the time Bucky came through the door, slightly breathless, she was sitting on the floor in front of it, arms crossed, crutch lying dramatically beside her, and a scowl that could kill a man. Possibly had. He barely got one foot inside before she began. 

“You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do. I’m hurt, Bucky. Not broken. Not fragile. You don’t get to put locks on me just because you’re scared, if I’ll bleed a little.”

“I’m not scared of you bleeding,” he said, closing the door behind him softly. “I’m scared of walking in one day and finding out I’m too late. That I could’ve stopped it. That I should’ve done something.” Her breath caught. That hit harder than she expected. “I know you’re angry,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “I know it’s not fair. But I can’t lose you. Not after everything. So yeah, I locked the door. Because it was the only thing I could control.”

“I’m not yours to control,” she whispered.

“No,” he agreed, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not. But you’re someone I care about more than I’ve let myself admit. And watching you pretend you’re not in pain? Watching you try to act like you’re not terrified of staying still long enough to feel it? It’s killing me.” The silence between them thickened. Pressed in from every side. Finally, she let out a slow, shaking breath. “Next time,” she said, voice softer but still sharp, “you ask. You tell me what you’re afraid of. You don’t build a cage and throw away the key.” Bucky nodded. “Deal.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing her knee. “Can I help you up?” She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. And for the first time since the injury, she let him hold her weight not because she had to, but because she chose to.

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She woke up angry, irritated. The kind of simmering, inexplicable rage that built overnight like a storm cloud gathering in her chest and focused on the man lying next to her.

Bucky Barnes. Her stupidly handsome, tragically oblivious boyfriend.

There he was, stretched out beside her in the early morning light like some goddamn painting—hair tousled, face peaceful, lips parted just slightly in sleep. And worst of all?

Smiling. Smiling in his sleep. She narrowed her eyes.

What the hell did he have to smile about? After locking her in for “her own safety”? No. Absolutely not. Not today.

She stared at him, arms crossed under the blanket like some vengeful queen. Her jaw set, brow twitching. And in that moment, she silently declared war.

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Bucky Barnes had been through torture. Literal, psychological, physical. Hydra had broken him in ways no one could imagine. But this? This was worse. Because Y/N wasn’t yelling anymore. She wasn’t glaring or threatening to throw things at him. No. Now she was smiling. Sweetly. Politely. At everyone but him. They come back to the apartment from the hospital for follow-up checks, and it was killing him.

“Need anything, doll?” he asked from the kitchen as she hobbled into the living room. She didn’t answer. Just walked right past him like he didn’t exist, grabbed her water bottle from the table, and turned around without so much as a glance. “Cool. Great talk,” he mumbled to himself, frowning.

Later, he made her tea, just the way she liked it, down to the exact number of seconds the honey stirred in. He set it carefully beside her on the coffee table.

“Thought you might want some.” No response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. He sat down beside her on the couch, arms crossed, giving her the look—that soft, pleading, “please just look at me” kind of look. She flipped a page in her book. Not even a twitch. Bucky stood up and started pacing. He tried compliments. “Your hair looks nice today.” Nothing.

He tried humour. “Hey, you know what’s worse than getting glared at by you? Getting ignored by you.” Still nothing. The worst part? She smirked. Not a smile. A full-blown smug, evil, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing-to-you smirk. Just for a second. Before she hid it behind her water bottle.

He groaned and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I deserve this. I totally deserve this. But if you’re going to treat me like a ghost, at least haunt me back, say something creepy. Anything.” Silence. He was losing it.

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By lunchtime, Bucky was practically begging. “Do you want grilled cheese or soup?” he asked, hovering in the doorway. “Or… both? Or whatever you want. Steak? Lasagna? I’ll cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner if you so much as blink in my direction.” She was texting. Smiling. Not at him. He collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “This is psychological warfare. I hope you know that. I trained for this kind of thing in a lab.” She leaned over, grabbed the remote… and handed it to him without a word. Now that was just cruel. Bucky stared at her for a long, tortured second. “You’re enjoying this.” She gave the faintest shrug. Elegant. Dismissive. Like he was a waiter who forgot the sauce. “Y/N.” Nothing. “Sweetheart.” Still nothing. “Please.” She finally turned to him, her voice soft, sweet, and deadly calm. “You locked me in an apartment like Rapunzel and expected me to what? Bake cookies and thank you for it?”

“I apologized,” he said, arms spread in surrender. “Multiple times.”

“You did,” she nodded, thoughtful. “And I’m accepting that apology. Silently. Over a few days. Possibly a week or two.”

“A week or two?” He looked horrified. “You can’t be serious.” She smiled.

Then she stood, slapped his reaching hand away with a smirk, and walked off. Shoulders relaxed, victorious.

Bucky slumped back onto the couch and let his head fall against the cushion. He was in hell. And the worst part? He couldn’t even complain about it. Those few words might be the only ones he’d hear for the next week.

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“Please talk to me.” Bucky’s voice from the kitchen doorway sounded almost painful. Raw. Like someone scraping at a wound that refused to heal.

She didn’t flinch. She scrolled. Instagram was so interesting that morning. He stepped closer, desperation creeping into his tone.

“Sweetheart. I’m dying here.” She gave him a perfectly neutral glance and then calmly returned her attention to her phone. Like he was nothing more than background noise. Faint. Barely tolerable.

“You can punch me,” he offered, growing more frantic. “Stab me. Shoot me in the leg. You’ve done all of that before.” Silence. “I’ll let you aim for the vibranium side. No complaints.” Still nothing. “You wanna go through my phone? Break it? Read my group chat with Sam and Steve? You’ll see I said you were the hottest Avenger. Even while limping.” No reaction. Bucky dragged a hand down his face and groaned, pacing like a man on the verge of collapse.

“I miss you, dammit. I miss your voice. I miss your death glares. I even miss the way you insult me when I leave the toilet seat up.” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee. The kind of sip that was choreographed for maximum psychological damage. He stared like she’d just stabbed him.

“Are you really-are you timing that sip for dramatic effect?” Still no answer. He flopped onto the floor across from her, limbs sprawled like a dying man in a battlefield. “Okay. Fine. I deserve this. I deserve every second of it. But I’m losing my mind. Do you want that on your conscience?” She scrolled again. “I googled how long the silent treatment is supposed to last in a healthy relationship,” he said, completely serious. She didn’t look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched—barely. He saw it. He pounced. “Aha! You smirked. I saw it. You’re cracking.” She locked eyes with him for two long, silent seconds. Then picked up her phone again. Scrolled. His head dropped to the floor with a dramatic thump. “I’m gonna die like this.” She stood up without a word, empty mug in hand, and walked toward the kitchen. Bucky rolled over to watch her leave like a starving man watching someone walk away with the last piece of bread on earth. “I’ll do anything,” he called after her. “I’ll do the laundry and fold it. I’ll let you win at Mario Kart. I’ll wear that stupid shirt you like. The pink one. With the hearts.” No response. Just the clink of her mug on the counter. “I’ll sleep on the couch for a week,” he tried. “Or the floor. Hell, I’ll sleep standing up in the hallway if it makes you feel better.” Still nothing. “I’ll shave the beard.” Her head snapped around. She stared at him. He froze. “Too far?” She raised an eyebrow. He held up both hands in surrender. “I take it back.”

She walked back into the living room slow, deliberate, like a queen returning to her throne. Bucky scrambled to his knees in front of the couch, like a knight begging for mercy.

“Please, baby. Talk to me. Tell me I’m an idiot. Tell me I’m the worst boyfriend in the world. Just—please. Anything.” She leaned in close, her eyes dark, calm, and unreadable. He blinked. “What?” Then she leaned back with a wicked smile, crossed her arms, and went completely silent again. His head dropped onto the couch cushion with a groan of pure defeat. “I fucking love you, but this is actual hell.” She reached for the remote. Turned on reality TV. He whimpered.

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The apartment was filled with an almost unbearable quiet that morning. Bucky moved around like a ghost careful, quiet but she didn’t glance up once from the book resting limply in her hands. Her jaw remained tight, lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. The only sound came from the occasional turn of a page, though even that felt reluctant, like a task she didn’t want to be doing.

He had tried, several times, to reach out. A soft “Hey.” A gentle touch on her shoulder. Even a joke about how she could win the “Most Stubborn Patient” award.

Nothing.

He eventually settled on the couch across from her, arms folded, eyes soft but determined. “I get it,” he said quietly. “You’re mad. You don’t want to feel like you need me.” She gave him a pointed look but said nothing. “And you’re right,” he continued. “You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.” She scoffed under her breath but didn’t look away. “But even strong people need someone to lean on sometimes. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you try to push me away.”

Her lips twitched, just barely, into a ghost of a smile. He grinned, that slow, easy grin that softened every line on his face. “I’m not going anywhere. Silent treatment or not.”

She closed the book, finally setting it aside but still said nothing.

He hadn’t been touched, smiled at, or spoken to in too many days. And while he’d lived through decades of torture. This was worse.

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So that morning, when she walked past him in the hallway without even glancing in his direction wearing that oversized hoodie that always made his brain short-circuit, Bucky finally snapped.

He followed her. She sat down on the couch with her coffee, scrolling through her phone, looking maddeningly unbothered. And Bucky, with dark circles under his eyes and a desperate kind of tension riding high on his shoulders, just stood in front of her like a kicked puppy.

Then, dead serious, he dropped to his knees. Again. She blinked. Paused. She was forced to speak because she was too stunned.

“…What are you doing.”

“Begging,” he said, without hesitation. “Absolutely begging.”

“Bucky-”

“No, no. I can’t do this anymore,” he rushed out, voice frantic, eyes wide, hands hovering like he couldn’t decide whether to grab her hands or kneel at her feet. “You win, okay? You win. I’m going insane. You haven’t looked at me in days. I haven’t heard your laugh. You didn’t even tell me I put too much pepper in the eggs. You always tell me that.” She stared at him, the smile tugging at her lips clearly trying to break through. “Maybe I liked the eggs.” He groaned and collapsed forward, burying his face in her lap. “No. No. Please don’t say that. That’s even worse. I burnt them.”

She let her fingers hover near his hair. He didn’t move just let out a miserable sound against her thigh. “I’m sorry I locked you in. It was stupid. Controlling. I was scared and I handled it horribly. You have every right to be pissed at me. To ignore me. To punish me but please, sweetheart. Say something. Yell at me. Threaten to punch me. Anything. I just need you to come back to me.”

There was a long pause. “I’ll do anything for you, doll. Just say the word.”

Then, finally, her fingers threaded through his hair. Slow. Gentle. She tugged just enough to make him lift his head and meet her eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?” she asked softly. “Even when I’m pissed, I’m yours, Bucky. I’m always yours.” He let out a breath like he’d been drowning for days. “You’re gonna make me cry,” he muttered, voice cracking. “You deserve it.” A shaky laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I do.” She cupped his face in both hands and leaned down, finally, finally, pressing her forehead to his. “But don’t ever lock me in again.”

“Never,” he promised immediately. “Even if I’m being a menace.”

“Especially then.” She smiled. And then she kissed him. And Bucky? He swore he’d never piss her off again.

(He absolutely would. But next time, he’d beg better.)

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She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, one brow arching, lips quirking with a glint of mischief. “Anything, you said?” she asked, voice light and teasing. Bucky blinked, still catching his breath, the weight of everything she’d just said sinking in—but the spark in her tone made his heart stutter for a different reason now. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I did say that. Didn’t I?” She nodded slowly, her fingers brushing along his jaw. “Dangerous thing to promise, Barnes.” He tilted his head, voice low and playful. “I like danger.”

“Oh yeah?” Her nose brushed his as she leaned in. “Good. Because I’m thinking… foot rubs for a week. No complaints.” He snorted. “A week?”

“At least. And dessert on demand.”

“Done.”

“And you’ll watch that show I love and never complain about the plot holes again.” His lips twitched. “You drive a hard bargain.” She smiled sweetly. “You said anything.” He let out a dramatic sigh, then pulled her closer. “I did. And I meant it. Foot rubs, dessert, plot holes and all. I’m yours.” She kissed him again, grinning against his lips. “Good. You remember that next time you even think about locking a door on me.”

“I will,” he said softly. “I swear.” Pause. “But I’m still not crying at the season finale.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that, Barnes.”

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True to his word, Bucky didn’t just do what she asked he went above and beyond. Every night, like clockwork, he rubbed her feet with quiet devotion. He brought her dessert without being asked, sometimes even trying to bake something himself, usually ending in minor disaster. Chocolate smudges on his cheek and that sheepish grin that made her knees weak. He sat through her favourite show, biting his tongue through every absurd twist, one arm around her, kissing her temple every time she lit up over a scene. But more than anything, it was how he looked at her now, like blinking might cost him a moment too precious to lose. Like losing her again wasn’t an option.

And one night, after a long shower and a lot of laughter over burnt cookies, he walked into the bedroom wearing only a towel and a determined look in his eyes. She lay curled up under the sheets, scrolling her phone. When she looked up and saw him hair still wet, chest bare, eyes dark with want. She felt the shift in the air. “Need anything else, doll?” he asked, voice teasing, but with something heavier beneath. She tilted her head, smirking. “Still holding you to that ‘anything’ promise?” He stalked over, towel hanging low, muscles flexing as he moved. “Then tell me what you want.” Her phone hit the nightstand with a soft thud. “You,” she said.

That was all he needed. He crawled onto the bed slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. His hands braced on either side of her hips as he kissed her slow, deep, reverent. She tangled her fingers in his damp hair, pulling him closer. The towel dropped unnoticed. When he moved over her, when her back arched and his name slipped from her lips like a prayer. It was forgiveness. It was claiming. It was love.

Wrapped in his arms, her bare back traced gently by his fingers, he whispered into her hair, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, you know.” She kissed his collarbone. “You already are.” He hovered above her again, lips brushing down her jaw before pausing. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured. She cupped his cheek, locking eyes with him. “I’ll tell you. I promise. Just… don’t stop looking at me like that.” His gaze softened. Even as his touch burned, it remained careful, skimming the side of her ribs where bruises still faded. He kissed her again, slower now. One hand propped near her head, the other traced down her thigh, curling behind her knee and pulling her leg around his waist. “God, I missed you,” he breathed. “Touching you like this. Hearing those sounds you make.” She arched into him, guiding his hand to where she ached for more. “Then touch me, Bucky. I’m okay. I want this. You.” He groaned, forehead pressing to hers for a moment before he moved. Every kiss, every motion held intention. He kept the pressure away from her injury, hips moving in slow, devastating rhythm. “You feel so good,” he whispered against her throat. “Missed the way you move under me.” Her fingers dug into his back. “Bucky…” He kissed her through the moan. Still, his hand slid down again, brushing near her side. “I’m okay,” she assured, voice shaking. “You’re not hurting me.” “Not gonna let anything hurt you again,” he murmured. “Ever.” The heat climbed, breaths grew ragged. Their bodies moved as one, slick and desperate. She came first, his name on her lips. He followed, buried against her throat, groaning.

Afterward, he didn’t leave her side. Just tucked the blanket around them and kissed whatever part of her he could reach, temple, shoulder, hand. “Still okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded, lips curving tiredly. “Better than okay.” He smiled, kissed her again, and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done proving myself.”

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Morning came with golden light slipping through the blinds, striping across tangled sheets and sore limbs. She groaned as she swung her legs off the bed. Bad idea. The second her feet touched the floor, a familiar ache bloomed deep in her thighs. Not from her injury. “Oh my God,” she muttered, laughing and wincing all at once. “Worth it.”

She shuffled no, limped, toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee led her to Bucky, shirtless and grinning, flipping pancakes like he hadn’t absolutely wrecked her six hours earlier. He turned as she leaned on the counter with a dramatic sigh. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said innocently. “Sleep okay?” She shot him a flat look. “I would’ve slept like the dead if I didn’t have to fight for my life trying to get out of bed.” His grin widened. “Ah. That kind of sore.” “You planned this.” He held up the spatula. “Swear I didn’t. It started as an apology. Got a little… intense.”

“A little?” He pulled her close, kissing her temple. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I couldn’t form words last night,” she shot back, poking his ribs. He chuckled and nuzzled into her neck. “Do you want ice, or do you want me to carry you around like a princess?” She raised a brow. “You say that like I can’t have both.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.” She kissed his jaw. “Damn right I am. Now hand me coffee before I collapse dramatically.”

He did, with a wink, and already moved to grab her a pillow for the chair. Because yeah, he ruined her but at least he knew how to take care of his mess.

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[kiatjuddae]

in the silence, i stayed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader (Y/N) Genre: Hurt/Comfort - Slow Burn - Angst with Fluff - Smut – Humour - Petty!Reader - Angry!Reader - Protective!Bucky - Suffering!Bucky - Domestic Intimacy - Post Argument Reconciliation - Mild Claustrophobia Themes - Silent Treatment - Begging - Soft!Dom Bucky - Mentions of Soreness/Bruising · Implied Aftercare Word count: 5119 Summary: Y/N is an amazing avenger but stubborn as a rock. Bucky, her teammate and boyfriend is worried for her after an injury. He extremely pushed her when she took a decision for her, and she won't take that as well as he think

She returned from the mission with a bloodied side and a stubborn fire in her eyes that made Bucky want to scream. “You need rest,” he had said the second they stepped through the door, practically carrying her inside. “I’m fine,” she had hissed through gritted teeth, brushing off the crimson soaking through her suit.

Now, twenty-four hours later, he stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her. She sat on the couch with one leg propped up in a brace, a book in her lap that she clearly wasn’t reading. Her jaw was clenched. Her eyes stared straight ahead like she was trying to will her body back into shape with pure defiance. Bucky sighed and walked over with the tea.

“Here,” he said, holding the mug out. She didn’t even glance at him. “I told you, I don’t need-”

“You need to drink something other than your own frustration.” That earned him a look. Sharp. Tired. Vulnerable, in a way she tried to hide. “Thanks,” she muttered, finally taking the mug from his hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, and Bucky noticed the way she subtly shifted to hide a wince as she moved. He sat down beside her, giving her space but staying close enough that his presence felt solid. Steady. “You’re not weak for letting someone help you,” he said quietly. “I’m not helpless,” she snapped, the words hitting too hard, too fast. “I know that” he said, calm and unwavering. “You’re the strongest person I know. But even the strongest need a break. Hell, you almost got yourself killed out there. And if I hadn’t-” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

She stared down into her tea, fingers clenched around the mug. Her mouth opened, then closed. It took her a second to find her voice. “I don’t like feeling useless,” she said finally. Her voice cracked on the last word. That shattered him more than any scream would have.

“You’re not useless. You’re injured,” he said gently. “There’s a difference. And if it were me in your place, you’d have dragged me to bed by now and threatened to tie me to the damn headboard if I so much as looked at the door.” Her lips twitched despite herself. “Not my worst idea.”

“Not your best either,” he said with a faint smile, brushing his knuckles over her shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, doll. I already know you’d go through hell for the team. For me.”

She looked at him then, really looked, and something in her hardened expression gave way.

“I hate feeling like this,” she admitted. The words came out in a whisper. “I know,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. “But I’m here. Let me be here for you.” She hesitated. Then, without warning, she leaned into his chest, letting the mug slip onto the coffee table with a soft clink. Bucky froze for half a second before wrapping his arms around her, slow and careful. One hand settled just above the bandaged wound on her side, the other pressed gently between her shoulder blades. “Okay,” she whispered. “Just… for a little while.” He rested his chin on top of her head and closed his eyes. “For as long as you need,” he whispered back.

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The next morning, the apartment was quiet when she opens the door. Too quiet.

She winced slightly as she stepped inside, carefully closing it behind her. The cool morning air feels incredible against her skin, and she only walked around the block. Maybe two. But the limp in her step got worse, and the dull ache in her side became a pulsing reminder that she disobeyed direct doctor’s orders. And Bucky’s orders. Not that she planned to tell him that.

But when she turned the corner toward the living room, she froze. He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, head low like he’s been there for hours. The look he gave her was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw was razor-sharp.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked.

His voice is low. Controlled. Which is worse than yelling.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She tried again.

“Just needed some air. I didn’t go far.”

“You're not here when I get back.” He stood slowly. “Your crutches are gone. Your phone is off.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” His eyes burn cold. “You’re limping harder than you were last night. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

When he left the apartment last night for a last-minute recon on a suspected Hydra factory, she was already limping but she let him go. He called later, promising to return by late morning. And at dawn, she decided sneaking out to enjoy the sunrise and a few quiet blocks of fresh air.

“I’ll come back before he gets here,” she though.

She gritted her teeth. “You don’t get to babysit me, Bucky. I needed to clear my head.”

“And I need to not walk in here thinking someone took you, or you bled out somewhere, or that I should’ve stayed instead of trusting you’d rest like you promised.”

That stopped her. The fire in his voice faded into something heavier, darker. A flicker of fear. She looked at him again and realized he was scared. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just terrified.

“Buck…”

“I’m not mad you left,” he said, quieter now. “I’m mad you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to say, ‘Hey, I need to get out for a minute.’ You don’t have to keep pretending you’re invincible. Not with me.” Her chest twisted painfully, and this time it wasn’t from the bruised ribs. “I’m not thinking,” she admitted. “I just… I hate feeling stuck. Weak. I need to move, to feel normal for five minutes. I don’t think it’d scare you.” “You think I care if you’re weak?” he asked, stepping closer. “You’re bleeding and limping and probably tore your stitches, but you still look like you’d bite someone’s head off if they tried to help. That’s not weak, sweetheart. That’s stubborn as hell.” She huffed a laugh, then winced and grabbed her side instinctively. That’s all the opening he needed. Bucky moved to her side in an instant, his metal arm curling around her waist like it’s second nature. He guided her to the couch before she can argue. She dropped onto it with a groan and let her head fall back against the cushion.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You’re forgiven,” he said after a beat. “But you’re still not moving for the rest of the day.”

“Bucky-”

“I’ll glue you to this damn couch.”

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her head toward him.

“You don’t have any glue.”

“I have zip ties. And Sam owes me a favor.”

That made her laugh, and the sound released the tight coil in his chest. He sat beside her, and for a moment, she leaned into him just enough that their shoulders touch. His warmth sinks into her.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she said quietly.

He turned his head to meet her eyes.

“You’re not. You’re mine to worry about. Let me do that.”

And in that moment despite the ache, despite the shame, despite the stubbornness she let him.

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The morning sun peeked through the curtains when she limped into the kitchen, a crutch under one arm, hair in a messy bun, still sore but determined to exist somewhere other than the couch. The postman knocked, like he always did, since the buzzer had been broken for weeks. 

“Postman. I left the pack on the mat,” he called through the door, then walked away. She reached for the handle.

Locked.

Her brows furrowed. She tried again. Turned the bolt. Nothing. “What the hell…” She yanked harder. Still wouldn’t budge. Then she spotted it, a shiny reinforced deadbolt that hadn’t been there yesterday.

He didn’t. Oh, he did.

Her fingers curled into fists as she snatched her phone off the counter, stabbed Bucky’s name, and pressed it to her ear with vengeance. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice came through, far too casual. “You feeling okay? Took your meds yet?”

“Did you fucking lock me in the apartment?” A pause. “…Technically, yes.”

“Technically? Bucky, are you serious?!”

“I didn’t want you sneaking out again-”

“So you locked me inside? Like a child?!” she yelled. “And what the hell is this lock? I’ve never even seen one like that!”

“Stark gave it to me. It works with my phone,” he replied, tone maddeningly even—but she caught the thread of guilt hiding under it. “You’re still recovering. I figured this way you wouldn’t feel tempted.”

“Tempted?! I wasn’t planning a fucking jailbreak! I was answering the door! The postman knocked, and I couldn’t even get to him because my insane cyborg boyfriend decided to imprison me in my own goddamn home!”

“I wouldn’t call it imprison-”

“If you are not back here in ten minutes to unlock this door, James Buchanan Barnes, I will rip it off its hinges with my bare hands, stitches be damned, and when I’m done, I’m throwing it at you.” He let out a long sigh. “You’re overreacting.”

“I am two seconds from climbing out the window. I swear to God-”

“Don’t you dare climb anything,” he snapped, all soldier now, no boyfriend. His voice cut sharp with panic. “You’ll tear your ribs open.”

“Then maybe don’t lock me inside!”

There was silence on the other end. “Okay. Okay, I’m coming. I’m two blocks away. Just… sit down, alright? Don’t do anything stupid.” “Too late. I live with you.” She hung up.

By the time Bucky came through the door, slightly breathless, she was sitting on the floor in front of it, arms crossed, crutch lying dramatically beside her, and a scowl that could kill a man. Possibly had. He barely got one foot inside before she began. 

“You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do. I’m hurt, Bucky. Not broken. Not fragile. You don’t get to put locks on me just because you’re scared, if I’ll bleed a little.”

“I’m not scared of you bleeding,” he said, closing the door behind him softly. “I’m scared of walking in one day and finding out I’m too late. That I could’ve stopped it. That I should’ve done something.” Her breath caught. That hit harder than she expected. “I know you’re angry,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “I know it’s not fair. But I can’t lose you. Not after everything. So yeah, I locked the door. Because it was the only thing I could control.”

“I’m not yours to control,” she whispered.

“No,” he agreed, eyes locked on hers. “You’re not. But you’re someone I care about more than I’ve let myself admit. And watching you pretend you’re not in pain? Watching you try to act like you’re not terrified of staying still long enough to feel it? It’s killing me.” The silence between them thickened. Pressed in from every side. Finally, she let out a slow, shaking breath. “Next time,” she said, voice softer but still sharp, “you ask. You tell me what you’re afraid of. You don’t build a cage and throw away the key.” Bucky nodded. “Deal.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing her knee. “Can I help you up?” She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. And for the first time since the injury, she let him hold her weight not because she had to, but because she chose to.

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She woke up angry, irritated. The kind of simmering, inexplicable rage that built overnight like a storm cloud gathering in her chest and focused on the man lying next to her.

Bucky Barnes. Her stupidly handsome, tragically oblivious boyfriend.

There he was, stretched out beside her in the early morning light like some goddamn painting—hair tousled, face peaceful, lips parted just slightly in sleep. And worst of all?

Smiling. Smiling in his sleep. She narrowed her eyes.

What the hell did he have to smile about? After locking her in for “her own safety”? No. Absolutely not. Not today.

She stared at him, arms crossed under the blanket like some vengeful queen. Her jaw set, brow twitching. And in that moment, she silently declared war.

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Bucky Barnes had been through torture. Literal, psychological, physical. Hydra had broken him in ways no one could imagine. But this? This was worse. Because Y/N wasn’t yelling anymore. She wasn’t glaring or threatening to throw things at him. No. Now she was smiling. Sweetly. Politely. At everyone but him. They come back to the apartment from the hospital for follow-up checks, and it was killing him.

“Need anything, doll?” he asked from the kitchen as she hobbled into the living room. She didn’t answer. Just walked right past him like he didn’t exist, grabbed her water bottle from the table, and turned around without so much as a glance. “Cool. Great talk,” he mumbled to himself, frowning.

Later, he made her tea, just the way she liked it, down to the exact number of seconds the honey stirred in. He set it carefully beside her on the coffee table.

“Thought you might want some.” No response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. He sat down beside her on the couch, arms crossed, giving her the look—that soft, pleading, “please just look at me” kind of look. She flipped a page in her book. Not even a twitch. Bucky stood up and started pacing. He tried compliments. “Your hair looks nice today.” Nothing.

He tried humour. “Hey, you know what’s worse than getting glared at by you? Getting ignored by you.” Still nothing. The worst part? She smirked. Not a smile. A full-blown smug, evil, I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing-to-you smirk. Just for a second. Before she hid it behind her water bottle.

He groaned and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I deserve this. I totally deserve this. But if you’re going to treat me like a ghost, at least haunt me back, say something creepy. Anything.” Silence. He was losing it.

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By lunchtime, Bucky was practically begging. “Do you want grilled cheese or soup?” he asked, hovering in the doorway. “Or… both? Or whatever you want. Steak? Lasagna? I’ll cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner if you so much as blink in my direction.” She was texting. Smiling. Not at him. He collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “This is psychological warfare. I hope you know that. I trained for this kind of thing in a lab.” She leaned over, grabbed the remote… and handed it to him without a word. Now that was just cruel. Bucky stared at her for a long, tortured second. “You’re enjoying this.” She gave the faintest shrug. Elegant. Dismissive. Like he was a waiter who forgot the sauce. “Y/N.” Nothing. “Sweetheart.” Still nothing. “Please.” She finally turned to him, her voice soft, sweet, and deadly calm. “You locked me in an apartment like Rapunzel and expected me to what? Bake cookies and thank you for it?”

“I apologized,” he said, arms spread in surrender. “Multiple times.”

“You did,” she nodded, thoughtful. “And I’m accepting that apology. Silently. Over a few days. Possibly a week or two.”

“A week or two?” He looked horrified. “You can’t be serious.” She smiled.

Then she stood, slapped his reaching hand away with a smirk, and walked off. Shoulders relaxed, victorious.

Bucky slumped back onto the couch and let his head fall against the cushion. He was in hell. And the worst part? He couldn’t even complain about it. Those few words might be the only ones he’d hear for the next week.

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“Please talk to me.” Bucky’s voice from the kitchen doorway sounded almost painful. Raw. Like someone scraping at a wound that refused to heal.

She didn’t flinch. She scrolled. Instagram was so interesting that morning. He stepped closer, desperation creeping into his tone.

“Sweetheart. I’m dying here.” She gave him a perfectly neutral glance and then calmly returned her attention to her phone. Like he was nothing more than background noise. Faint. Barely tolerable.

“You can punch me,” he offered, growing more frantic. “Stab me. Shoot me in the leg. You’ve done all of that before.” Silence. “I’ll let you aim for the vibranium side. No complaints.” Still nothing. “You wanna go through my phone? Break it? Read my group chat with Sam and Steve? You’ll see I said you were the hottest Avenger. Even while limping.” No reaction. Bucky dragged a hand down his face and groaned, pacing like a man on the verge of collapse.

“I miss you, dammit. I miss your voice. I miss your death glares. I even miss the way you insult me when I leave the toilet seat up.” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee. The kind of sip that was choreographed for maximum psychological damage. He stared like she’d just stabbed him.

“Are you really-are you timing that sip for dramatic effect?” Still no answer. He flopped onto the floor across from her, limbs sprawled like a dying man in a battlefield. “Okay. Fine. I deserve this. I deserve every second of it. But I’m losing my mind. Do you want that on your conscience?” She scrolled again. “I googled how long the silent treatment is supposed to last in a healthy relationship,” he said, completely serious. She didn’t look up, but the corner of her mouth twitched—barely. He saw it. He pounced. “Aha! You smirked. I saw it. You’re cracking.” She locked eyes with him for two long, silent seconds. Then picked up her phone again. Scrolled. His head dropped to the floor with a dramatic thump. “I’m gonna die like this.” She stood up without a word, empty mug in hand, and walked toward the kitchen. Bucky rolled over to watch her leave like a starving man watching someone walk away with the last piece of bread on earth. “I’ll do anything,” he called after her. “I’ll do the laundry and fold it. I’ll let you win at Mario Kart. I’ll wear that stupid shirt you like. The pink one. With the hearts.” No response. Just the clink of her mug on the counter. “I’ll sleep on the couch for a week,” he tried. “Or the floor. Hell, I’ll sleep standing up in the hallway if it makes you feel better.” Still nothing. “I’ll shave the beard.” Her head snapped around. She stared at him. He froze. “Too far?” She raised an eyebrow. He held up both hands in surrender. “I take it back.”

She walked back into the living room slow, deliberate, like a queen returning to her throne. Bucky scrambled to his knees in front of the couch, like a knight begging for mercy.

“Please, baby. Talk to me. Tell me I’m an idiot. Tell me I’m the worst boyfriend in the world. Just—please. Anything.” She leaned in close, her eyes dark, calm, and unreadable. He blinked. “What?” Then she leaned back with a wicked smile, crossed her arms, and went completely silent again. His head dropped onto the couch cushion with a groan of pure defeat. “I fucking love you, but this is actual hell.” She reached for the remote. Turned on reality TV. He whimpered.

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The apartment was filled with an almost unbearable quiet that morning. Bucky moved around like a ghost careful, quiet but she didn’t glance up once from the book resting limply in her hands. Her jaw remained tight, lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. The only sound came from the occasional turn of a page, though even that felt reluctant, like a task she didn’t want to be doing.

He had tried, several times, to reach out. A soft “Hey.” A gentle touch on her shoulder. Even a joke about how she could win the “Most Stubborn Patient” award.

Nothing.

He eventually settled on the couch across from her, arms folded, eyes soft but determined. “I get it,” he said quietly. “You’re mad. You don’t want to feel like you need me.” She gave him a pointed look but said nothing. “And you’re right,” he continued. “You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.” She scoffed under her breath but didn’t look away. “But even strong people need someone to lean on sometimes. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not even if you try to push me away.”

Her lips twitched, just barely, into a ghost of a smile. He grinned, that slow, easy grin that softened every line on his face. “I’m not going anywhere. Silent treatment or not.”

She closed the book, finally setting it aside but still said nothing.

He hadn’t been touched, smiled at, or spoken to in too many days. And while he’d lived through decades of torture. This was worse.

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So that morning, when she walked past him in the hallway without even glancing in his direction wearing that oversized hoodie that always made his brain short-circuit, Bucky finally snapped.

He followed her. She sat down on the couch with her coffee, scrolling through her phone, looking maddeningly unbothered. And Bucky, with dark circles under his eyes and a desperate kind of tension riding high on his shoulders, just stood in front of her like a kicked puppy.

Then, dead serious, he dropped to his knees. Again. She blinked. Paused. She was forced to speak because she was too stunned.

“…What are you doing.”

“Begging,” he said, without hesitation. “Absolutely begging.”

“Bucky-”

“No, no. I can’t do this anymore,” he rushed out, voice frantic, eyes wide, hands hovering like he couldn’t decide whether to grab her hands or kneel at her feet. “You win, okay? You win. I’m going insane. You haven’t looked at me in days. I haven’t heard your laugh. You didn’t even tell me I put too much pepper in the eggs. You always tell me that.” She stared at him, the smile tugging at her lips clearly trying to break through. “Maybe I liked the eggs.” He groaned and collapsed forward, burying his face in her lap. “No. No. Please don’t say that. That’s even worse. I burnt them.”

She let her fingers hover near his hair. He didn’t move just let out a miserable sound against her thigh. “I’m sorry I locked you in. It was stupid. Controlling. I was scared and I handled it horribly. You have every right to be pissed at me. To ignore me. To punish me but please, sweetheart. Say something. Yell at me. Threaten to punch me. Anything. I just need you to come back to me.”

There was a long pause. “I’ll do anything for you, doll. Just say the word.”

Then, finally, her fingers threaded through his hair. Slow. Gentle. She tugged just enough to make him lift his head and meet her eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?” she asked softly. “Even when I’m pissed, I’m yours, Bucky. I’m always yours.” He let out a breath like he’d been drowning for days. “You’re gonna make me cry,” he muttered, voice cracking. “You deserve it.” A shaky laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I do.” She cupped his face in both hands and leaned down, finally, finally, pressing her forehead to his. “But don’t ever lock me in again.”

“Never,” he promised immediately. “Even if I’m being a menace.”

“Especially then.” She smiled. And then she kissed him. And Bucky? He swore he’d never piss her off again.

(He absolutely would. But next time, he’d beg better.)

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She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, one brow arching, lips quirking with a glint of mischief. “Anything, you said?” she asked, voice light and teasing. Bucky blinked, still catching his breath, the weight of everything she’d just said sinking in—but the spark in her tone made his heart stutter for a different reason now. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I did say that. Didn’t I?” She nodded slowly, her fingers brushing along his jaw. “Dangerous thing to promise, Barnes.” He tilted his head, voice low and playful. “I like danger.”

“Oh yeah?” Her nose brushed his as she leaned in. “Good. Because I’m thinking… foot rubs for a week. No complaints.” He snorted. “A week?”

“At least. And dessert on demand.”

“Done.”

“And you’ll watch that show I love and never complain about the plot holes again.” His lips twitched. “You drive a hard bargain.” She smiled sweetly. “You said anything.” He let out a dramatic sigh, then pulled her closer. “I did. And I meant it. Foot rubs, dessert, plot holes and all. I’m yours.” She kissed him again, grinning against his lips. “Good. You remember that next time you even think about locking a door on me.”

“I will,” he said softly. “I swear.” Pause. “But I’m still not crying at the season finale.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that, Barnes.”

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True to his word, Bucky didn’t just do what she asked he went above and beyond. Every night, like clockwork, he rubbed her feet with quiet devotion. He brought her dessert without being asked, sometimes even trying to bake something himself, usually ending in minor disaster. Chocolate smudges on his cheek and that sheepish grin that made her knees weak. He sat through her favourite show, biting his tongue through every absurd twist, one arm around her, kissing her temple every time she lit up over a scene. But more than anything, it was how he looked at her now, like blinking might cost him a moment too precious to lose. Like losing her again wasn’t an option.

And one night, after a long shower and a lot of laughter over burnt cookies, he walked into the bedroom wearing only a towel and a determined look in his eyes. She lay curled up under the sheets, scrolling her phone. When she looked up and saw him hair still wet, chest bare, eyes dark with want. She felt the shift in the air. “Need anything else, doll?” he asked, voice teasing, but with something heavier beneath. She tilted her head, smirking. “Still holding you to that ‘anything’ promise?” He stalked over, towel hanging low, muscles flexing as he moved. “Then tell me what you want.” Her phone hit the nightstand with a soft thud. “You,” she said.

That was all he needed. He crawled onto the bed slowly, like he was approaching something sacred. His hands braced on either side of her hips as he kissed her slow, deep, reverent. She tangled her fingers in his damp hair, pulling him closer. The towel dropped unnoticed. When he moved over her, when her back arched and his name slipped from her lips like a prayer. It was forgiveness. It was claiming. It was love.

Wrapped in his arms, her bare back traced gently by his fingers, he whispered into her hair, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, you know.” She kissed his collarbone. “You already are.” He hovered above her again, lips brushing down her jaw before pausing. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured. She cupped his cheek, locking eyes with him. “I’ll tell you. I promise. Just… don’t stop looking at me like that.” His gaze softened. Even as his touch burned, it remained careful, skimming the side of her ribs where bruises still faded. He kissed her again, slower now. One hand propped near her head, the other traced down her thigh, curling behind her knee and pulling her leg around his waist. “God, I missed you,” he breathed. “Touching you like this. Hearing those sounds you make.” She arched into him, guiding his hand to where she ached for more. “Then touch me, Bucky. I’m okay. I want this. You.” He groaned, forehead pressing to hers for a moment before he moved. Every kiss, every motion held intention. He kept the pressure away from her injury, hips moving in slow, devastating rhythm. “You feel so good,” he whispered against her throat. “Missed the way you move under me.” Her fingers dug into his back. “Bucky…” He kissed her through the moan. Still, his hand slid down again, brushing near her side. “I’m okay,” she assured, voice shaking. “You’re not hurting me.” “Not gonna let anything hurt you again,” he murmured. “Ever.” The heat climbed, breaths grew ragged. Their bodies moved as one, slick and desperate. She came first, his name on her lips. He followed, buried against her throat, groaning.

Afterward, he didn’t leave her side. Just tucked the blanket around them and kissed whatever part of her he could reach, temple, shoulder, hand. “Still okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded, lips curving tiredly. “Better than okay.” He smiled, kissed her again, and whispered, “Good. Because I’m not done proving myself.”

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Morning came with golden light slipping through the blinds, striping across tangled sheets and sore limbs. She groaned as she swung her legs off the bed. Bad idea. The second her feet touched the floor, a familiar ache bloomed deep in her thighs. Not from her injury. “Oh my God,” she muttered, laughing and wincing all at once. “Worth it.”

She shuffled no, limped, toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee led her to Bucky, shirtless and grinning, flipping pancakes like he hadn’t absolutely wrecked her six hours earlier. He turned as she leaned on the counter with a dramatic sigh. “Morning, sweetheart,” he said innocently. “Sleep okay?” She shot him a flat look. “I would’ve slept like the dead if I didn’t have to fight for my life trying to get out of bed.” His grin widened. “Ah. That kind of sore.” “You planned this.” He held up the spatula. “Swear I didn’t. It started as an apology. Got a little… intense.”

“A little?” He pulled her close, kissing her temple. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I couldn’t form words last night,” she shot back, poking his ribs. He chuckled and nuzzled into her neck. “Do you want ice, or do you want me to carry you around like a princess?” She raised a brow. “You say that like I can’t have both.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.” She kissed his jaw. “Damn right I am. Now hand me coffee before I collapse dramatically.”

He did, with a wink, and already moved to grab her a pillow for the chair. Because yeah, he ruined her but at least he knew how to take care of his mess.

taglist -> @onlyjunisworld @moonlitmorgan @thewitchhofoz @peanutbutt3rcup @overwintering-soldier @thelastbluecookie @chronicallybubbly @staley83 @mistalli @morphoportis @iyskgd @imjusthere1161

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[kiatjuddae]

THE PROMISE OF CONVENIENCE

bucky barnes x assistant!f!reader, part two

SUMMARY: a year after you start dating your former boss, bucky barnes, everything changes once he becomes a thunderbolt requested by @serenbeencool WARNINGS: fluff, thunderbolts timeline, engagement, sambucky divorce, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, bucky owns a business, plot heavy in the beginning, a lil angst, not proofread part one

You were sitting on the couch in the penthouse when a delicate knock sounded against the door. You wore simple pajamas, glasses on your face, while your hair was tied up in a silk scarf.

Months after you and Bucky started dating, you moved in. It was a simple commitment that came out of nowhere—mostly because you were already sleeping at his place. Day after day, night after night, you started filling up a dresser in his closet, then your toothebrush was sitting beside his in the bathroom. Your bonnets, hair products, and blowdryer took up an entire drawer in the bathroom—the shower was a hair massacre, with not only your curls, but Bucky's raven colored strands.

The bedroom had two imprints instead of one mild one, your protein shack was beside his in the kitchen, and he'd gotten rid of all his frozen shellfish due to your allergy. There were two controllers underneath the television—one for Bucky's Call Of Duty sessions with Sam and another for your Minecraft and Hogwarts Legacy. Often, he'd curl up with you while you played, utterly confused because he'd never heard of Minecraft before.

Most Saturday nights were full of movie marathons and popcorn. Bucky would stretch ontop of you, head against your chest while you held the bowl of popcorn, and these were long nights, full of unblinking eyes, dramatic gasps (from Bucky) and laughter on your part because it still hit you hard that Bucky wasn't familiar with the Hunger Games.

On the third month of living together, Bucky got involved with the Thunderbolts. It'd been a long process of conversing with other Congressman, battling it out with Valentina De Pontain through the media, then finally, he became a New Avenger. And you weren't used to this version of Bucky—the one that had endless strength and combat training. The one who rarely missed a target, the one that fought tooth and nail, no matter how many punches he delivered or how much blood he drew.

He was ruthless, and it was odd to see him that way. Your Bucky was sweet, soft, and gentle. He held you through period cramps, he bought you hair products he thought would be good for you, he grabbed your favorite candy each time he was at the store. So this version of Bucky needed getting used to, especially once he gave you the company so he could focus wholeheartedly on the Thunderbolts.

You were busy these days, much more intensively than when you were Bucky's assistant. You answered emails constantly, spent time at meetings, talked on the phone for multiple hours a day and educated yourself completely and wholly on financial literacy and what it took to own a company. But you were amazing. So much so that you were on the cover of a magazine. So much so that market shares grew tenfold and money was coming in at a rapid pace.

Bucky knew he loved you then. You were dedicated, intelligent and perfect for him. Even through the arguments and petty-ful bickering, you still showed your admiration and respect for him. So his next conception of a plan was to marry you. He had no one but you at this point—Sam and him broken up for the time being.

You let out a sigh as you stood from the couch, the floor cold against your feet. It was dark inside the penthouse, and silent—your only companion being the television and your computer. Bucky had left early that morning to go on an operation with the others, so that left you to your devices.

"Who is it?" You called, unlocking the door, eyes across the room absentmindedly as you pulled open the front door. When you glanced back and saw the Thunderbolts staring back at you, your eyes widened and you glared at Bucky, "what happened?"

You glanced between all of them—Bucky holding up a bleeding Alexei, John standing beside Ava and clutching his eye, Bob at the very back, curled in on himself as usual, eyes avoiding yours. Yelena looked pale as she held her side and smiled sheepishly, "op gone wrong. No one is dying, promise."

You shook your head, rolling your eyes and you opened the door farther, still watching Bucky sternly. He pursed his lips at you and shrugged, "the penthouse was closer."

He traveled over to the kitchen and set Alexei down at the bar before reaching underneath the sink for the first aid kit. Bob sat cautiously on the couch, glancing around, his eyebrows furrowed, while Yelena limped over beside Alexei and began patching up the cut near her ribs.

"Are you hurt?" You asked Bob softly. Bob was your favorite of them all—besides Bucky of course. Bob was gentle, delicately voices, like he'd been plucked from heaven itself. Sitting beside him, your rubbed his shoulder as you smiled politely. He shook his head, "no, I'm not, but John is." He said with a bit of a stutter, smiling at you while pointing at John.

John smacked his lips with irritation as Bucky knocked him aside to get access to the sink. Obviously you knew his history with bucky, and you had a bit of resentment, but otherwise you didn't know him much. He'd been respectful to you because you'd helped the Thunderbolts before with some things to do with Valentina, and because you were Bucky's girlfriend.

"You're in the fucking way, Walker! Go sit on the couch." Bucky growled as he and Ava tended to Alexei who was in pretty rough shape.

"What happened to your eye?" You asked, but before John could answer, Ava chuckled, "poked himself in the eye. What a fucking dumbass." She muttered and you let out a delicate laugh, ignoring John's weak glare.

"You'll be fine then. Go to the linen closet and get blankets. I assume you all are staying the night?" You glanced at Bucky who nodded, mouthing a sorry, but you waved him off, approaching the kitchen island where Alexei was being patched up.

"And what happened to this guy?"

Yelena cut his shirt in two revealing three jagged slashes in his back. You winced at the bloody sight of it, but grabbed gauze and began soaking up the blood, while Ava stitched up a cut in his eyebrow.

"Fuck, gentle!" Alexei barked out, Russian accent thicker than usual. Ava rolled her eyes, jabbing him intentionally harder with the needle. Bucky came to your side holding alcohol wipes, his arm brushing yours, "the penthouse was closer, otherwise we would've went to the Tower." He muttered and you said nothing, focused on cleaning the wound.

Bucky stared at your profile, eyebrows furrowed, and you bit your lip, focused, snatching the alcohol pads from his hand. He scoffed at you, rolling his eyes, "fine, be annoying, but it wasn't intentional."

"He's right, it wasn't." Yelena said, plopping on the couch beside Bob, and you scoffed, "are the two of you about to gang up on me now? And don't get me wrong, I enjoy all of you—" you gave John a sidelong glance, then continued, "but I really want nothing to do with the Thunderbolts. I don't know how to fight or shoot a gun, so if you bring trouble here, I won't be able to help."

"You have the Winter Soldier as a boyfriend and you don't know how to fight?" Alexei spat, not unkindly, and you rolled your eyes, beginning to stich up his wounds while Bucky sat on the stood nearby, still watching you.

His eyes were piercing—and although it'd been a year of dating, you still weren't used to it. Your skin drowned in his gaze, and you blinked roughly, shaking your head and glaring at him, "stop looking at me like that—and by the way, he's never offered to teach me, Alexei."

Alexei scoffed, "not a good excuse."

"Looking at you like what? I can't watch you stitch the man up?" Bucky's voice was gruff and a bit scratchy, a little smirk quarked on his lips because he knew what he was doing. You hit him on the leg and bit your cheek, "stop before I stick him in the wrong place."

He let out a husky chuckle and stood, walking into the living room. "there's a spare bedroom, I guess... who gets there first claims the bed." As soon as the words left his lips, Ava popped up, shoving Yelena out of the way as they bounded down the hallway.

Bob just watched the entire encounter with raised eyebrows, reading a book from the shelf. "Bob, we've got an air mattress for you and Alexei." You said, glancing back at him, and he thanked you quietly.

"What about me?" John called, blinking heavily as he finally pulled his hand away from his eye, "there's the couch. And the other two will have to suck it up and share the room."

When Alexei was finally stitched up, you and Bucky seperated yourselves in your bedroom. He sat on the bed and ran a heavy hand down his face, body tense with exhaustion while you went into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

"This was the last time." He said, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom and you scoffed, "you said that the first two times, Bucky! How can I keep believing what you say when it's never true?"

He pressed his lips together tightly and approached you, lingering, as he stared at you through the mirror. You put your toothebrush back once you were done and then you spun around arms crossed. Bucky grabbed your arms gently, "don't make me out to be a liar, sweetheart, because I don't lie to you—I rarely lie to you."

You rolled your eyes, trying to push out of his grip, but he held you tighter, this time grip on your hands. Bucky pressed you against the bathroom counter, eyes heavy upon yours, "don't walk away—look, I need you to accept this me. The me where I fight bastards and surround myself with idiots like the ones out there."

"I do accept this you—" he raised and eyebrow at you and you sighed, deflating, "fine, I don't because I'm not used to it—I'm used to you making eggs in the morning and going to press conferences. This is not you to me."

He inhaled deeply, eyes slipped past you as he released you from his grip and nodded, "you have no choice but to." He almost walked away, face pulled into one of disappointment, but you called his name gently and grabbed his wrist, tugging him back, "I'm going to try, Buck. It'll just take time." He nodded slowly and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead.

"I love you." He whispered, and you smiled against his chest, "I love you too."

"Not as much as me though." You lifted your head and chuckled, "what a liar."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You were at the Tower when it happened. Yelena was sitting on the couch, playing an intense game of UNO with Bob, Ava and John, while Alexei was stuffing his face in the kitchen. You were on your laptop answering emails and filling your calender for the month with upcoming meetings and campaigns.

"You can't fucking do that!" John yelled, standing up rapidly as he threw his cards down roughly and glared at Ava who'd just delivered two plus four cards to the deck. "Yes, I can. Right Bob?" Ava glanced at Bob, who chuckled nervously, avoiding John's eyes, but he nodded, "plus fours are stackable."

"Fuck!" John spat angrily, sitting back down in defeat. Alexei came over to the couch and plopped beside you, cracker crumbs buried in his beard, "where's Bucky?" You shrugged honestly, "he said he was going to the store, but it's been almost thirty minutes." At the mention of Bucky, Ava looked at you, pausing, "the store is only ten minutes away, why's he been gone for so long?"

That made Yelena and John glance over too. She set her cards down and stood, hands on her hips, "Ava's right. He was only supposed to get eggs."

"What if he got into an accident?" Bob retorted, looking between everyone and you heart spiked as your fingers paused on the keyboard of your laptop, "what the fuck?" You muttered, standing up and completely forgetting about your calendar.

Pulling out your phone, you tried to look at his location, but it wasn't showing. "Start calling him!" John said, pulling out his own phone and that ensued a ten minute frenzy of everyone calling Bucky, while you were pacing back and forth.

"Bucky can handle himself, so where is he?" You muttered, and Yelena shook her head with a heavy sigh, tossing her phone aside when she had no luck. She walked over to the security system near the front door, "I can try and track him from here?" She called, questionable, "but there's no garuantee it will work."

Bob came to her side, finger slotted between his lips as he bit his nails, "from what? His phone's off."

"Car. Ava and I were fucking around and put a tracker underneath the hood." She ignored your questionable stare, but you approached the security system too, and watched her attempt to get a reading on his car.

"Wait—there's movement in the lobby!" Ava called, running over to the elevator and you followed her quickly, eyebrows furrowed, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. The others followed Ava too, lingering behind you slightly, but when the elevator dinged on the first floor, Ava ushered you foreward as the doors peeled open. You glanced at all of them suspiciously because all of them were smiling. "What is wrong with—"

When you glanced out of the elevator, there he was. There was a trail of tulips and orchades leading towards him, along with a bunch of lit candles. it was dim, the setting sun shining through the window, but the sight of Bucky, on one knee, a ring in his hand made you freeze entirely.

Your eyes blinded with tears as you stepped out the elevator, moving towards him. A laugh bubbled from your lips when you saw the scattered pictures of you and him at your feet. You were sweating—finally coming down from the nervous high you were in, but your stomach was fluttering with thousands of butterflies, cheeks so red you could feel the heat stirring.

"You're ridiculous." You said when you approached, hand against his shoulder and Bucky grabbed your thigh, squeezing it gently.

"I used to drown beneath my own skin before I met you. I felt constricted, and hunted by my own thoughts. I'd lie awake at night and I desired death, but when I met you, everything changed. You're the very light in my being keeping me alive. You're the air in my lungs and the nuerons in my brain. When I wake up, the first thing I see is you, and when I go to sleep, the last thing on my mind is and will always be you. I can't live without you and I don't know how I managed to in the first place—" he reached up and wiped a lone tear, steel blue eyes focused on you and only you."

"—will you marry me?" The room quenched in silence as you stared down at him. You could see a photographer in your peripheral as you kneeled, nodding "I'd be a fool to say no." The others cheered and the camera went off as you hugged Bucky so tight you felt yourself seeping beneath his skin. He slipped the ring on your finger then grabbed your jaw gently and pressed a passionate kiss to your lips.

"Aw, that was cute!" Alexei bellowed, appearing beside the two of you, and Bucky laughed, standing and pulling you up beside him, "they said you were loosing your mind." He wrapped an arm aroudn your waist and you chuckled, "of course I was! And Ava was really twisting the screw."

She waved you off with a laugh, "just playing the part."

[kiatjuddae]

Bruised Knees

New Avengers!Bucky Barnes x f!New Avengers!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k words

Author’s Note: There is so much backstory and so many tangents. Oops. This stemmed from the joke at the end and somehow turned into this. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Warnings: a lil explicit content at the end but it’s really not that bad

Masterlist

It was that awkward time in between afternoon activities and dinner. Too much time to scroll through social media, but too little time to actually do something productive. Everyone in the tower spent their time differently.

John usually spent his free time in the gym that resided three floors below the floor that everyone lived on. His therapist had him working on “healthy emotional outlets,” or whatever it was that he grumbles about as he stalks down the hallway towards the elevator. It was working, though. Lately, his biting comments were far and few between.

Ava and Yelena could almost always be found hanging out with Bob in the shared living room. The dark plush sectional offered the perfect space to recline and relax. The TV perpetually flickered with a wide variety of everything from cartoon comedies to wartime documentaries. It was a tossup if the trio was actually paying attention to the programming or if they were just chatting and gossiping.

Alexei, on the other hand, was more of an introvert than he lets on to be at first. Once he really knows and trusts who he’s with, he doesn’t feel the need to showboat and overly display his loud personality. He can relax and let his guard down. During his career as Red Guardian, he’d been a public figure and felt the need to bring energy to any room he found himself in. These days, he realizes he doesn’t have to turn his personality up to eleven, he can just be himself.

Bucky Barnes, THE Winter Soldier, could literally always be found with his girlfriend. He had melted into a lovesick puppy dog the day he met her.

The team had been chasing down leads for the remaining Hydra bases when they found her - abandoned, starving, alone. When Hydra caught wind of the Thunderbolts mission, they had picked up and left the base as fast as possible. The evidence of the haste was all around: lights still on and flickering, drawers left open but empty, a coffee cup on the edge of a desk still hot to the touch. They had left her too.

She was their attempt to replicate their Winter Soldier experiment. Injected with a similar off-brand serum, she had the same super strength he had, but lacked the same immune system and rapid healing. In the cold damp cell she was held in, her injuries stayed swollen and red for far too long. She caught pneumonia every winter for six years straight - the six years they held her.

Yelena found her first. Tasked with clearing the east wing, her long strides had quickly carried her down the hallway. When she found the occupied cell at the end of the dark hallway, her right hand slowly reached for her comms device tucked in her ear, careful not to spook the person she had discovered.

“Umm guys? We have a bit of a situation down here,” she carefully said. John’s voice screeched back into her ear, “What does that EVEN mean?! Good or bad situation?!”

“Unclear. Can someone just come here? I need help getting her out of here.” Yelena made sure to keep her voice calm and even. She didn’t want to scare the girl who was cowering in the far corner.

Bucky was sprinting across the property before his mind could catch up. He was already on edge, given the location and his history. The moment he saw the chair, his heart rate spiked. No amount of healing in Wakanda could erase the trauma that chair had burned into him.

When he caught up to where Yelena was waiting, a wave of stomach dropping dread washed over him. A part of him suspected that there might have been another test subject given that the chair was on property, but he was hoping he was wrong. Alas, there she was and Bucky was running on pure adrenaline. With clenched teeth and a tight jaw, his vibranium fist gripped the bars of the iron door and ripped it clean off its hinges.

He was on his knees in front of her in an instant. His voice was quiet and controlled, “You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here. No one is going to hurt you. Вы в безопасности.” The girl only offered wide eyes and trembling limbs.

“Are you hurt?” He asked as his eyes raked her form, searching for injuries. She only shook her head. No. “Okay. Let’s get you out of here.” He stood and extended his arm to help her stand. He protectively wrapped his vibranium arm around her shoulders as they worked their way through the maze of hallways.

The moment they were in the safety of the quinjet, he vowed to keep her safe from then on out. He still hasn’t broken that promise. He had stayed by her side throughout the healing process and was there for every moment in Wakanda.

That was two years ago. She is happy and thriving now - all things considered.

Her and Bob have a close relationship held together with healing and mutual support. They had both played huge roles in the other’s healing. They had spent countless mornings curled up on opposite ends of the living room couch, lost in a good book.

No one was close to her like Bucky was. He watched her become herself again and got to know the beautiful person she is. A year after they had brought her back to the tower, he took her out to dinner. An unspoken date. That night had ended with the pair up on the roof, flat on their backs, Bucky pointing out constellations like the old fashioned romantic he is.

Now, he can’t stand to spend a single second apart from her. He, not so subtly, paired her with him for the couple of missions she had been on. Bucky was also the one to train her when it came time to prepare her for joining the team on missions. On their days off, he prefers to stay by her side no matter the activity. Running errands in the city? He’s offering to drive. Suntanning on the roof? He is already grabbing a tube of sunscreen. Movie night in? He’s popping popcorn and loading Hulu.

Tonight was one of those lazy movie-watching nights. Ava, Yelena, and Bob had already laid claim on the couch. Walker and Alexei had opted for the two oversized beanbags in lieu of sharing the loveseat. Bucky came padding down the hallway with his girlfriend in tow. She was in sleep shorts and one of his hoodies, prioritizing comfort over style.

Yelena glanced up as the pair entered. The rest of the group was ready to start the movie, only waiting on the two lovebirds. Alexei’s smile could not be contained as he turned to the couple now seated comfortably in the loveseat. “Nice battle wounds!” He says as he offers his fist for her to fist bump. “What are y-?” She trails off as she follows his eyeline to her knees. They’re covered in bruises blooming in shades of yellow, green, and blue. By now, the entire team is peering over to see the damage.

Her cheeks flush a pink hue as she feels Bucky’s fingers dig into her shoulder. A wordless plea for her compliance. They both knew damn well how those bruises got there and it sure wasn’t from the mission earlier in the day like everyone else was thinking. She tentatively reaches out and bumps her knuckles to Alexei's. Yelena cocks an eyebrow, unconvinced. “I didn't know you fell,” she says as she tilts her head, welcoming an explanation. “O-Oh yeah I fell but I didn’t say anything… Embarrassed." Bucky nods along with the made-up explanation, hoping to make it seem that much more believable.

Everyone else moved on and hit play on the movie, but Bucky’s head replays memories of last night. A heated makeout session led to shirts being hastily thrown and belt buckles blanking undone. Bucky broke apart from the kiss by roughly pressing down on her shoulders. Her knees hit the floor with more force than either one of them had intended. He had one hand pressed to the wall and the other gripping her hair. She held eye contact with him while his tip invaded her throat. His left hand gently guided her head as she bobbed on his dick, eventually coaxing her to take him so deeply that her nose bumped against his abdomen on the downstroke. Her whole body rocked with the force of her efforts; her knees shifting against the hardwood floor. After he came with a deep groan and the sound of his forehead making contact with the wall in front of him as he keeled forward, he helped her up. Taking her right hand in his left, he heaved her up to stand. He chuckled when he saw her knees, splotchy and already turning maroon. “Sorry..” He looked at her with those puppy dog eyes he knew she couldn’t resist.

“No! You. are. so. not!” She had said as she half heartedly shoved him. He pulled her right back into him and captured her lips in a kiss that lacked heat but was full of love. “I love you. You know that.” She smiled into his kiss, “That I do.”

[kiatjuddae]

Tech gone wrong.

Summary: A mission going wrong leads to you getting minorly injured. You and Bucky both stay in a safe house together, and when the thought of looming feelings comes to the forefront, do you both finally admit how you feel?

“You’ll have to watch out for Barnes. He’s a bit rusty. He isn’t as sharp as he once was,” Walker teased as he adjusted his watch with coordinates, knowing Bucky was within earshot.

Bucky subtly flipped him off behind you, the two super soldiers had a weird dynamic, a love-hate but it worked for them, it was brotherly but not over abundantly so.

“Bucky? Yeah, he can definitely handle his own, he doesn’t need me to babysit him” You attached your tactile belt, thumbing over your weapons once more, as the quinjet shifted into landing position. John lost balance momentarily grabbing on to the wall beside him, earning a giggle from Yelena and Ava who stood behind you.

Bucky never knew if you were just being kind, and a team player or if you were being flirty, and he was too skeptical to make a move. He stood close beside you now, the two of you were always teamed up on missions.

“Thanks” he mumbled and you nodded with a reassuring smile.

“Yelena, you and Ava are taking the upstairs tech room, and Bucky and I will make sure the technology downstairs isn’t compromised. I’ll download the files onto the flash drive and Bucky and John will make sure the coast is clear in the building.” You didn’t even blink as you barked orders, the pit of Buckys stomach grew warm as he watched you take charge.

Alexei and Bob knew their roles and nodded as they waited outside the building, making sure nobody came in or out.

Ava and Yelena were quickly upstairs and out of your sight in a moment, both Bucky and John were your shadows, as you quietly made your way down the eerie hallway of the tech building.

“Something doesn’t feel right here” Bucky whispered, motioning to the cameras above you three. They had been previously disconnected by Yelena but the lights were still blinking. John nodded, wondering too if this was a setup.

“This feels too easy” you mumbled as you entered the room you were looking for. When you flipped the light on, a loud high-pitched sound startled you nearly frozen, and the last thing you remembered was your arm burning before the sound of gunshots filled the air.

You reached for your gun with your dominant hand, your vision blurred by the tears in your eyes and the throbbing pain of your arm. You quickly felt for blood, but there wasn’t any on your hand.

“Jason? Ben? ” You groaned out loud using fake code names to confirm both John and Bucky were still in the room.

“On your left!” They yelled in unison, meaning you needed to aim right if at all. You shot two blind fires before collapsing against the cold floor, the jolt of your gun finishing off your remaining energy.

Bucky carried you back to the Quinjet, assessing you for visible wounds. You were still unconscious as the rest of the team joined you.

“Is she okay?” Yelena ran over to you, listening to your shallow breathing. Nobody answered her, unsure of how to. She immediately started to set up an IV bag with fluids as Bucky kept his eyes on you, worried as Yelena worked quickly to pump vitamins into you.

“We weren’t able to collect any data downstairs before we got ambushed. They were hidden in the ceiling” John clarified to Yelena as Bucky stared at the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Why didn’t you use the heat signature device?” Yelena questioned and Alexei turned bright red.

“I forgot to bring them” Alexei admitted earning a groan from the team.

“You’re lucky! I don’t think she’s physically injured, just shell-shocked and maybe some minor bruising. We should drop her at the safe house before going home so she can start healing right away,” Yelena turned toward Bucky. “Will you stay with her?”

“Of course, she’s my partner” Bucky tried to sound as neutral and convincing as he could as Yelena bit back a smile.

When you opened your eyes you immediately recognized where you were, the gray brick walls were a dead giveaway. Bucky was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed.

“Bucky? Why are you on the floor?” You winced as you shifted in bed, making a sliver of room for him beside you that he quickly shook his head no over.

“I thought it would be inappropriate to sleep next to you,” he said simply, standing to get a better look at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone knocked the wind out of my sails but otherwise I’m fine” you let out a weak laugh. Your arm hurt worse than you were leading on, but you didn’t want to whine about arm pain to Bucky Barnes.

“Hungry?” Bucky could hear your stomach growling but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“I could eat!” You slowly swung your legs over the bed, standing with a slight sway.

“I got it! Just relax” he smiled and you nodded, making your way over to the bathroom instead. You knew something wasn’t right, unzipping your top and bulletproof vest to reveal the welts and bruises on your left arm. You had definitely been hit with something but your memory was foggy.

Bucky knocked on the door startling you as you gasped, almost jumping out of your skin.

“Umm yes?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He leaned against the door, “How does a grilled cheese sound? We don’t have much here but the bread and cheese are surprisingly still good.”

“That’s perfect, thank you!” You quickly put your clothes back on, hoping to conceal your noticeable bruises.

When you walked out of the bathroom you sat back on the bed and watched Bucky work his magic on the stove top. “Is everyone else okay?”

“Yeah, we just thought you needed your rest. Luckily this safe house isn’t too far from home and we can fly home tomorrow if you feel up to it.”

You nodded, “Thank you for staying with me, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, flipping your sandwich to make sure it was crispy on both sides. “You still have pajamas in the dresser if you want to change into something more comfortable.”

You nodded, remembering quickly that they were short-sleeved pajamas as Bucky brought you your sandwich on a paper plate.

“Are you going to eat?” You realized he was already cleaning up the kitchen.

“I already ate while you were sleeping” he lied, knowing there were only enough ingredients for one.

You took a bite of your grilled cheese, and it was admittedly better than anything you would’ve made for yourself. “This is so good” your eyes rolled back dramatically making Bucky stifle a giggle.

“Eye rolling good huh?” He teased and his laugh filled the room.

“I think you need to try it” you held it up in the air with your good arm as Bucky walked over to you, biting within your bite, which felt oddly intimate.

“Not my best work” he sucked a piece of melted cheese off his thumb with a smile, before handing the sandwich back to you.

“You’re too modest” you teased, finishing the rest in what felt like seconds. You winced as you felt the fabric of your clothes brushing against your arm.

Bucky noticed immediately, “Why haven’t you changed yet? What’s hiding under there?” He motioned to your arm before he crossed his own against his chest.

“I wanted to eat first” you lied, knowing you couldn’t avoid telling him forever now that you had finished. You walked into the bedroom and he followed you as you struggled to open the dresser with one hand.

“Nope, come here” he sighed as you walked over to him. He unzipped you out of your clothes and carefully peeled your jacket off of you.

“Holy shit! Y/N” he eyed your dark bruises as you stood in front of him. A look of disappointment came over his expression. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Feels kinda silly complaining to you about my arm pain. It’s just bruising Bucky.”

“What? Why would you feel silly about that?” He didn’t wait for you to answer as he searched the bathroom drawers for pain pills and arnica gel.

“Do you want me to help you into your pajamas first?” He walked back into the room, in full nurse mode now, ignoring your earlier comment.

“I just need the drawer open, please” you sighed as he walked over and opened it for you before momentarily leaving the room for you to get dressed.

When he came back into the room you sat on the bed with a pout as he sat beside you and assessed your bruises with a feather-like touch. “Take the pain pills now so you can sleep” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes as he touched your arm and carefully rubbed in the gel.

“Are you mad at me?” You mumbled, unsure of how to take his reaction. He was more serious and firm than he had been five minutes ago.

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” He finally looked up at you, his blue eyes holding emotions you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Because I didn’t tell you I was hurt, I guess” You were almost sure Bucky knew how you felt about him, and knowing that only made this situation more emotional than you intended, a single tear escaping your eye.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me,” he said matter-of-factly, only making you feel worse as you let out a shaky breath.

“What’s wrong? Did I press too hard?” Bucky stopped touching your arm, confused at the sudden river of tears that started to flow out of your face as soon as he spoke.

“I just feel like I hurt your feelings. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. ” You sniffled, concerned more with Buckys feelings than your arm.

“No, it’s fine. I’m pretty tough, I promise.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood but you were still noticeably upset.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Bucky was speechless, the sound of your heart beating at such a quickened pace worried him. The sudden thumps he heard echoing in his eardrums brought him back to reality as he blinked and shifted his focus back to you.

“Hey! Hey! I’m okay sweetheart! We are fine” he reassured you, searching your eyes for emotions. It was then that he finally realized something about the way your heart was beating. It was the same way his did when you’d look at him too long, or compliment his beautiful eyes, or recognize his combat skills, it was comfortably familiar.

He instinctively hugged you, rubbing his hands up and down your back and holding you against his chest as your heart kept up the same rhythm.

“Can I say something? I don’t want you to think it’s weird” he whispered against your hair as he still held you.

“I never think anything you say is weird Bucky” you admitted.

“Your heartbeat is really loud today.”

“My heart—? You can hear that?” You pulled back nervously staring at him.

“Yeah, all the time. It’s calming, especially when we are on missions. Admittedly I heard it earlier, your heart beat accelerated in that room but I was waiting for you to admit your injuries to me.” His words ran together as he picked at his nails nervously.

You started thinking back to every instance that your heart beat would accelerate, wondering what else Bucky noticed and didn’t say.

“You knew I was hurt?” You questioned why he didn’t say anything to you earlier when you were pretending to be fine.

“Well, I checked you for blood when I carried you back to the quinjet and Yelena assessed you for deeper wounds.” He admitted, and it was then that you realized he was the only reason you left that room alive.

“Also, for the record I can’t hear your thoughts or anything, I’m not psychic. I can’t do anything supernatural besides that really and honestly, it’s mostly just with you I’m in tune with.” He wouldn’t look at you, that confession making his chest tight.

You giggled “and heal at rocket speed” you reminded him with a goofy smile.

“That too” he smiled, shifting his attention back to you the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

“Bucky, I have to say something to you now or I never will” You felt the tension in the room, hoping you were reading his expressions correctly.

Bucky smiled, his shoulders dropping “I love you too” he hummed.

“How did you know I was going to say that?” You giggled nervously, admittedly surprised he said it to you first.

“What if I lied about hearing your thoughts?” His eyes widened dramatically, letting you know he was only teasing.

“Then you know how I feel about your hair slicked back” you teased earning a loud laugh from Bucky that shook the bed.

“I do love you Buck, a whole lot” you confessed as he leaned in to kiss you, cupping your face. He kissed you like it was the air he needed to breathe.

“I love you too, and when we get home we’re going on a date” he was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Shit, I just realized I owe Walker $10 now.” You sighed, earning a confused look from Bucky in response.

“He told me I’d be the first one to confess my feelings” you laughed loudly and Bucky did too.

“Hey I would’ve got there eventually!” He snorted in self defense.

“Yeah, eventually!” You teased, kissing him once more.

A/N: Divider from @saradika-graphics . Thank you @sunday-bug for letting me pick your brain about this one!

[kiatjuddae]

Compromised Positions

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky find yourself in one too many compromised positions, not that he's complaining.

Disclaimer: Steamy moments with a slight hint of smut towards the end, swearing, multiple undercover kisses, he fell first, she fell second, he fell harder. Mentions of domestic disputes, criminal neighbours. Bucky ties Reader's heels, shirtless Bucky, him in joggers, a lot of physical touching (innocent...at first). Gala kiss, undercover as a married couple, Bucky admires Reader's nails. Not Proof Read.

“Guys, you’ve got like, two minutes until they’re gonna notice you’re gone.”

“Relax, little Falcon, we’ll be out in time.”

You heard Joaquin sigh over comms. “That nickname,” he groaned. “I’m the Falcon, now.”

Bucky smirked. “Whatever you say, Big Bird.”

You all heard Sam chuckle as a groaning whine left Joaquin. “Not you, too.”

You nudged Bucky’s arm and pointed at the room. “In here.”

He closed the door behind you both before he joined you in the search for physical evidence. Pictures were taken on his phone whilst you looked for the file. 

“Jesus, have they never heard of organisation? What the hell is this?”

Bucky just looked at you. “Seriously? The chaotic organiser is judging their organisation skills.”

“At least I know where everything is.”

It was another thirty seconds before your anxiety kicked in. You considered it to be the same kind of anxiety mother’s got before their kids threw up in the middle of the night. And Joaquin’s voice confirmed your suspicion. 

“Guys, they’re back early.”

Bucky looked around the room. There was one exit and that would mean running right into them. “We can’t-”

“I’ve got a plan.”

Instantly, you grabbed Bucky by his henley and threw him over to the sofa as you removed your own jacket. The room wasn’t exactly an office – it was more of an overflow of actual office stuff. A storage closet. 

There was a chance your plan would work better than you both being compromised. 

“What the hell are you-”

You held Bucky down by his shoulders. “Just shut up.” 

The footsteps out in the corridor were getting louder. They were getting closer. So, strandling Bucky’s thighs, your knees digging into the worn sofa in the middle of the room, you kissed him just as the door unlocked. 

Considering you and Bucky had gotten through the building door pretending to be members of the society, it wouldn’t seem odd that two new-ish members were in a room they had been told about. 

Your hips shifted as Bucky’s legs moved, his hands putting just the right amount of pressure on your back to make the whole thing look believable. 

There were strangled noises from behind you both which quickly disappeared with a soft click of the door, whispered awkward voices and then quick footsteps leaving down the other end of the hall. 

It took Bucky a moment to get his breath back. 

“Good…good thinking.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Now let’s go, before they come back.”

Neither of you mentioned how you managed to avoid a confrontation with top members of the group. You didn’t talk about it either. It was a kiss that saved you both from a compromised position, nothing more. 

Until it happened again. 

Three months later, you were on a – meant to be – solo mission. 

An undercover identity built through a long career at Shield meant you still maintained the yearly invite to a rather pretentious gala on the Italian Coast. And, since words had been brewing around another multi-million dollar deal over a key to a vault that protected certain secrets of yours, meant you had to go. 

However, somewhere between the extra security, extra guests and a faulty switch, you’d almost gotten caught. 

Almost.

The third round of security was about to turn down the hall to the faulty security alert just as a hand came to the small of your back. You were about to say something until you recognised the face it belonged to. 

“Bucky?”

“Just trust me.”

That was all he said before you found yourself pressed against the prestinely polished wooden door frame a few feet away. His steady right hand lay on your cheek, tilting your face to his whilst his left softly skated down the length of your body, over the dip in your hip and to the top of the slit on your dress. 

Your breath was taken away as his lips were pressed against yours, his tongue being granted permission to taste you properly. 

Somewhere behind the thrumming in your ears, the two security officials joked quietly in Italian before flicking the warning light off and moving on down the hall. 

When you finally caught your breath, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome,” was what he replied. 

“Bucky-” you warned. 

“Sam called me. Joaquin ran those checks you asked for and I was in the area.” He said it as if it was nothing. Like turning up, not only technically saving your ass but kissing you like that was nothing more than an average Tuesday.

That night you swore to yourself that it would only be a second one time thing. But apparently that was just another lie. 

A few months later, you had been put onto a mission. You were monitoring the supposed harmless janitor of the building. ‘Supposed’ as there had been warning’s flagged over his involvement with an elite terrorist group that had been targeting undercover Shield agents. 

And, despite knowing you were safe enough, Sam had provided you with a ‘boyfriend’ cover. 

And that boyfriend just so happened to be Bucky. 

He came to your apartment every few days. Stayed at least two nights a week. And helped you do laundry…

Even when you were both fighting. 

“I don’t need someone watching my every move, James. I’ve been in this job a lot longer on my own. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never not done it before.” 

You were sitting on top of the empty washing machine as your bedding was spinning around in the dryer. Bucky was folding the second piles of clothing considering they were his that he’d left overnight. 

“What if something had happened? What if you’d gotten caught?”

“I nearly did,” you told him. “When you came charging inside like some fucking-”

There were slow and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. Without saying anything, Bucky reached out for you as you pulled him to stand between your legs. 

He leaned forward, his hands pulling you in by your hips as your hands pushed through his hair. Your mouth opened almost instinctively as his tongue swiped forward. A quiet groan left him and his fingertips gripped a little harder onto the soft skin exposed at your hips, before the door opened up. 

Sam rushed inside. “It’s just me.”

You and Bucky moved away from each other quicker than you’d come together. Bucky moved back to the laundry pile and wiped his lip as he thought about something other than the feeling of your legs hooking around his own and holding him in place. 

You wiped your own mouth, trying to hide the slight embarrassment as Sam stopped, realising what he, sort of, walked into. 

But there wasn’t time to question it. 

“Can you break your window?”

You looked at Sam confused. “What?”

“I need you to break a window in your apartment and call the janitor up. Joaquin is gonna come to ‘fix’ it. Eventually, he’s gonna have to sign papers in the office and we’ll be able to tag his desk top. It’s so old, Torres can’t hack it.”

“Jesus, really?” You hopped off the washing machine, ignoring the dull ache in your underwear. 

Sam nodded. “This dude is working with something from, like, the 90s.”

“For the amount that they charge for rent?” 

Sam nodded. 

Three hours, two struggling-attempts at a fitted sheet that decided for today to be the day it didn’t want to comply and one shattered window pane later; Joaquin had tagged the computer and you had a fresh window installed. 

Apparently, that mission was the catalyst for the next undercover assignment you received. Or rather, the undercover assignment both you and Bucky received. 

A new-ish wedding couple that have been house hunting for six months and had finally found the perfect one to try and start a family in. It just so happened to be across the street from a few different couples you would be quietly surveilling. 

Some for money laundering for elite underground teams that missed the idea of outfits such as ‘Hydra’ existing, some for potential involvement in weaponry sales overseas and some for recruitment to both groups. 

The other neighbours, however, were completely normal. 

Which seemed to be harder to deal with than the potential criminals living across the road. 

Considering you and Bucky had already made out more than once before, physical affection seemed to come a little easier than you had thought. It was still a little awkward, but overall, not as bad as it could have been. 

A week after moving everything in, you and Bucky agreeing to separate bedrooms, you’d gotten an alert one morning from the security camera doorbell. 

Someone was coming up the path. 

And you and Bucky were right in the way of the door. 

Still in your pajamas, bickering over which neighbour to start with, Bucky stepped forward and held onto your hips. He lifted you before your legs wrapped around him and you kissed him as if your life depended on it. 

Between each kiss came laughter to mask both the awkwardness and the fact none of it was real. It was all an act. It’s all it could be. 

The doorbell rang, then someone knocked on the window beside the frame of the door. You and Bucky pretended like you’d just been caught in the act. 

Your body practically slid down his as he let you down but kept an arm around your waist. As you answered the door, he remained fixed beside you. You opened the door enough to frame yourself and Bucky to the nine am neighbour who was holding a pie dish. 

As time went on, the affection became a little more subtle. Hand holding, open car doors, a helping hand down the front steps of the porch when you wore heels. 

Then, a few months later, you were both invited to the street BBQ. 

You were standing in the slightly open planned hallway, trying to get the buckle of your heels to play along. That was when your husband came jogging down the stairs in dark jeans, a fresh shirt and a brown jacket. 

“Need some help?” 

He didn’t wait for your answer after hearing you sigh as you lowered your foot, frustrated at your shoe. 

Bucky didn’t hesitate in bending down on one knee as you leaned against the back of the sofa. His hand gently holding onto your ankle,  he lifted your heeled foot to rest on him. He did the same with the next one, his thumb rubbing beside your ankle before he let you place it on the ground. 

His gaze didn’t leave yours as he stood. 

“You look incredible,” he told you.

A sundress, softer block heels to match and a smile that knocked him dead on his feet the first day he met you. 

“Ready to go?”

You nodded. “Let me just grab the food.”

“I still don’t see why we have to bring food to a BBQ we were invited to.”

“Because it’s good manners.”

“You know most of these people are criminals, right?” He asked you as he opened the door for you. 

You shrugged. “To them, we don’t know that…yet.”

Bucky locked the door before helping you down the porch steps. It was a short walk a few houses down. As one of the women ran over to you, holding your hands and complimenting your outfit, Bucky kissed your lips quickly before being ushered towards the buffet style table where the other husbands and partners were standing. 

But despite involving himself into the conversation, his eyes barely left you the entire night. 

Long after food, you found yourself sitting in your husband’s lap on one of the chairs. There were only a select few left, including you and Bucky. Which also meant chairs had become few and far between. 

You had planned to stand beside him, but without worry, Bucky had put his hand onto your waist and pulled you across until you were sitting comfortably. 

Your arm remained fixed on his shoulder and as the night went on, you started to get more and more tired. Your body practically melted against him as the faint buzz of alcohol took over and laughter passed between the remaining people, awake enough to hear the story. 

It was a little after midnight when you both returned home. Bucky pulled you into his side a little as his hand grazed over your hip and he kissed your head. 

“Go shower,” he told you. “You’ve still got sunscreen on.”

You nodded as you molded into his touch once again. “I know.”

“Give me them,” Bucky whispered quietly as he took the leftovers from your arms. “Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.”

By the time you had gotten out of the shower, you found a set of fresh pajamas on your bed. They definitely hadn’t been there in the morning. As you got dressed, you hesitated in the hallway for a second. Bucky’s room was just a little further. 

Yet, you stopped in your tracks when you saw his partially naked body through the crack in the door. 

He was buttoning his shirt on the hanger whilst he stood by his wardrobe door, jeans hugging his hips and the muscles a little tense in his back. 

It wasn’t like you’d never seen him shirtless before. But in those moments, he’d been hurt. You’d been cleaning a wound he couldn’t reach and wouldn’t let Sam touch since he considered him, “Too heavy handed.”

There was something far more intimate about how you were seeing him at that moment. 

Yes, he technically was your husband. And you were living in the same house. But, it was a mission. It was a cover. It wasn’t real. 

You’d thank him for the pajamas in the morning. After the feelings in your stomach had died down and the fictional image of you walking over and kissing the dip between his shoulder blades had disappeared. 

You tried to make it as casual as possible. And he accepted it as casually as possible. And you both very quickly moved on. A job still needed to be done. 

However, a few nights later, those lines blurred again. 

You’d been awake for hours, unable to sleep. Bucky had gone to bed an hour before you had, but you were the only one to wake up after having a rather intimate dream about your marriage partner. 

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the image of him away. So, with a sigh, you’d dragged yourself from bed and gone downstairs. You’d kept the TV volume low as you turned it onto a rerun channel.

Only, as Dorothy hit Blanche on the head with a newspaper, there was a knock at your door. 

You muted the TV and reached for your phone to check the camera. 

You waited to the side of the front door until they knocked again. “Y/n? Are you awake?”

You rushed forward, shoving the hidden gun back into the security draw of the hallway stand. 

“Suzie?”

You unlocked the door to find one of the few women you’d become friends with in the last few months. She was one of the ‘normal’ neighbours. Only, it wasn’t normal for her to be standing in her casual clothes, sopping wet from the rain, outside your door at almost half one in the morning. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said with puffy eyes. “I-I saw the shine behind the curtains and I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Come on in,” you pulled her out from the wet just as the familiar sound of Bucky’s feet came down the stairs. 

“Is everything okay?” 

The sight of him shirtless in nothing else but joggers was doing nothing to put a stop to your imagination. Considering he usually slept in his underwear – a fact you’d learned one morning when your kitchen fire alarm had decided to let its battery die at five in the morning – it shouldn’t have shocked you the way it did. 

“Everything’s fine,” you assured him quietly as you met him halfway. A hand landed on his chest over his heart as you leaned up and pecked his lips. He kissed back. “Go back to bed. It’s just Suzie.”

Bucky’s tired eyes opened wide enough to recognise your neighbour in the light of the TV. He looked back at you and you just nodded. 

“I promise,” you told him before kissing him again as you felt his hand at your hip. 

He just nodded. “Okay. If you need me-”

“I know.”

You watched as he turned around and went back upstairs to bed before you turned back to Suzie. “Let’s get you some fresh clothes.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. I-I can just-”

You shook your head, taking her hand in yours as you dragged her to the laundry room. You grabbed her a towel from the dryer before picking out an old paint-flicked T-shirt and some wide-legged joggers. 

“Put these on, I’ll make us some tea.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

You just nodded as you slid the laundry room door shut. She reappeared a few moments later, dressed and drying her hair with the towel, her eyes stained with tears once more. 

“What’s going on?”

“Me and Johnny had a fight.”

For the next two hours you sat with her in the kitchen as she cried her way through the story of how her and her boyfriend of three years had started their fight and how it had ended. 

“You can stay here for tonight. I don’t want you going back there.”

Suzie sniffled, “Thank you.” She hugged you tightly. “You’re such a good friend.”

Leading the way, you showed her the bathroom first which gave you time to tidy up the guest bedroom, as well as your own across the hallway – which just so happened to already look like nobody had been sleeping there.

By the time you reappeared, Suzie hugged you once more before you led her to the room and closed the bedroom door behind her. A few minutes later, you walked down the hallway towards Bucky’s room. 

He’d left the door ajar for you. 

Walking inside, you gently pulled the covers up and shifted under them until you were laying beside Bucky. And just as you thought he was dead-asleep, his arm came to lay across and pull you closer. 

As your hand ran up his arm and you settled against the mattress, you felt his nose brush against the crook of your neck. 

“Everything okay?” 

You swallowed a little before nodding. “Yeah. Her and John had a fight. I put her in the guest room. Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“My bedroom. You tidied it.”

Bucky had a hint of a smile on his lips. “You’re my wife. You shouldn’t be anywhere else but right here, beside me.”

The use of his words, with his deeper morning voice was a pairing that would be haunting your ovulation dreams for a good while. 

By the time you both woke up in the morning, you leaned over to check the time on his alarm clock. It was a little after nine. You’d both slept in. 

“Suzie and I are gonna have a girl’s day today, so I might be back late.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. Need me to do anything?”

You shook your head. “I’ll handle John.”

You leaned on your side as you watched your husband stand from the bed in his boxers and pull on his jeans, before zipping them up and buckling his belt. Then he sat back on the bed, his arm caging you in. 

“Are you sure? Because, you don’t have to.”

You looked at him curiously. “Have you ever seen yourself mad?”

He then looked at you, curiously. “What?”

“Because, though you might not be him, you still have that glint in your eyes.”

“Glint?”

You nodded. “You know, that I’m gonna kill you and not regret it, look. I don’t think John needs to be threatened by the Winter Soldier look…yet.”

Bucky relaxed and nodded. “What happened?”

“It’s little things that became one big thing. What they both need right now is some space.”

“If you need me, call me.”

You smiled, before watching him pull a henley down his body. “I know.”

However, when the back of his t-shirt became stuck, you leaped up and onto your feet rather than watch him struggle for the next five minutes. 

“Here, let me.” 

Suddenly, the room became a lot more quiet. Bucky felt your fingers lightly graze his bare back as you fixed his shirt and helped pull it down his back. And for a moment, he felt you lean against him. Or maybe he’d leaned into your touch so much, his knees had gone weak. 

“You know,” his voice was low as he spoke. “I like waking up to you with me.”

He didn’t know where the sudden confession came from considering less than two minutes ago, you’d both been talking about something completely different. All he knew was that it was the truth. 

Your breath hitched. “So did-”

Before Bucky could fully turn around to face you, there was a sound of a lock opening down the hall. Suzie was awake. 

“I better get breakfast started.”

Bucky nodded, his hands rubbing up and down the top of your arms as you leaned into his chest. He pressed his lips to your head. “I’ll go and check in on Sam.”

And for a few moments, you were left standing alone, his voice circling in your head. 

I like waking up to you with me.

The rest of the day ran swiftly. Having pancakes for breakfast before driving out to the local shopping mall and cafe. From where, you both got a manicure before ending up at a diner on the edge of town; John had been racing around town to find his girlfriend. 

Following multiple threats – both spoken, and silent – and constant apologies, Suzie and Johnny made up. But his actions were definitely going to be watched closely by you. Though nothing terrible had happened during the fight, and you doubted John would ever lay a hand on his girlfriend, he’d still hurt her. 

Which put him in your bad books. 

By the time you got home, John still providing Suzie the space she needed, you’d dropped Suzie off at home before pulling into your driveway, where almost instantly, Bucky had come outside and was standing on the porch waiting for you. 

“Where’s Suzie?”

“She went home,” you said as you locked your car and climbed the steps of the porch, Bucky taking your hand in his. “John apologised. I’m still gonna be watching him, but they’ve made up.”

Bucky smiled. “Good. You got your nails done?”

“Oh, yeah.” Between the diner and the long conversation home, you’d forgotten. “Like ‘em?”

Bucky nodded. “Looks great.”

You smiled to yourself before looking back up at your husband. What followed was a debrief of the day, before you both collapsed onto the sofa with some desert you’d brought back home from the diner. 

As whatever show Bucky had found for you both was about to flick onto the next episode before a pop-up ad came on asking if you wished to continue, you both took a break. Meanwhile, you pulled the blanket from you and stood before taking both empty bowls into the kitchen and laying them in the sink. 

And you took a breather for a second. 

For the last two hours, Bucky’s presence had been overwhelming – in the best sense, if the marriage had been real. But considering you were still trying to stuff emotions and images down into a box you kept meaning to lock shut, his presence was becoming more difficult to be normal around. 

That fuzzy line officially broke a few weeks later. 

The feelings had been growing stronger and more noticeable. The way he held you, the way he kissed you – even if it was quick. It left you wanting more. You’d also been spending more time sleeping in with him beside you than on your own. 

First it had been the night Suzie had stayed. Then it had been the sofa, waking up on his chest with your back against the sofa cushions. A few sleepless nights after that, he slept beside you, holding you close to him. 

After that, it became…normal…to wake up with him so close to you. His legs tangled with yours, his arm over you or around you, his steady heartbeat calming your own erratic one. 

Then, one night, you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d carefully peeled yourself from his arms and padded downstairs into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But after standing at the sink for a few minutes, your own thoughts too loud for you to notice him behind you, Bucky’s hands came to lean on the sink counter. 

His hands were on both sides of you, caging you in. 

“You okay?”

You jumped a little. Bucky noticed, his hand coming to rest on your hip for a moment. Somehow, it calmed you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just…couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a second before asking his next question. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

You lowered the glass from your lips and swallowed the water in your mouth. “What?”

Bucky watched the side of your face, your lips freshly wet from the cold water, your mind spiralling and distant. 

His right hand came up to your left side to pull the hair away from your neck. Carefully, he called you back in before he leaned into you, his nose gently running up the length of your neck. 

Your breath hitched a little as you leaned against his bare chest but still held onto the glass as it balanced on the edge of the sink. 

“You’re tense,” Bucky said before he pressed a feather-light kiss to your exposed skin. And for a moment, he felt you relax. “Nightmare?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

For a moment, you refused to face him. You were yet to know feelings that went away on their own when they ran as deep as they did, but maybe it was a fluke. 

Then he kissed the crook of your shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“It’s you.” The words came out a quiet sigh as your eyes closed. As his lips left your shoulder, but his arms didn’t leave the space he’d created for both of you, he looked at you. 

Your eyes opened. “It’s you, Bucky. You’re in my head and my…”

Heart.

“And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of you. It feels like somewhere between that first kiss on the sofa and…waking up beside you, you’ve seeped into my bones. And I…I don’t know if I want that to stop.”

Bucky’s gaze roamed over yours and for a long time, he was quiet. But his arms never moved. 

“That’s why I can’t sleep.”

The silence continued for a moment longer until Bucky finally spoke. 

“Your name has been tattooed on my soul since the first day I met you, doll.”

You looked a little puzzled, because you were. So he explained, “The first time you smiled at me, I’m pretty sure I got knocked off my feet. And that day you kissed me…I was thinking about it for weeks until I saw you in that dress. You looked fucking stunning. From then I knew my feelings for you would never leave, not that I tried to make them. You’re tattooed on my soul, doll.”

Your gaze narrowed playfully. “Are you really having a feelings competition?”

Bucky shrugged, a smirk on his face. “Maybe. But I know I’ll always win.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’ve got you,” Bucky answered sincerely. “You’re more than I could ever dream of. And that includes ‘dream’ you.”

You chuckled, “Such a romantic.”, before leaning in and kissing him with a smile. But as the softness moved away for a moment, the kiss became something more. Something deeper. 

Bucky stood a little taller as he moved his hands from the counter and held onto your face. The glass in your hand clattered into the sink as the water fell down the drain and you turned to step into your husband. 

Placing an arm around your waist, he lifted you up and onto the island in the kitchen before he held your face again, his tongue swiping at your lip before you granted him access. He felt your legs lock around him as he pulled his mouth from yours, letting his wet kiss trail under your jaw before catching at your pulse. 

You breathed deeper as his hand came to your thigh, his fingers pushing under the hem of your shorts, the ache in your underwear growing more needy. 

Making it halfway up the stairs, you held onto the handrail as Bucky dropped to his knees and trailed his tongue on the inside of your thigh before tasting you like a man starved of his final meal. 

By the time the sun rose, the sheets had been changed and the tile markings on your knees had settled down. But Bucky’s arm remained fixed around your middle, his fingers tracing up and down your spine. 

“Promise me this isn’t a part of the mission.”

Bucky’s eyes opened to meet your tired gaze. “I promise this isn’t a part of the mission. I meant what I said last night; I don’t plan for this to stop when we move out.”

The memory of Bucky on top of you, his gaze locked onto yours as he inched himself into you slowly, floated over you. You smiled. 

“Good.”

Leaning forward. Bucky kissed you lightly before rolling you onto your back, his arms wrapped around you as his kiss moved from your lips to your neck and collarbone. 

He heard you giggle softly as he did so. “We’ve got work to do.”

“It’s Sunday, doll.” Bucky told you, before leaning down and kissing your bare skin. “Work can wait.”

[kiatjuddae]

Soft

Summary: Bucky holds his newborn in his hands

Warnings: childbirth?, fluff

WC: 156

A/N: originally posted in October 2016 of a long since deleted blog of mine. I have been hunting down as many of my old fics that i can on older blogs that may have been follwoing my old blogs. This is one I'd found! Unedited!

Read on ao3! Tag List!

Soft. That’s the word that comes to mind the first time Bucky holds his newborn daughter in his arms. He’s standing next to her, his wife of four years. He didn’t think he was capable of having children, not after all that Hydra torture he’d went through all those years ago. But here he stood, standing next to her, holding a healthy baby girl. She felt heavier than he thought, maybe it was because he didn’t know how to hold a baby. He hadn’t held one since his sisters were younger.

The baby felt soft, almost as soft as the blanket that surrounded her fragile body. He looked at his his wife, tears staining his face, grin spread across his face.

“You’ll be a great father to her, Bucky,”

“I still can’t believe this, any of it,” he handed the newborn over to her and he wiped at his eyes, smile still spread across his face.

[kiatjuddae]

Monthly Torture {drabble}

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

word count: 717

content: established relationship , comfort , fluff , banter sorta? , mood swings , menstrual talk and symptoms

my masterlist ---

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

Bucky spun around stirring awake at the sound of you groaning , his arm instinctively reaching for you patting around searching , in the dim light of the early morning. 

The onyx colored sheets rustled and wrinkled , as you rolled flat onto your stomach , then back on your back , legs tangling in the blankets kicking and wrestling.

His low was voice still gravelly with sleep as he called out your name , thick with concern–propping himself up on an elbow , brushing his long hair out of his face. “Y’okay?”

You huffed out a heavy breath , waving a hand vaguely–blindly in his general direction. “Shhh… I’m fine. Just—ugh.” Another groan ripped out of you as your body cramped up sharply , causing you to continue flopping over again with dramatic annoyance.

That got him upright now , torso bare , hair sticking up in a dozen different directions , eyes squirting against the darkness. “You don’t sound fine,” he muttered , scanning your face. His hand hovered over your stomach , cautious , like he wasn’t sure if touching you would make things worse or better.

“I’m fine,” you snapped , tugging the blanket over your head , as if hiding under it would swallow up the ache in your lower abdomen and end it all. “It’s just my period , Buck. Go back to sleep.”

He frowned , already wide awake and way to stubborn to listen. 

You should have known. 

“Y’period?.. You don’t look fine to me, sweetheart. You’re in pain.” He almost whined the last word , like a plea of to you to listen to him.

“Yes , genius,” you shot back , poking your head out with mused hair and a glare that wasn’t entirely aimed at him. “That’s kind of the point of a period.”

The corner of his mouth twitched , but he didn’t dare smile. Instead, he reached over and gently peeled the blanket down from your chin , cooing. “What can I do? Heating pad? Tea? Hurt whoever last wronged you?”

Despite yourself, a laugh almost bubbled up—though it broke into a groan as another cramp twisted and coiled through your stomach. You curled onto your side, back toward him, muttering quietly. “You can stop asking questions.”

Bucky sighed softly. “Okay. No more questions.” His metal hand carefully smoothed over your hip bone, the coolness of the plates actually soothing against your overheated skin. He laid back down but kept his arm snug around you , thumb pad rubbing slow idle circles.

At first , all you wanted was to fully shove him off. Everything irritating you: the weight of the blankets against your body , the deep ache in your muscles , even the steady calmness of him. 

“You’re breathing too loud,” you mumbled.

He just hummed , eyes closed , breathing softer. “M’sorry.” He didn’t move his arm.

You groaned again , partly at the cramp , partly at your own short temper. “I’m being mean.”

“Little bit,” he admitted, with no heat in his tone. He pressed his lips to the back of your neck where hair met skin. “But you’re allowed. You’re hurting.”

Then after a moment , the guilt pressed in heavier.  You wriggled back against him, grabbing his arm to drag it tighter around your middle lacing your fingers with his. Tracing his knuckles , every scar and freckle alike.

“Don’t let go,” Your voice a broken whimper.

His chest rumbled with a breathy chuckle , scooting closer into your form. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

You nuzzled back against him, burying your face against the warmth of his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” he murmured immediately , pulling the blanket over both of you. “Besides, I’ve been through worse.” He gave your side a playful squeeze that had you groaning again—not from pain this time, but because he was teasing you.

“Don’t make me kick you,” Tone threatening ,  even though you pressed even closer, craving the steady comfort of him against your jittery, hormonal edges.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He kissed the top of your head, hand firm and grounding on your stomach. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”

You sighed, finally letting yourself melt against him, body slowly unclenching as the warmth of his chest and the solid weight of his arm soothed some of the sharp ache.

“Okay,” you whispered, softer now, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you winning over this pesky , monthly , hormonal torture.

-end

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