#marvel plus size

[kylopen]

In My Head

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.

Word count: 8.2k words <3

Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece I’ve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 I’m in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)

Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.

Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of ‘Good boy’, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receiving— THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.

There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.

You’d always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

-END-

[fatecantstopme]

Lustful Agony

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen, aka my favorite trope.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, an insane amount of smut, dubcon (cuz sex pollen), unprotected sex (p in v), oral (F receiving), masturbation (F).

"Would you please be careful?" you snapped.

Your partner froze and offered you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, doc. I wasn't paying attention."

"I noticed," you huffed. "There are any number of things in here that could kill us, so tread lightly."

"Maybe I should wait here."

You glanced in his direction and nodded. "You know what? Good idea. Stay there and don't touch anything."

You continued on through the dusty lab, hoping to find at least one working computer, but after 20 minutes, it seemed hopeless. Every computer had been destroyed and most of the paper files had been shredded or burned. All that remained was hundreds of glass vials filled with various liquids and gases that did gods-only-knew what.

"I'm starting to think this might be a burn and run," you called back to Bucky--still standing where you'd left him on the other side of the lab.

"If we blow this place, is there gonna be a toxic cloud?"

You shot an annoyed look in his direction. "I said 'burn', James, not 'blow'. We're not blowing up a lab filled with unknown chemicals and biological agents."

"Right, yeah." He looked at the ground, feeling slightly embarrassed. He always seemed to make a fool of himself in front of you and he hated it. He never wanted to be the fool, especially around you.

Your well-trained eyes scanned the room again before falling on a secured biological containment chamber. You knew that would be the best option for storing items for burning. All you'd need to do was get all the bio vials into the chamber and light it up.

You crossed the room to the chamber, feeling Bucky's eyes following you. He hated being in a position where he felt like he couldn't protect you, but he was out of his element here. As the resident hazardous materials expert, this was your area of brilliance.

You grumbled in annoyance when you noticed the lock on the containment chamber was activated. You were familiar with this particular model, and if you were lucky, these Hydra assholes hadn't been smart enough to bother changing the code. You input the pin, silently crossing your fingers, a smile spreading across your face when you heard the distinct sound of the mechanism unlocking.

You lifted the hood slowly, hoping to find the chamber empty. You had a momentary thought that you and Bucky should be wearing appropriate PPE, but the thought occurred to you too late.

A sound of surprise escaped your lips as a puff of sweet-smelling pink dust blew into your face from inside the cabinet. The tactical suit and gloves you were wearing did nothing to protect your respiratory system from the unknown substance.

The dust seemed to dissolve almost instantly, fading into nothingness before you could even alert Bucky to the hazard. He, of course, had heard your surprised gasp, thanks to his super soldier hearing.

"Doc? Everything okay?" he called worriedly.

"Not sure," you replied. "I, uh, I got hit in the face with some pink dust...and I'm willing to bet it's not fairy dust."

Bucky's blood ran cold. "Pink dust?"

"Yeah, smelled like some kind of super sweet candy--or those sugary wine coolers I drank in college."

Any color that remained in Bucky's face quickly drained. "Look at me."

His tone was so firm, it frightened you. Bucky normally joked around with you, but you could hear the fear in his voice and it scared you more than anything else.

You turned to face him and his expression confirmed your fears. "Do you know what it is?"

Bucky nodded. "I think so, but we won't know for sure for at least 30 minutes, possibly longer."

"Am I going to die?" your voice was so soft--so small--that even he almost didn't hear it.

"Not if I can help it."

When your eyes met his piercing blue orbs, he could see the terror reflected in them. He wanted to go to you, help you, but he knew he couldn't--not if you still had even the slightest trace of the dust on you.

"You need to rinse off before we get out of here," Bucky said calmly. "If it's what I think it is, then I can't get that stuff anywhere near me."

"Why? What'll happen?"

Bucky's gaze didn't quite meet yours. "I will tear you apart and not even realize it."

His words cut you like a knife. You knew deep in your soul Bucky would never hurt you, but if this substance could turn him into a wild animal, you wondered what the hell it was going to do to you.

You'd spotted a decontamination area when you'd first entered the lab, so you slowly made your way there, careful to avoid getting anywhere near Bucky.

Bucky radioed in to Sam to give him an update on the situation. You heard him describing what had happened and asking for another team to be sent in to destroy the facility.

You stood under the spray of the shower head and let the water pummel your skin. The pressure was almost painful, but you knew it was necessary to ensure the substance was no longer on your skin. You'd inhaled it, so you were screwed, but there was no reason for Bucky to be too.

After several minutes, you felt comfortable saying you were clean. You just wanted to get the hell out of this lab and back home.

You voiced as much to Bucky, but he shook his head slowly. "You're not gonna make it all the way home, (Y/N)."

You didn't like Bucky's use of your first name in this context...he always called you 'doc', and the change made you feel like death was around the corner.

Your face must have given away your fear because he continued. "I just mean you won't make it home before the symptoms start. Once they do, you won't want to be around anyone."

"So what do we do?"

"Safe house. It's our only option."

You groaned inwardly. You had zero desire to stay in that drafty little cabin another night, but you trusted Bucky's instincts, so you simply nodded.

Bucky was quick to usher you back to the quinjet, filling you in on his conversation with Sam. "He'll send in another team in full Level A hazmat gear. They'll take care of the place."

"Okay."

"You alright, doc? How you feelin'?"

"I feel fine so far. Just moderately terrified."

"Don't be. You're gonna be fine."

You wanted to believe him--really you did--but there was something in his voice that made you question if he even believed it.

By the time the jet touched down by the cabin, 25 minutes had passed since the moment of infection. Bucky still hadn't told you what you were dealing with and it was driving you insane.

You followed Bucky into the cabin and watched him drop his bag on the floor. He turned to look at you, eyes clearly sizing you up, checking to see if you were okay.

"Just tell me," you whispered--somewhere between a plea and a demand.

He sighed deeply. "How do you feel?"

You closed your eyes and took mental stock of your body, seeking anything out of the ordinary. "I feel hot, but that could just be the anxiety."

"How hot?"

"I don't know, like feverish, I guess."

Bucky groaned and the sound sent a wave of need through your body--a need that shocked you to your very core. This was absolutely not the time for your stupid crush to rear its head.

"Please don't hit me, okay? I'm just gonna touch your hand."

"Why would I hit you?" you asked a second before his flesh hand met yours. The feeling was pleasant and it warmed you from the inside out, until he removed his hand. You inhaled sharply as an intense pain you couldn't describe shot through you.

Bucky jerked his hand away, his worst fears confirmed. "I know what it is."

"Please," you whimpered.

"It's a biological agent Hydra developed when their attempts to make a useable super soldier serum failed. It was designed to induce a euphoric sexual state that would result in agony and possible death if penetrative sex was not performed and an orgasm was not achieved."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Hydra believed they could create super soldiers the old fashion way--by breeding them. Sprinkle some of the magic dust on a super soldier and he'd fuck his way through a room full of women without a single care for their well-being. They called it 'sex pollen'."

Your breathing was labored as pain began to spread through your body. You tried desperately to ignore it and focus on Bucky's words. "What happened?"

Bucky couldn't look at you as he responded softly, "None of the women survived the mating process."

You realized now what he'd meant back at the lab. You didn't really want to know, but you found yourself asking the question anyway, "Did they do it to you?"

Bucky closed his eyes, desperately trying to push the dark memories back down. "Yeah. They did."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, banishing the memories. "It doesn't matter. What matters now is how we handle this."

"If the sex pollen had that kind of effect on a super soldier, what's it gonna do to me?"

"I imagine it's going to be significantly worse for you if you don't...umm--if you don't reach climax."

"So I have to orgasm? Seriously?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Before you could respond, you doubled over in pain, an agonized groan escaping your parted lips.

Bucky rushed to you without thinking and laid his hands on your arms. You let out a pained whine and he pulled away, suddenly remembering what was happening.

"It feels like my skin is on fire," you cried.

"I know, doll. I know."

It was killing Bucky not to be able to help you. He was your protector in every situation, but he couldn't protect you from this. He knew exactly what kind of hell you were in for and it nearly broke him.

The waves of pain subsided and you were able to pull yourself upright. "Well this is fun," you mumbled.

"It's gonna get worse, (Y/N). Much, much worse."

"That's comforting, Buck. Thank you."

He gave you a sad look. "You can't do this alone."

"What do you mean?"

"The pollen was designed to force the creation of life...the only way to alleviate the pain is to give the pollen what it wants."

Your brain had become too muddled to understand what he was saying. "Plain English, Buck. Please."

"You, uh, you have to have sex."

"So you're saying I can't just masturbate this away?"

Bucky shook his head. "You have to have sex and your partner has to umm--ejaculate inside you."

Another wave of pain raked its claws through your skin, but you managed to stay upright this time. "What happens if I don't?"

You saw the look of sadness on Bucky's face and you knew you wouldn't like his answer. "You'll die."

"Well, fuck." You winced, reaching out to grab the back of the couch for stability. The pain was only increasing and you knew it was a matter of time before you couldn't take it any longer. "How sure are you that I'll die?"

"I mean, I don't know any regular humans that survived contact with the pollen. They were used as test subjects during its creation."

"I swear, Hydra gets more disgusting every time I learn something new."

Bucky was dying to help you. Seeing you in pain was agonizing for him and he knew his pain paled in comparison to yours. He would do anything for you--all you need do was ask.

"I'm gonna try waiting it out," you said firmly.

"What?" Bucky said, shock evident in his tone.

"I'm sure as hell not gonna force you to fuck me, Bucky. So I'm gonna wait it out."

"(Y/N), you're not forcing me to do anything. I'm offering to help. I don't want you to die."

You shook your head. "I'd rather die than force you into this."

"I'm offering--"

"Don't," you snapped. "No matter what you say, I'm going to feel like I'm forcing you to do something and I can't deal with that. So please, let me try to handle this alone."

Bucky knew for a fact he could overpower you with ease, especially when you were in such a state. He could make the pain stop and you would be glad for it in the moment. But he couldn't do it. He would never ever hurt you like that, even if it meant watching you die. It just wasn't something he was capable of.

"Okay, doll."

You could tell he didn't want to agree, but you were glad he wasn't arguing. All you wanted to do was tear your clothes off and try to find some sort of relief. The fire burning under your skin was intensifying by the second.

"I'm gonna take a cold shower and lock myself in the bedroom. Please stay out here."

Bucky simply nodded. He wanted to sit on this couch and listen to the sounds of your pain about as much as he wanted to get shot in the face. But he respected you too much to ignore your wishes.

You dragged yourself into the bathroom and stripped down to nothing before climbing into the cold shower. The frigid water seemed to help at first, but you discovered the effects were short-lived.

You leaned your head against the cold tile and let out a pained sob. You wanted the pain to stop so badly, but you didn't want to involve Bucky. You couldn't. Bucky was your closest friend and partner. His was the relationship you valued most in life and you wouldn't risk it for anything. It didn't matter you were in love with him. It didn't matter you'd wanted him from the moment you'd laid eyes on him. What mattered is you knew he didn't feel the same.

Bucky had a new girl in his bed several times a week. You were pretty sure you'd never seen the same girl twice in the three years you'd known him. Each one was a tall, blonde, model-thin, gorgeous woman. You didn't check a single one of those boxes. You didn't think Bucky was shallow, he just had a type. He was one of the hottest men you'd ever seen, so it only made sense for him to be with the hottest women.

You didn't think you were ugly, by any means. You just weren't his type. You were shorter, very curvy, girl-next-door average. You'd accepted it long ago and vowed to never tell him how you felt for fear of jeopardizing your friendship. Your current situation was as close as you could get to your biggest fear and you weren't willing to risk it. You loved him too much to lose him entirely. Even if he insisted he was willing to help, you knew he would come to regret it. Things would be awkward between you and eventually your friendship would come to an end.

"Not worth the risk," you muttered to yourself.

The cooling effects of the shower had long since worn off, so you turned off the water and grabbed a towel. As you wrapped it around your body, you found it was too small to cover everything and the scratchy material was painful against your overly sensitive skin.

You dropped the towel to the ground and opened the door a crack. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"Um, the towel hurts my skin, so um...please don't look while I walk to the bedroom."

Bucky inhaled deeply, calming himself. Sure, he wasn't impacted by the pollen, but the fact that your naked body was a few feet away from him certainly did.

"I'll close my eyes."

You tentatively opened the door and peeked out. You could see Bucky sitting on the couch, eyes closed as promised. You quickly rushed from the bathroom to the open bedroom door, shutting it behind you. In your haste to get out of sight, you neglected to lock the door.

You nearly collapsed onto the bed, the need to feel some relief the only thing on your mind. Normally, you would have been embarrassed to even consider touching yourself when Bucky was so close by, but this was an extreme circumstance. You mentally told yourself you needed to be quiet at the very least, given his excellent hearing.

You tried to get as comfortable as you could, but it was impossible. The only parts of your body that didn't ache were the ones you were actively touching. You slipped your dominant hand between your legs and felt another wave of embarrassment hit when you felt just how wet you were.

The moment your fingers brushed between your folds, you let out a loud moan. You slapped your hand across your mouth and hoped Bucky mistook the sound for one of pain.

Bucky was breathing heavily as he sat on the couch less than 10 feet from the bedroom door. He could hear every tiny little sound you made, even as you desperately tried to stay quiet.

He knew he shouldn't be turned on by those sounds--not when you were experiencing something so awful--but he couldn't help it. He'd dreamed of hearing you moan for him a hundred times before. It took all his will-power to not bust down that door and give you what you needed.

You let out a particularly obscene moan and Bucky had to stifle his own. His cock strained against his pants and he hated himself for being turned on. He tried to tell himself it wasn't his fault--he'd wanted you for years--but he couldn't shake the feeling of shame.

Ten minutes went by and the sounds coming from the bedroom continued. Bucky gripped the back of the couch with all his strength, determined to not give himself even a modicum of pleasure from this.

Another five minutes passed and he heard you let out a pained sob. His heart skipped a beat and he listened closely for any more noise. He heard the distinct sounds of you crying and his resolve broke. He immediately went to your door and knocked.

"Doll? You okay?"

"It hurts so much," you whimpered.

He leaned his forehead against the door. "I know, sweetheart. Please let me help you. Please."

He could hear you writhing around on the bed, whimpers of pain reaching his ears and making him tear up.

"I can't--it didn't work," you cried. "I'm so hot--it hurts."

"Please, baby," Bucky begged. He placed his hand on the doorknob, dying to turn it and get to you.

"Bucky," you whimpered.

The pain in that one simple word made his decision for him. He turned the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He opened the door a crack, but kept his eyes away from the bed.

"Let me help you," he pleaded again.

Your eyes roamed his gorgeous figure and you let out a choked sob. Nothing else mattered in that moment--all you could think about was him.

"Make it stop," you begged him.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, meeting yours in a desperately hungry look. He didn't say a word, didn't even allow his brain to process the deeper meaning of what he was about to do. You'd asked him to help you--to stop the pain--so that was exactly what he was going to do.

He stripped out of his tactical suit as fast as possible, leaving himself in his boxer briefs, cock straining to be set free.

You reached out a hand to him and he went to you without a thought. He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you as his eyes scanned your face.

"Are you sure about this, doll?" he asked softly.

"I need you," you whimpered back.

Those three little words shattered the sliver of resolve he'd had left. His lips met yours in a hungry, devouring kiss--all teeth and tongue. His hands latched onto your soft curves, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

Everywhere he touched felt like ice against your burning skin. The sensation both incredible and painful all at once. Whatever bit of shyness or insecurity you had was wiped away by the sheer intensity of it all.

Bucky's lips attacked your neck, your jaw, your collarbone--nipping and sucking bruising marks into your skin. While it felt good, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Need more."

Bucky nudged his knee between your legs to spread them wider for him. "I know, baby. I know."

He quickly descended down to your aching core, blowing hot air against it in a teasing manner. You whined and scratched at his scalp, reminding him this was not the time for teasing.

He flicked his tongue between your pussy lips, seeking out your clit immediately. The second his tongue brushed against it, you cried out in pleasure--the first real feeling of relief you'd had since you'd been infected.

Bucky smiled to himself as he settled in to properly feast on your pussy, reveling in the essence of you against his tongue, invading all of his senses.

You gripped his hair in one hand and the sheet in the other, gyrating wildly as Bucky ate you with abandon. The pleasure was blinding, but you could still feel the undercurrent of raging fire flowing through your veins.

Bucky seemed to instinctively know exactly what you enjoyed, following your body like he had a roadmap to your pleasure points. He sent you over the edge with ease three times before finally coming up for air.

You reached for him, still hungry for more. "Bucky."

"I'm here, baby." He kissed you deeply, hands gripping your hips tightly. He wanted to take his time with you, but he knew he couldn't--you needed more from him and you needed it now.

He was quick to discard his underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your aching hole and you both moaned.

"Please, please, please, please..." you begged.

Bucky knew what you needed and he wasted no time sheathing himself inside of you. You cried out in pain as his cock stretched you more than you'd ever experienced before. The pain quickly subsided into pleasure and the pollen seemed to sense its purpose was near.

You felt a surge of need and you begged him to fuck you. "I need it, please, Bucky."

"I've got you, sweetheart." He began to thrust gently, trying his best not to hurt you. The sensations began to overwhelm him as much as they were overwhelming you, prompting him to move faster--losing himself in the feeling of you.

"Fuck, baby. You take my cock so well."

Your pussy fluttered in response, a soft whine escaping your lips.

"Best pussy I've ever had. So tight and wet for me. Made for me, weren't you?"

You nodded rapidly, not really registering what he was saying.

"How many times you think I can make you cum, baby? Six? Seven? Think the pollen can get you there?"

Your eyes widened at his words. Unsure if that was possible even with pollen.

Bucky grinned down at you. "I think I can get seven. Bet this pussy will give me whatever I want, won't she? Gonna make my girl scream my name all night long."

You felt the coil in your belly snap as another orgasm rushed through you. You clung to Bucky, a string of profanity spilling past your lips.

Bucky didn't let you come down from it before pushing your body towards another orgasm. He wanted to feel you gripping his cock like this as long as possible--especially since he might never feel it again.

"Baby, you feel so good," he murmured, placing soft kisses to your face. "Love the way you're squeezing me."

"Feels so good, Bucky," you moaned.

"Fuck, been wanting to hear you say that for so long. Needed to be inside this tight little pussy so badly. It's better than I ever imagined."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wanted to ask what he meant--if he'd really imagined it, but you were too far gone to articulate a coherent thought.

As another orgasm crashed into you, you momentarily wondered if it was possible to die from overwhelming pleasure. You'd been in so much pain for so long and the sudden change to blinding pleasure was incredible. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

"How many more can you give me, sweetheart?"

"Wanfeelcum," you mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? Too fucked out to speak?"

"Wanna feel you cum, Bucky," you begged.

He was already so close to the edge he nearly lost control at the sound of your voice. But if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want this to end. He was scared if he came, if he gave you what you needed, then you'd be satiated and it would all be over.

"Need to feel you cum on my cock at least one more time, baby."

You whimpered, but nodded your consent.

Bucky picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You weren't sure whether it was the pollen or his skill, but you went flying over the edge of blinding pleasure with an intensity you'd never experienced. You screamed his name as the waves crashed over you, pussy gushing juices as you squirted all over his cock and abdomen.

"Fuck yeah, baby. So fucking sexy..." he murmured. "Gonna fill you up. Give you what you want."

"Want your cum," you begged.

"That's right, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum. Fill up this sweet pussy till you're stuffed."

"Yes, Bucky! Please!"

Bucky's hips stuttered as he came, filling your pussy with ropes of warm cum. Bucky kept thrusting slowly as he whispered your name into your skin over and over like a prayer.

Slowly, the haze created by the sex pollen began to fade, leaving you completely blissed out. Awareness of what you'd done began to creep in, but the feel of Bucky's weight on top of you kept you in the moment.

He finally slowed to a halt, but his lips were still pressing into your hot skin. After several more moments, he raised himself up just enough to kiss you sweetly, making sure you felt his adoration.

The moment he rolled off you, the full weight of what you'd done hit you like a ton of bricks. If your body would have cooperated, you would have turned over onto your side, curled up in a ball, and cried.

Bucky felt the sudden shift in your demeanor and he felt his heart clench in his chest. "(Y/N/N)..."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Surprise lit up his face. "What?"

"I shouldn't have done that--I'm so sorry."

"I'm gonna stop you right there." He sat up a little so he could look down at your face. You wouldn't meet his gaze, but he continued anyway. "Don't you dare think for a single second that I did something I didn't want to do. You were in pain and I couldn't let that stand. I would do anything for you, (Y/N). Anything. I don't regret it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Your eyes finally raised to meet his and you saw nothing but honesty in his gaze. You knew he cared about you, but you were still worried you'd crossed a line neither of you could come back from.

Bucky stared at your face, taking in just how incredibly beautiful you were. He was trying to commit it to memory--never wanting to forget any bit of it.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head. "You don't have to thank me, doll. Like I said, I wanted to." He paused for a moment, a silent war raging inside of him. He seemed to make a decision and once he did, the words just flowed from his mouth. "I mean it, (Y/N). I've wanted to for years--wanted you for years. I never wanted it to happen like this, but fuck baby...here we are. I would do anything you asked of me, okay? I'll rip my own heart out and light it on fire if you ask me to. So if you ask me to pretend this never happened, I will, but I need you to know I don't want to. I want to make love to you over and over again, hear you scream my name, watch your beautiful face as you fall apart for me...I want you. I will always want you."

You were completely breathless by the time he stopped talking. The words coming out of his mouth weren't what you'd ever expected to hear. "You want me?"

"I've always wanted you. Every part of you. Inside and out."

"What about all the other women?"

"What?"

"The ones you bring home all the time."

He touched your face gently, turning your head to look at him directly. "They're fine for a night, but they're not you. They were a poor substitute for the woman I really wanted, but couldn't have."

"Bucky..."

He looked a little crestfallen, mistaking your tone for rejection. "It's okay if you don't feel the same--"

Your hand gently pressed against his lips, shutting him up instantly. "If I could move properly, I would have kissed you to shut you up."

His eyes lit up and a small smile played on his lips.

"Of course I feel the same. Of course I want you. I only pushed you away tonight because I didn't want to lose you. I was afraid you would regret it."

He leaned down so he was inches away from your lips. "Oh sweetheart, I could never regret anything to do with you."

Your lips curled up in a sweet smile. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

"Buck?"

"Hmm?"

"Any chance we can make love? I wanna be in the moment...really in it."

"Right now?" he asked in surprise.

You nodded.

His lips met yours in a loving kiss. "I'm more than happy to oblige."

You grinned as he rolled back on top of you, lips pressing against yours hungrily.

"I'll make love to you as many times as you want. Whatever you want, I'll give you. Just ask."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

You smirked slowly. "Then I might have some ideas..."

"Oh really?"

"Oh yes." You pulled his face down to yours to whisper some of your inner desires into his ear.

"My god," he murmured. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You laughed lightly and he joined in before pulling you in for a passionate kiss, dead-set on giving you everything you wanted and more.

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Soldier's Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU

□□□□□□□

The metal of the chair was cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzzing faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, though you are in nothing but a thin gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.

"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."

You don't move. Not because you are obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. Too tired. Too defeated. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.

Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that made your stomach churn. He doesn't look at you. He rarely does. You aren't a person to them. Just a project.

"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You've been chosen for something… special."

You don't speak.

He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. "We're calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"

Still, you say nothing. You'd learned silence was the only control you had left. But you can't stop your stomach from sinking, can't stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to me?

"We've selected the optimal pairing. Your mind-remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence, and his… well. You'll see."

You frown. "His?"

He finally smiles. "Yes. We're combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You'll be carrying a child."

Your heart stops.

"What?" you croak. It was the first time you've spoken in weeks.

"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. "Your body will serve as the host. We'll be implanting within the next week."

"No," you whisper, eyes wide. "You can't-please. I don't want-"

Dr. Johns leans in closer. "Want?" he echoes. "You don't get to want. This isn't about you."

Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.

The following week was hell.

You screamed. You cried. You begged. But the drugs were stronger than your resistance, and they didn't even look at you while they did it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.

Then it was over.

And you were left in a cell, aching and furious.

For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.

But slowly, something inside you shifts.

The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

Was that…?

It comes again. A whisper from within. Not pain. Not control.

Just… life.

Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.

"Hi," you whisper to the silence. "I'm your mom."

This is not the life you want for your child. All you can do was love it and hope there was a way out.

Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. She is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.

They try to stop you from talking to her. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don't care anymore.

You name it in secret-just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. My baby. My child. My everything.

Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home-not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.

They still taunt you.

"You're barely holding together," a guard snortes. "Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options."

You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Say what you want about me, you think. But don't you dare touch my baby.

Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and with it, a fragile hope.

You don't know who the father is -not truly. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament.

That was likely the case.

Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would it be safe for the baby to know him? All these questions yet no answers.

What kind of life will it have?

You try to escape numerous times. You try to get yourself and your baby out of the place you know as hell. It never works. They know you are too smart for digital locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for old-fashioned chain lock and cuffs. The more restricted you are, the less likely you would be able to find a way to get out of the situation.

-------

They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.

You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.

You remember the silence after her first wail.

"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. "Please-let me hold her-just once-please-!"

But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.

And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.

You don't move for days.

They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb.

Then, one day, they come with a new offer.

"You'll get to see her," Dr. Johns says smoothly, "once a week. But only if you behave."

You want to spit in his face. But the thought of your baby—of her eyes, her breath, her smile—shatters your resolve.

"…Okay," you say. At least you can check if she was okay.

-----

She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful brown eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.

Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

And one day, you find the file.

It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.

But you can't help it. You have to know.

Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier)

You nearly drop it.

Him.

That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks.

Your heart breaks-not for yourself, but for him. He doesn't know. There is no way he does. I've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they were. He doesn't know she exists.

You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.

You don't tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.

Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he was even capable of caring for anyone. He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt me, too.

Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?

The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it is too much of a risk. You have no idea how he will react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.

Because if you die -there will be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.

----

The guards give you one hour. That was the rule.

One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.

They never say her name—never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.

When they first let you hold her, she is so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.

You sit down and don't move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.

"I missed you," you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. "Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?"

She cooes softly, hand brushing against the thin hospital gown you are wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces.

"You're safe with me," you promise, even though it is a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained supersoldier, like her father. They are more focused on your mental abilities than your physical strength, so they never bother to train you. "Just for now. You're safe."

The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.

You glare down at your arms. "Don't listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy's here."

------

Weeks pass.

Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to-but because it keeps her safe.

She starts recognizing you.

She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.

You cry so hard you can barely breathe.

When she falls asleep against your chest, her tiny hand wrapped around your finger -you pray time will freeze.

"Sleep, baby," you whisper. "Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can't give you."

Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.

There is one day, she is quiet.

Too quiet.

You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn't smiling. She isn't moving.

"Is she sick?" you ask the guards, voice rising. "What did you do?!"

"No questions," says the same monotone response. "One hour. No more."

You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently.

Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes-a beautiful shimmering brown-blink up at you.

Relief hits like a tidal wave. You cradle her even tighter.

"You scared Mommy," you whisper into her soft curls. "Don't ever do that again, okay?"

Your voice cracks.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

You have no idea what they are doing to your child. It kills you to think they are hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.

-----

Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she is a resilient baby. She is smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.

Then the visits stop.

No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You scream and you fight. You are drugged.

And when you come to-bleary, arms strapped down in your cot, you know something is wrong.

The halls are quieter. Fewer footsteps. Fewer voices. Then none.

The next time someone opens your door, it isn't a guard.

It was no one.

A soft creak. A hiss of released air.

You wait.

No commands. No threats.

You pull the restraints free with little effort, too easily. The power has been cut. The systems are breaking down.

You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic.

Lights flicker.

No soldiers.

No scientists.

Just the dead hum of a forgotten place.

And then-

A sound.

A baby crying.

Your baby crying.

Her.

You run harder than you ever have in your life.

Your legs burn, your body still weak from weeks of starvation and isolation, punishments for your lack of cooperation, but you run.

The lab is a maze. But your instincts, your love-cut through the fog.

You find her in a room filled with overturned equipment. She is crying, face red, fists curled. She is still in her tiny containment crib. But no one is watching her anymore.

You throw open the gate and collapse to your knees, cradling her against your chest.

"I'm here," you sob, rocking her. "I'm here. I got you. I got you."

She stops crying instantly, face pressed into your neck.

You clutch her so tight, your arms ache.

And then you find a room with a door that locks from the inside. It used to be a cell. Now, it's your only sanctuary.

You ration food. You keep her warm. You sing songs in a hoarse voice, trying to drown out your own fear.

You don't know how long you can last. But as long as she is breathing, you'd try.

You know, at some point, you will have to leave the building. You will need more food and water.

The thought terrifies you. You haven't been outside in years. You haven't seen the sun or the outside in so long. The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside is different. There is no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.

At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe here for now. You will figure out the rest later.

You scavenge the building for as many resources as you can find. It is enough to keep you both okay for a few months. Definitely not enough to last longer than 8 months.

---

Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You will both freeze to death if you stay here much longer.

You are thinner. Paler. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps.

Then one day-it all shattered.

You hear footsteps.

Not like before. Heavier and measured.

English voices.

You scoop her up. Her body is heavier now, growing. You run down the halls, bare feet slapping against concrete. The lights died long ago, and all you have is your memory of the maze.

She starts crying.

Too loud.

You hush her frantically. "Please, baby, shh-don't cry, don't cry, they'll hear you-"

Too late.

Footsteps speed up.

Voices bark orders.

Then you turn a corner-and freeze.

A woman stands at the end of the hall.

Red hair and black suit. Eyes wide.

She doesn't raise a weapon.

"Hey," she says, holding up both hands. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you."

You back away, toddler clutched tight. "No! Don't touch her! Don't take her!"

Others come. Bigger and scarier. You see a glowing chest light in the dark-hear a metal suit hiss.

You turn. You run.

But another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.

You are surrounded.

The baby is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.

"Don't kill her!" you cry, collapsing to your knees. "Please-I'll do anything, just don't hurt her-please-!"

The redhead approaches slowly. "We're not here to hurt her," she says gently. "Or you."

You shake your head, body trembling. "Liar. You're all liars-she's just a project to you. She's all I have. Don't take her."

"We're the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA," she says. "You're safe now."

You cling tighter to your baby.

"Please," you whisper, chest heaving. You don't believe their words. "Just let me keep her."

The redhead crouches beside you.

"You will."

------

The Quinjet is too loud.

You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.

Your arms are shaking.

Everything feels like too much.

Too bright. Too fast. Too real.

You stare at the dark floor panels, heart pounding like a war drum. The whirring of the engines, the humming of voices you don't trust-none of it felt safe. You don't feel safe.

No one tries to take her from you. Not yet. That was the only reason you haven't fought.

She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother's instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.

"She won't let go," Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. "Even when she's asleep."

"She shouldn't have to," Bruce says softly. "Not after what she's been through."

They don't think you can hear them.

But you did.

You heard everything.

They bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean-but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.

Bruce Banner stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a voice like wind brushing over still water.

"I'm just going to take a look at you," he says gently. "Both of you. I promise I won't touch her unless you say it's okay."

You don't move.

Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat.

You pull her tighter against you.

"She's mine," you say. Your voice cracks. "No one touches her."

Bruce gives a small nod. "Of course. I just want to help."

You don't believe that.

But he doesn't push. Instead, he pulls out a scanner and crouches-to your eye level.

"May I scan you from here?"

You hesitate… then give a tiny nod.

The scan was quiet. No poking. No restraint.

"She's malnourished but stable," Bruce says, looking at your daughter. "You've been feeding her from rations?"

"Yes," you whisper.

He nods again, with genuine warmth. "You did an incredible job."

Your throat closes up. You tried.

You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest. She's calmer here. Calmer with you.

You've done something right.

"You've been through serious mental trauma," Bruce continues. "I think your system's still fighting the effects of long-term neurological exposure. We'll give you space, but if you ever want help-therapy, or medication, or even just rest-we'll be here."

You don't answer.

You are still waiting for the moment they take her away.

But no one moves.

They are waiting for you.

Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that was too nice to be real. Real bed. Blankets. A large mirror on the other side of the room. A window with sunlight. You can see the world. It was very different than what you remembered.

When you were taken, you were freshly 18. A time that was supposed to be exciting and full of new adventures was quickly robbed from you. All your dreams of finally getting to go to Harvard were crushed. You were from a smaller town, one that didn't have these massive buildings that surrounded you. You were used to fields and animals. Nothing like that was outside. It was a shock.

You don't know how to sleep in a bed anymore. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm.

You sit, awake, staring at the door.

And then it knocks.

"Hey. It's me. Natasha," comes the voice from the other side. "Can I come in?"

You don't say anything.

The door opens gently.

She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close.

"I just want to ask you a few questions," she says quietly. "Is that okay?"

You look at her for a long moment… then give the smallest nod.

"What's your name?"

You lick your dry lips. "Y/N."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

Her expression softens. "And how long were you in that facility?"

You look down at your baby. "Since I turned 18."

A beat of silence.

Natasha's jaw tightens-just a bit. "That's a long time."

You don't respond.

She nods to your baby, who is sound asleep now.

"What's her name?"

You hesitate-but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.

"Daisy."

You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.

Natasha smiles gently. "That's beautiful."

You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter's hair. "I thought so too."

Natasha leans forward just a little. "Can I ask about her father?"

Your whole body tenses.

Your eyes drop to Daisy's face again. So small. So innocent.

You swallow thickly. "I don't… I don't know him," you admit. "I never met him. Not really." You had only ever seen him in passing.

Natasha's gaze flickers, and you see it-just the briefest flash of concern. Worry.

"It wasn't like that," you say quickly. "No one… touched me. I mean, not—not that way."

She relaxes. Just slightly.

You toke a shaky breath.

"They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to create a weapon with the perfect balance. My mind. His body. His strength. "You brush your fingers across Daisy's head. "I didn't even know whose DNA they used. Not at first."

"You found out?"

You nod slowly. "They left a file out once. I don't think they meant to. I saw his name."

Natasha doesn't speak.

"They called him… the Winter Soldier."

You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?

The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.

"I didn't tell him," you whisper. "I was scared. I thought maybe he'd take her. Maybe he'd hurt her. Or… maybe he didn't know. I couldn't risk it. I had to protect her."

You looked up at Natasha, terrified.

"I swear I'm telling the truth."

She didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

Her face said everything.

----3rd POV----

Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watched in stunned silence.

Steve stood stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She had been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced.

Sam glanced at Clint. "Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?"

Tony frowned. "HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn't have been possible. It's not out of the realm to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding."

"She doesn't know he's here. What's there to gain from lying about him?" Bruce said quietly. "I don't think she's lying."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "I think she's telling the truth. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?" he said, voice rough.

Bruce nods. "If he wants one done, I can try to convince Y/N to let us take some blood from the baby." He observes the baby through the glass. "She does look a lot like Bucky."

"We have to tell him." Clint looks around at the group of men.

"Who’s going to do it?" Sam asked.

"I will." Steve volunteers. "It'll be better coming from me."

----- 3rd POV -----

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the training room.

Sweat dripped from Bucky's brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles-flesh and metal-were raw from the relentless assault. The gym was quiet, empty except for the sound of effort. That's how he liked it.

This was the only place where the memories didn't claw so loudly at the back of his skull.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces-bloodied, terrified, dying. Faces he couldn't name. Faces he'd hurt. Even now, even free, the weight of what he'd done pressed against his chest like a boulder he could never move.

So he hit the bag.

Over and over.

Like he could punch his past into silence.

His metal arm whirred with each movement-controlled and brutal. He wasn't training to stay in shape. He was trying to feel something. Anything that wasn't guilt.

But then he heard it.

"Buck."

Steve's voice.

He didn't stop punching. Didn't look.

"I need to talk to you."

Still, he didn't stop. Not until Steve stepped into his line of sight.

Bucky dropped his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. "What is it?"

Steve hesitated.

And that… that was never a good sign.

Steve's voice was low, careful. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.

"There's a woman here. She was rescued from a HYDRA facility."

Bucky blinked, wiping his face with a towel. "Okay…"

"She was part of an experiment. One of the worst ones. Mental manipulation. Long-term isolation. She's been in there since she was eighteen."

Bucky stiffened.

"I… I wouldn't be telling you this if it wasn't important."

"Steve," Bucky said, voice a warning. "What are you not saying?" Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.

Steve's throat bobbed.

"She has a daughter."

Bucky frowned. "Okay? So?"

Steve took a step closer. "We're... We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck."

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.

"What?"

"She didn't know at first. She found out later. The girl-her name's Daisy-is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you."

Bucky staggered back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

"No." His voice cracked. "No, that's not-That can't be-"

"I know it's a lot," Steve said quickly. "I know. She didn't lie. She didn't even know you were here. She wasn't trying to manipulate anyone. All she's done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want."

Bucky stared down at his hands.

His right hand-flesh and bone-trembled. His left hand-metal, inhuman-hung limp at his side.

"A kid?" he whispered. "My kid?"

His vision blurred. He didn't realize he was shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I didn't even know," Bucky rasped. "I didn't even know what they were doing. They took it from me. They used me again."

"I know, Buck."

He turned away, eyes wild. "I don't-What if I'm just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if-"

"She's not," Steve said, voice firm. "She's sweet. Gentle. She looks at her mother like she's the whole damn world. She's a great kid, Buck."

Bucky's throat closed.

And then the question clawed its way out:

"Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?"

"No," Steve said quietly. "She doesn't even blame you. She said she thinks you didn't know. That maybe you were just a name to them. She didn't tell anyone because she was scared. She's just trying to keep her daughter safe."

Bucky sank to the floor.

He didn't speak. Just pressed his face into his hands, breaths coming short and fast. Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot of trauma. Steve said Daisy looked like me. How could she look like me if she's not somehow related to me? I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.

A kid.

A real one.

A little girl who existed in this world, who shouldn't, because of him.

And he didn't know if he had the right to see her.

-----

The compound garden was quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. It didn't feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. You still flinch every time someone closes a door too hard.

You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter cradled against your side, her tiny hands sticky with banana. The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one-soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha's idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.

Your own comfort? That was a different story.

You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.

Daisy's humming a little tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn't need it. Maybe you do.

Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.

You don't move right away. You are used to the sounds of people coming. You'd learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable.

But something about these steps made your body tense. Heavy. Measured.

You turned-and your breath caught.

It was him.

The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you'd been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions.

The Winter Soldier.

No-Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him.

He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium arm shines in the filtered sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.

His face-oh, his face.

He isn't the weapon you remember. He's a man. And he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

He stops several feet away, eyes locked on you, then flickers to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in, like he's trying to memorize her.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn't know how.

You sit up straighter, your arms instinctively wrapping more protectively around Daisy. She shifts, sensing your tension.

Bucky notices.

"I-" he starts, voice rough like gravel. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

You don't answer.

"I shouldn't've come," he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. "I didn't want to scare you. I just…"

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to Daisy again.

"She's mine?" he asks quietly.

You nod, slow and cautious. "Yes."

His jaw clenches. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of that one word.

"I didn't know. They didn't tell me," he whispers. "I swear, I didn't know."

"I believe you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He looks so different then how you'd seen him in the past. His face, which was usually stoic and emotionless, is filled with conflicting feelings. This has to be a lot for him to take in.

His eyes-startlingly blue, filled with pain, finally meet yours.

He takes one step forward and then pauses again. And then, hesitantly, in a voice that barely held together: "Did I-did I hurt you when she… when she was…" He trails off, the words choking in his throat. His eyes drop to the ground. "I hoped I wasn't capable of shit like that but… I don't know. I never know what they made me do. Not really."

You stare at him, breath caught in your chest.

You know what he meant. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It was too hard for him to say.

That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Knowing your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.

"No," you say softly. "You weren't even in the room."

His head jerks up to look at you. He's confused.

"It was in vitro," you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. I wish I could've protected myself. Stopped what they did to me. I couldn't, which makes me feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put it back in me. You were never physically involved in it." You try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn't know until about a year after Daisy was born."

You push yourself to look at his face.

Relief crashes across his features-brief, raw, and almost too painful to look at. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that...I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant...it's hard enough to survive without a baby." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known...I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.

"It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." I don't hold a grudge against him.

"Still, I'm very sorry."

You look at him again-really looked at him-and realize something that unsettles you.

He's just as scared as you are.

And just as broken.

There was silence between you. Heavy, aching silence. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and nightmares. You both missed time with your daughter.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you would even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you."

Bucky face is stiff. His eyes, however, hold sadness. " I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. They killed my personality and feelings. You did what you had to. She comes first. I'll never be angry for you putting her well-being first."

He isn't how you expected. Well, you didn't really know what to expect. It makes you sad he didn't get to spend time with her at all. At least you saw her once a week. This is the first time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time he could never get back.

Then Daisy stirs.

She blinks up at the stranger, her small brows furrowing. "Mama?" she whispers.

You smooth a hand over her hair. "It's okay, sweetheart."

Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance.

He looks at Daisy with a softness that shocks you. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.

"She's… beautiful," he says, voice cracking.

Your throat tightens. "She is."

"How old?"

"Almost two and a half."

He nods slowly, trying to work the math in his head. "God…"

You see him glance toward her again.

He wants to reach out. You can tell.

But he doesn't.

And that matters more than anything else-he doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.

"Do you… do you want to sit?" you ask hesitantly.

He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.

"I'll stay back here," he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. "Just wanted to see her. That's all."

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin.

Bucky's lips curl into a pained smile. He waves back.

"He good guy?" she asks, glancing at you.

You pause.

You look at Bucky again.

The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.

"I think he's trying to be," you said quietly.

----- 3rd POV -----

Bucky didn't remember walking back into the compound.

He remembered standing up from the bench with a nod and a faint, careful thank you to Y/N. He remembered Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembered the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.

But after that, it was a blur.

Now he was back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clung to his skin, hair stuck to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt felt suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand had already started to fray.

Wham.

Wham.

WHAM.

"You're gonna break the wall if you keep that up."

Bucky didn't stop punching, but his jaw tensed. "Maybe it deserves it."

Steve stepped into view, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His voice was steady, but soft. "You went to see her?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose and gave the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaved. "Yeah."

Steve didn't say anything for a long moment. He just waited.

Bucky ripped off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. "Y/N, she's scared of me."

"She's been through hell," Steve said quietly.

"I know that," Bucky snapped, more at himself than Steve. "I saw it. I saw it all over her face. Every time I moved too fast, every time I even looked at her wrong, she flinched like I was going to-"

He broke off, dragging a hand over his face.

"I didn't mean to scare her."

Steve walked closer. "You didn't mean to have a kid, either."

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. "No, I didn't. Hydra made that choice for both of us. Took what they wanted, like they always did. Used me to make a baby and used her to carry it. That shit is cruel. All those procedures Y/N had to endure...going through pregnancy in a place like that. A time that was supposed to be happy for most must've been a nightmare for her. Yeah, they took sperm from me, but that was the end of my job. They made her carry Daisy and suffer alone. The fear she must've felt, Steve. The pain. And she had no one there to support her." Bucky was pissed and guilty.

He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, when the time came for them to have kids. He wanted to help her and be there to get everything she needed or wanted. He felt like it was the responsiblity of the father to be there to support the mother of their child. He hadn't known, so he wasn't able to be there. That hurt. Besides that, he missed so many milestones. Daisy's first laugh, first word. And so many more.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a few steps away. "You know what's messed up? For a second-I was terrified I'd hurt her. That they made me violate her..." He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat at the thought. "But she said it was in vitro. That I wasn't even there. And I was relieved. Relieved I didn't hurt her."

"That's not messed up," Steve said. "That's human. It'd be messed up if you didn't care what had happened to her."

Bucky slumped onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. "She said she'd seen me before. That I looked cold. Like a weapon."

Steve sat beside him, not too close. "You were being used as one."

"It doesn't matter. That face still haunts her. Still haunts me."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She was trying so hard to be brave. Holding that little girl like her life depended on it. Maybe it does."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "Did you look at her?"

Bucky glanced sideways. "The baby?"

Steve nodded.

Bucky's voice dropped to a whisper. "She’s perfect, Steve. Big eyes. Wild hair. She's got this laugh-she laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that?" His lips pulled into a soft, disbelieving smile. Then it faded.

"I don't know what to do. She's scared of me. Rightfully so. I don't even know what I am to that little girl. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a dad. I've never had a responsibility like that. I didn’t choose any of this."

"No," Steve agreed. "But you're here now. You're going to be a great dad, Bucky. You're just going to need to learn a little bit. There's nothing wrong with that. Y/N is still learning too."

Bucky closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing into his spine. "What if I mess this up?"

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and sure. "Then you keep trying. You show up and try again. You don't give up on your kid. And you let them set the pace."

------

You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, arms wrapped around your knees, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell.

The compound was too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Like silence, you hadn't earned.

You could still feel the warmth of the bench under your body. Still see the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he'd crouched like he wasn't sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.

Our daughter.

This isn't how you had planned to have a family. As a young girl, you had always wanted to have a family someday. You wanted a lot of things. You want to graduate from Harvard with honors and get into a great graduate program. You wanted an amazing career in an industry where you could make a difference with the help of your intelligence. You wanted to find a man who loved you completely, no matter how much you weighed or what you looked like. You wanted to get married and have children in a beautiful home you worked hard for. You wanted your husband to be there when you gave birth to your babies, to be able to share the moment with you. You wanted your husband to be able to share your baby's beautiful moments and milestones with you. You wanted to throw birthday parties and show your baby off. You wanted so much.

And you got none of it.

You didn't get to graduate or get married. You didn't get to fall and love and have support through your pregnancy. You were forced through hundreds of tests, surgeries, and experiments until your bubbly, confident self was turned into a shell of who you were. You were forced to experience the heartbreak of being forcibly impregnated by a stranger, growing a bond with your baby, delivering her in a traumatic setting, and then getting her taken away.

You shiver at the thought.

You had seen his face in so many nightmares. Those glimpses in the hallway, the times he'd walked by in black gear with no emotion behind his eyes. The Winter Soldier. A ghost of war, of death, of silence.

Now that face had looked at you with fear. Guilt.

And tenderness.

He had looked at Daisy like she was made of stardust. Like she was the one good thing in a world full of pain.

Your heart twisted.

You wanted to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.

But he hadn't been in the room. He hadn't made the choice. He hadn't known.

Neither had you.

You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, "You should be honored. He's the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece."

You blink hard, pressing your forehead to your knees. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.

You hadn't even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside her. Just a number. A file. A myth.

And now he was real.

So painfully real.

You weren't ready. You wanted to be-but you weren't. Not yet.

But the way he'd looked at Daisy…

It made something shift in you.

A glimmer of hope.

A flicker of trust.

You didn't know what was going to happen next. Didn't know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe-just maybe-Daisy could have the chance at something better.

Maybe they all could.

------

It was late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm-doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.

You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter's hair-short, wavy strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.

It feels… almost normal. A warmth in your chest you don't dare name yet.

You don't hear him at first.

"Um… hi." The voice was gravel-soft. Low. Hesitant.

You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter's hair.

Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer, shoulders drawn in like he's trying to make himself smaller. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, are careful now-open in a quiet way, like he's trying not to spook you.

You stiffen slightly, but don't pull Daisy into your lap the way you might've just a few days ago.

He notices.

"I-I didn't mean to interrupt," he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. "I just… I was wondering if I could… if I could talk to her. To Daisy. Just for a little bit."

His voice cracks slightly on the name.

You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.

"I wouldn't-" Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, almost painfully slow. "I wouldn't touch her. Or scare her. I'd just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that's okay."

There's a long silence. The kind where you can hear every breath.

You look at him-really look at him. He isn't trying to loom or press. If anything, he looks like he's bracing for you to flinch. For you to say no. For you to shut him down completely.

And yet… he's still here.

Still trying.

"Yeah sure. She's just playing," You say, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "You can sit. If you want."

The relief that passes through Bucky's body isn't loud-but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly-just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches.

Daisy looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face.

She tilts her head.

Then offers him her porcupine.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with a hand that trembles just slightly.

"That for me?" he asks softly.

Daisy nodded solemnly. "His name's Pokey."

He takes the plush in his large, careful hands and holds it like it is something delicate. "Pokey, huh? That's a good name."

You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter's hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Your heart is beating a little too fast.

Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering.

"She likes you," You say after a beat. "I can tell."

"She's brave," Bucky says, watching her. "She's got your smile."

The compliment stirs something warm in your chest, though you don't show it.

You two sat like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning.

And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays.

Careful. Quiet.

Present.

----3rd POV----

Bucky sat alone on the balcony connected to his room, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. The sky was slipping into dusk, streaked in lilac and orange, and the air carried that subtle shift toward nighttime-the kind of cool that made you breathe a little deeper.

He hadn't moved for nearly an hour.

The image of Daisy-stacking plastic cups with gentle concentration, her nose scrunched, her little fingers brushing his when she passed him the porcupine-played on repeat in his mind.

She didn't know who he was.

And still, she smiled.

Still, she trusted him-instinctively, openly, like no one ever had without reason.

It was unbearable in the best and worst way.

The door behind him opened softly.

He didn't look back.

"Figured I'd find you out here," Steve said, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs in hand.

Bucky took one without a word. It was warm-chamomile or something equally Steve-like.

They sat in silence for a few long beats. The kind of silence only decades of friendship could make comfortable.

Steve finally spoke.

"How'd it go?"

Bucky let out a breath through his nose.

"She let me sit," he said. "That's more than I expected."

"She trusts you?" Steve asked gently.

"No. Not yet," Bucky murmured. "But she didn't flinch when I talked. She didn't grab Daisy and run."

Steve nodded. "That's progress."

"She looked scared of me," Bucky said finally, softly. "Even though she was trying not to be. I know that look."

Steve tilted his head, studying his best friend.

"And Daisy?" he asked.

"She gave me a damn stuffed animal," Bucky said, shaking his head. "Called it Pokey. Just… handed it to me like she already knew I wasn't gonna hurt her."

There was a beat of silence.

"I didn't think I'd ever get this," Bucky said, almost too quietly. "A kid. Even just… knowing there's someone out there who's part of me."

Steve set his mug down carefully on the railing.

"You didn't get this, Buck. It was taken from you. From both of you."

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the darkening horizon. His hands clenched around the mug.

"I want to know her," he said. "But I don't wanna push Y/N. I don't wanna be that guy who comes in and messes it all up just because I showed up too late."

Steve looked at him, steady and kind.

"You being cautious already tells me you're not gonna mess it up. You care. You're trying. That counts."

Bucky exhaled deeply.

"I just hate that HYDRA used us both like that," he said. "Violated her. Used my DNA like it meant nothing. I feel like I'm walking into a house made of glass. One wrong word and it all shatters."

Steve nodded again, silent in understanding.

"You'll figure it out," he said. "She'll see it."

Bucky didn't answer. Just stared at the horizon, holding the warmth of the tea in his hands like an anchor.

----

The compound was quiet again.

You stand at the crib beside your bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy's soft hair. The toddler was fast asleep-tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.

She looked so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn't, not really. Daisy had known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiled. Still trusted.

Still shared her toys.

You turn away and sit down on the bed, your knees pulled up toward your chest. The sheets were soft. Clean. The scent of lavender drifted from the pillow.

It was all so different from the concrete cell.

From the cold, sterile walls of the lab.

And yet you couldn't stop the way your heart pounded anytime you saw someone unexpected in the hallway. Couldn't stop the way your body tensed when someone spoke too loudly. Couldn't stop glancing at the exits.

One of the moments with Bucky played in your head over and over.

His voice, low and cautious. The way he sat across from you, like he didn't want to breathe too loudly.

"Did I… did I hurt you…"

You swallow hard, your chest tightening again.

He'd been so careful. So afraid that he had done something monstrous without knowing. And when you told him he hadn't, you saw him breathe again. Like someone had finally taken the weight off his chest.

He wasn't the man who hurt you.

He'd never even been there.

And yet… he was the man whose face haunted you back then. Cold. Silent. Deadly. The Winter Soldier had passed by your cell more than once. You remembered the way guards stood straighter. How even the doctors looked nervous.

But this Bucky?

This was someone else entirely.

Gentle and broken.

And you didn't know what to do with that.

How could someone be the ghost in your nightmares and also the man your child smiled at?

You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes. Your body ached with memory and fatigue. Your heart-felt stretched thin with confusion and fear and… something else. Something warmer that you didn't dare name.

Not yet.

But maybe, if he stayed gentle… if he kept giving them space and showing up without demanding anything…

Maybe you could learn how to name it.

----

Bucky now spent a little more time with you and Daisy every few days-never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brought little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy. He always checked with you first.

And you two started to talk.

It started out slow with things like 'How are you?', 'Do you like the tower?', or just general conversation about the baby.

"She reminds me of Becca sometimes," Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. "My sister."

You tilt your head. "Was she older or younger?"

"Younger," he says, his smile widening at a memory. "Bossy. Tougher than I ever was."

You smile back. "I had a brother. He was older. He… tried to stop them when they came for me."

Bucky looks over, eyes shaded with something dark and aching. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," you whisper. "I don't even know if he made it."

Bucky gives you a sad smile. "My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me."

There was silence for a moment, not heavy-but shared. Bucky sits back on the bench, arms resting on his knees.

"You were only eighteen," he murmurs. "I read your file."

Your stomach clenches. "Oh."

"No- I just…" He sits up straighter. "I'm not trying to dig into your past. I just-wanted to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through…"

His voice cracks a little, then hardens again. "It's not fair. None of it."

You look at him carefully. He was trying to understand you. "It wasn't your fault."

"But it's still part of me," he says. "HYDRA's part of me. And I hate that."

You are quiet for a while. Then softly you speak: "They tried to break both of us. But we're still here."

He looks at you. Really looked. There was something in his eyes-a kind of admiration you didn't know how to respond to. He gives you space, respects every boundary. And still, there's warmth. There's safety.

And you were beginning to feel it.

Your chest aches with something too complex to name. You knew you were starting to like him. To care. But you couldn't let it show. Not yet.

You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.

Bucky smiles faintly beside her. "That one's me, isn't it?"

You laugh under your breath. "Looks like it. Strong jaw and everything."

He grins, and for a moment-just a fleeting second-you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone…normal.

And that was new.

---

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU

[tempobaekh]

Jacked and kind super soldier

Pairings: bucky barnes x civilian!f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFF, cutie, bucky being jacked and kind, maybe ooc bucky?

A/N: this trend is the cutest this everrrr. i HAD to write it for my fav super soldier. i also read a rafe cameron one somewhere a bit ago and got inspired by that lol. also I KNOW THAT IS THE HYDRA ARM IN THE PICTURE i just needed a picture of his metal arm kinda flexing.

The weekend was your sanctuary—a blissful retreat where the rest of the world melted away, leaving just you and Bucky in the warm cocoon of your apartment. The soft hum of the shower from the bathroom filled the air as you lounged on the couch, your phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok aimlessly. Alpine was curled up on the armrest, purring softly as if she, too, reveled in the peace.

As you swiped through your feed, a familiar trend popped up—a montage of strong men lifting their girlfriends effortlessly while Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickins” played in the background. The lyrics floated through your mind: “A boy who’s jacked and kind…”

Each video showed the guy flashing a proud smile, flexing an arm while the girl laughed, clearly enamored by the display of strength. A wistful sigh escaped your lips. The trend wasn’t new; you’d seen it countless times but never mustered the courage to ask Bucky to try it.

Bucky was still adjusting to modern life, often overwhelmed by the ever-changing whirlwind of social media and trends. While he was always a good sport about trying new things, you were careful not to overwhelm him, only occasionally roping him into your TikTok antics. Even then, you had maybe two or three TikToks of you both on your account.

But this trend? This trend stirred a little thrill in you. You couldn’t help but wonder—how would it feel to be hoisted onto his shoulder, his strength so effortless it was almost unfair? Would he smile that soft, proud smile you loved so much? Would he flex just to humor you?

Your lips twisted thoughtfully. Could you even ask? Would he think it was silly?

“Just ask,” you mutter to yourself, biting your lip as you stare at the video again. The sound of the shower shutting off jolts you out of your thoughts. Moments later, Bucky steps out into the living room, his dark hair damp and tousled, a gray t-shirt clinging to his broad chest. Alpine immediately perks up, trotting over to greet him.

“Hey, doll,” he says with a warm smile, rubbing a towel through his hair. “What’re you up to?”

You stand, heart thudding slightly as you approach him. “Buck, can I ask you for a favor?”

His brows furrow slightly, curiosity flickering in his stormy blue eyes. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Well...” you start, clutching your phone like it’s a lifeline. “There’s this trend on TikTok I’ve seen a lot. It’s harmless, I swear! But it involves... you lifting me. For a video.”

Bucky tilts his head, his expression a mix of amusement and confusion. “Lifting you? Like how?”

You quickly explain, pulling up the video and showing him. As he watches, you can see the flicker of understanding cross his face, followed by a soft chuckle.

“So, you want me to do that?” he asks, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“Yes,” you say with an embarrassed laugh, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “But only if you’re okay with it!”

He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “Why not? Seems harmless enough. And if it makes you happy...”

Your face lights up, and you throw your arms around him. “Thank you, Buck!"

Setting your phone up on the coffee table, you adjust the camera angle until both of you are perfectly framed. The familiar 10-second countdown begins, and you quickly fluff your hair, glancing back at Bucky, who’s standing behind you with an easy smile.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice tinged with excitement.

“Ready when you are, doll.”

The countdown hits zero, and the familiar opening notes of “Slim Pickins” filled the room. Before you can even do a little jump to help him, Bucky’s large hands—one warm, the other cool and firm—grip your waist. In one effortless motion, he hoists you onto his shoulder like you weigh nothing, his flesh arm supporting you.

“Bucky!” you gasped, laughing as you suddenly found yourself perched on his shoulder, your legs dangling. You clung to his shirt instinctively, though you knew he’d never let you fall.

He looked up at you with that soft, proud smile you adored.

Then, to your utter delight, he glances at the camera and flexes his metal arm, the vibranium glinting under the soft light. You giggle uncontrollably, your cheeks aching from the sheer happiness coursing through you.

When the music ends, he gently sets you down, his hands lingering at your waist as he looks at you with a soft smile. “How’d I do?”

“Amazing,” you say breathlessly, darting over to grab your phone and watch the video. The grin on your face only widens as you replay it.

Bucky walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re excited, you know that?”

“Thank you for doing this,” you say, leaning back into his warmth.

“Anything for you, doll,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Later, as you upload the video, the comments start pouring in, and each one makes you laugh harder.

Each comment had you laughing harder, while Bucky groaned in mock exasperation. “What is wrong with people?” he muttered, though the pink tint to his ears betrayed his embarrassment.

“Oh, c’mon,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “You’re the internet’s new heartthrob. Own it.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “As long as you’re happy, doll.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Always. Thank you for indulging me.”

“Like I said, anything for you,” he said softly, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You snuggle closer to him, your heart full as he pulls you against his chest. For a moment, the world fades away, leaving just the two of you and the easy comfort of being together.

Note: gifs, pictures, and header DOES NOT belong to me. CREDITS TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS!! Feedback and reblog is appreciated.<3

[arttsuka]

i really liked the fact bobby wasnt a joke character in the movie how a different studio might have made him

It was really refreshing to see a plus size character that is there as a comic relief but is also an actual character of the movie. Usually they make them annoying and stereotypical. Thank you netflix for giving us Bobby

[imagine-docx]

sugar on the night shift.

Summary: You've been stress baking because you've been stressed over work. Because you have so many desserts, you started leaving treats for the night shift security guard.

Warnings: None.

A/N: it's been almost 4 years since i've last posted something, and i deeply apologize. and i also deeply apologize if my work is rusty, i actually haven't wrote ANYTHING (other than research papers) since my last post. please accept this as an apology. - amanda

Remember when you were a kid and you always wanted to hurry up and grow up? If you could go back in time, you would definitely have smacked yourself or at least told yourself to cherish your youth.

Now, here you were, back aching, cookies baking, and your nails tapping against your computer keyboard attempting to finish a PowerPoint presentation on your newest marketing research findings due in the morning. 

For the past nine months you were tasked with finding out how to sell nostalgia for your company. Those nine months were absolutely brutal. Everyday you would come home and just work until 4 am. But everyday for the past 9 months you had the same hobby while working, baking. 

For some reason your brain knew it couldn’t turn off if there was something in the oven. Because of this project, you managed to produce pies, cookies, cakes, the whole nine yards. 

The first three baking expeditions, you kept the baked goods. But everyday there was something new being baked and you couldn’t consume the desserts fast enough. You were offering it to neighbours, coworkers, friends; if someone had a stomach, you were offering them your baked goods.

Somewhere around the four month mark, you started leaving baked goods for the night security staff. They were awake at ungodly hours protecting your building, they deserve something sweet. 

You were so entranced with finishing this PowerPoint, the only thing that broke your concentration was the kitchen timer blaring, indicating that your cookies were done.

You hopped off the chair and navigated towards the kitchen, you pulled the cookies out of the oven and let them cool on the wire rack you set up when you were done cleaning. 

You knew they had to cool for a few more minutes before taking it downstairs to the security guard. You picked up the sticky note and grabbed the pen that was next to your computer, and scribbled a quick note.

“Sorry for torturing you with all of these baked goods, I promise this is the last one.”

You went back to work for a little bit before another timer broke your concentration, you packed the cookies into a small takeout box and stuck the sticky note to the top of the lid. 

While in the elevator, you took a look at the time and winced. 3:17 am. You knew that you had to finish the PowerPoint by 4:30 am to even be able to get up and be able to present it to upper management. 

You were practically racing against the clock at this point. You walked to the front desk and saw that the night security guard was not there. This was not new. Everytime you came down, he was not there. You assumed that he was doing his rounds, or he was watching the cameras in the back, or maybe he went for a smoke break. 

You left the box on the front desk and practically ran back up to your apartment to finish your presentation.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The presentation was a success and upper management took your findings seriously. That was the only win you got for the day. Everything else was sleep deprived losses. Since you got off the train, your body was absolutely screaming at you to hurry up and get home and rest. 

You buzzed into your apartment complex and waved at the evening shift worker. You normally would hold a conversation but your eyes were so heavy that you might fall asleep mid-conversation. 

You got into your apartment, grabbed a cookie from the counter and made a beeline to the shower to wash the gunk of the office off you. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

That night you slept like an absolute baby. Nine months of no sleep made you sleep almost a full thirteen hours. 

You were walking to the front door, phone in hand, cookie in mouth, checking up on the texts you missed while you were practically in a coma. Still oblivious to the world, you pull a pair of heels out and put them on. You finally broke contact with your phone to grab your keys when you noticed a white envelope on your floor.

You questioned if you dropped your mail walking in, but you were so tired yesterday that you didn’t even grab your mail. You shoved your phone in your bag and the remainder of your cookie in your mouth before picking up the envelope and inspecting it.

You thought maybe your mail went elsewhere and someone returned it. But there was nothing on the front with your name. You opened the envelope and there was a note inside.

If your company is even half as sweet as your pastries, I’m in trouble. Coffee sometime? - Bucky 

[drabblesandsnippets]

The Bet

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “Louder, let everyone hear you.” | [Screaming/Noisy Sex | Gangbang | Exhibiotionism] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (7k) Bucky’s girlfriend thinks she can stay quiet during sex - Bucky’s more than happy to prove her wrong.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Fluff. Established relationship. Praise. Brief mention of insecurities. Dirty talk. Domination. Oral (f receiving). Fingering. Squirting. (Unprotected) PiV.

---------------------------

“Wait,” Bucky says, reaching for the remote yet again. “Why does she even care? I thought she hated him.”

Bucky and his girlfriend are cuddling on their king-sized bed, enjoying another quiet night at home - something their friends like to tease them about, but they’ll never change. Home is where all their favorite things are. 

The moment Bucky pauses the show - for what feels like the hundredth time since they started the episode - she buries her face against his chest, her groan slightly muffled by his shirt.

Bucky’s laughter gently shakes her body as he asks, “What? I’m trying to understand!”

She picks her head up to glare at him, only slightly frustrated, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “You’d understand if we started from the beginning instead!”

She’s been trying to get him to watch her favorite show for months now, and when he randomly suggested they watch the latest episode tonight, she wasn’t going to argue.

She’s regretting that now.

For someone as intelligent as Bucky, he’s oblivious to the inner workings of TV drama.

Bucky blinks slowly at her response, his eyes wide like she just said they should’ve gone to Sam’s impromptu karaoke party. And then he lets out an incredulous laugh, quick to point out, “There are ten seasons of this show! By the time we get caught up, there will be at least five more.” 

Her mouth opens in surprise, and she pushes herself up, one hand on his stomach, her other hand moving to her chest like he’s just wounded her.

“First of all, there are six seasons.” Bucky playfully groans in response, the pout on her face telling him exactly where she’s going with this. “And even if there were ten seasons, you wouldn’t want to watch them with me?”

“Okay.” Bucky’s laughter reaches his eyes as he tosses the remote to the side - it’s clear he’s not going to be pressing play anytime soon.

He looks adoringly at his girlfriend as he sits up with her, his gaze never wavering. “Doll. Sweetheart. Love of my life. I’d enjoy watching paint dry with you.” 

Her smile almost breaks through, but she holds back, patiently waiting for him to continue. He’s either about to make too much sense, or he’s about to dig the hole deeper. 

After a soft, dramatic sigh, he gently tells her, “But, we haven’t even gotten through this episode, and it’s already been over an hour.”

The moment he says it, he has to hold back his laughter, her response exactly what he’s expecting.

Her mouth drops open again, and she laughs at the ridiculous notion that she’s to blame for their time-management issues.

With a quick shake of her head, and resisting the urge to poke him, she quickly points out, “You keep pausing to ask questions!” 

The moment the words are out of her mouth, Bucky seems almost too eager to remind her of several moments that had nothing to do with him. Sure, he’s partly to blame, but most of the interruptions had nothing to do with him.

Like during the first five minutes when she kept getting up because she forgot something. Or when she had to search a familiar looking actor.

“Or,” Bucky continues, his tone gentle, even though he’s clearly enjoying himself. “When you swore you’d heard that one song before-.” 

She cuts Bucky off before he can finish the last thought, shoving one of the pillows in his face, his hands quickly deflecting it.

“I get it!” she says, laughing with him as he pulls the pillow away from her before she can attempt to hit him with it again.

His slightly raised eyebrow tells her he’s waiting to see if she’s going to try to defend herself.

“Fine,” she relents, giving him another exaggerated pout that makes him grin. “I guess no marathons for us then.”

She glances at the TV where the episode is still paused before turning her attention back to Bucky, her own grin growing. “At least,” she starts, her eyebrow raising suggestively. “No marathons of the TV variety.”

Bucky laughs, a surge of arousal rushing over him at the mere suggestion, but has to shake his head, the disappointment clear on his face.

With a pointed look, he reminds her, “Sam’s down the hall.”

Sam materialized on their doorstep a couple of days ago to stake claim to their guestroom once again, this time while in the city for a friend’s birthday. 

There hadn’t been any objections at the time - and there aren’t any now, as far as Bucky’s concerned.

He really doesn’t care if Sam hears them having sex. It’s not like Bucky’s never overheard him before. But Bucky knows his girlfriend. If she thinks Sam might have heard her, it’ll take her weeks before she’ll be able to be in the same room as him without turning red. 

She’s not thinking about any of that, though.

It’s been a few days since there’s even been an opportunity for them to get lost in each other, and she doesn’t want to waste this one.

With a smile and a slight shrug, she simply says, “So? I can be quiet.” 

Bucky’s bark of laughter rings out, and she narrows her eyes at him. Before she can even think about it, he quickly grabs the pillow still sitting between them so she can’t throw it at him and instead flings it to the side, making her laugh. 

“What?” she asks, still feeling confident in her words. “I can be!”

“No,” Bucky says, trying to hold back his laughter as he shakes his head at her. The simple refusal of her statement makes her lips part in a surprised exhale, but before she can make an argument, he adds, “You are entirely incapable of being quiet, doll.”

He can’t help but lean just a bit closer to whisper, “Especially with me.” 

That feels like a challenge to her. And even though she knows Bucky is probably right, she can’t just give in. She’s just as stubborn as he is, and she knows exactly how to play this.

With a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, she leans towards him, their mouths almost close enough to touch, and asks, “Wanna bet?”

Her question has the desired effect, causing Bucky’s stomach to flutter with a rush of excitement. She’s a strong, confident, capable woman, and there’s almost nothing she can’t do, especially once she puts her mind to it.

But, there’s not a doubt in his mind that he’ll have her screaming by the end of the night.

Bucky’s hand reaches out to brush a few strands of hair away from her face, his eyes glancing at her mouth as he starts to close the short distance.

Her hope to feel his lips on hers fades quickly, though, Bucky pausing to grin at her, needing to set the terms of their deal first. 

“When you lose, we’re finally getting that swing.” 

For the briefest of moments, she hesitates. The idea of a sex swing excites her, and it’s something they’ve been discussing for months - even going so far as to choose their favorite - but the intimidating feeling of being on display like that has never faded.

Bucky’s only ever made her feel beautiful, and sexy, and desirable, but that doesn’t mean he can completely erase decades' worth of insecurities. 

Bucky doesn’t rush her, not with something like this. He’ll give her all the time in the world to decide if this is a bet she’s willing to take. And if she decides she’s not ready, then he’ll accept that without hesitation, no matter how much he wants her to say yes. 

The anticipation is short lived though, because a smile spreads across her face and before she even says, “deal” he’s already hard, imagining how incredible she’ll look suspended and tied up for him, completely at his mercy.

There are so many possibilities, and the sooner he wins, the sooner he gets to make them all a reality.

Her lashes flutter when Bucky’s hand moves along her scalp, his fingers sliding through her hair to softly grip the strands. She allows him tilt her head back, putting her in the perfect position for him to finally kiss her, and she tries to remain patient. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because after just a soft brush of his lips against hers, he’s pulling away again, the grin on his face causing her to let out a frustrated sigh.

As much as Bucky wants to just jump right into this with her, the faint taste of her on his lips making his cock twitch, he’s taking this bet seriously. 

He meets her gaze, holding her head steady, and says, “We gotta set some ground rules first.”

She breathes heavily but doesn’t move, waiting for him to continue, wanting this just as much as he does.

“No covering your mouth,” he tells her, increasing the hold of her hair, making her gasp softly.

Bucky doesn’t miss the way her thighs tense with arousal, and he groans softly, pulling her closer so his lips brush across the corner of her mouth. “That includes no biting me.” 

She lets out a soft exhale of a laugh, but doesn’t object, no matter how much she enjoys sinking her teeth into him when he’s fucking her hard.

And considering this bet and what’s at stake here, there are no plans to go slow tonight. 

With a slight nod of her head, his fingers limiting her movement, she agrees, but she’s unable to stop herself from still being a bit of a brat. “Is that all?”

Bucky pulls back, narrowing his eyes at her, his breathing slowing down as he fights the urge to smile. He loves when she pushes back - it’s her way of telling him not to go easy on her. 

“No,” he answers her, his vibranium hand suddenly coming up to wrap around her throat.

The brief flash of surprise that crosses her face is quickly replaced by a look of pure desire, her trust in him radiating off of her. It encourages him to keep going, his need for her reaching new heights.

“You’re also not allowed to tell me to stop just because you can’t be quiet.”

Her body tingles with pleasure, just like it always does when he takes charge, and she has to bite back a moan as the ache between her thighs intensifies.

She’s playing with fire, but all it does is excite her, even as she briefly wonders if she has an ounce of a chance of winning this bet. 

The moment he asks if she agrees to the terms, she answers without hesitation, telling him, “Yes.”

With a cheeky grin, she adds, “And I look forward to winning.”

That’s all Bucky needs to hear and he pulls her against him, crashing his mouth against hers, his tongue immediately demanding entrance.

With his hand around her throat and his fingers gripping her hair, he keeps her in place so he can kiss her, leaving her breathless and desperate for more.

As much as Bucky enjoys taking his time with her, he’s on a mission tonight.

There’s a primal urge to claim her, to prove how quickly he can make her lose control. And there’s no doubt that he’s going to win this bet.

Within just a couple minutes, Bucky has her naked and writhing underneath him, her head resting on a pillow.

His lips follow a slow trail from her neck to her breasts, taking a moment to focus on her sensitive nipples, giving them both the attention they deserve, his ears trained on the soft noises of pleasure already leaving her. 

Her hands never leave his body, needing something to hold onto to keep her focus, her fingers gently tugging at his hair while her other hand grabs at his shoulder, pressing against the defined muscle.

She’s already having to force herself to take slow, deep breaths, the occasional shift of hips causing his hard cock to tease along her wetness, making her want to beg for more.

She remains as quiet as possible though, her eyes drifting closed as Bucky’s mouth travels lower, taking his time to place tender kisses all over her soft stomach, reminding her how much he loves every single inch of her.

He doesn’t even care that she’s not looking at him right now. He’s just grateful for the way she gives herself to him, trusting him to treat her like she deserves.

With one last glance up, Bucky eagerly settles between her thighs, the smell of her filling his nostrils, making his mouth water.

The soft groan that leaves him makes her hips twitch, and he pauses for a second to take her in, both hands coming up to keep her spread wide for him.

She’s already so wet, the sight of her swollen clit just begging to be licked, and he can’t wait to hear her come apart for him.

The first slow swipe of his tongue along her slit causes her body to tense, the sudden sensation making her breath hitch, almost making her forget all about the bet.

Bucky learned her body so quickly when they first became intimate, and now, the familiar swirl of his tongue around her clit immediately makes her back arch, a moan getting trapped in her throat.

He loves the taste of her, happy to spend as much time between her thighs as she lets him, and even though that’s not what tonight is about, he still takes a moment to appreciate the delicious meal she’s offering him.

He alternates between long licks, and fucking her with his tongue, grinding his soft beard against her pussy to get as deep as he can, as if starved for more of her. 

Despite Bucky’s own noises of pleasure getting louder, hers remain low, and it’s not long before the desire to hear her scream builds inside of him again.

Without warning, his mouth suddenly closes over her clit, his tongue resuming the perfect rhythm against the bundle of nerves and his hands grips her thighs, holding her in place.

She cuts off the harsh gasp that spills out of her, and her fingers tighten their grip on his hair as her hips move against his mouth, chasing her pleasure.

Despite half her focus on keeping her sounds under control, he’s still able to quickly bring her to the edge, and her other hand grips the bedsheet as the tension suddenly snaps.

As much as it turns Bucky on to watch her and feel her come for him, there’s something wrong about not hearing her as she loses control.

He refuses to pull away though, his mouth working her through her orgasm, his hands holding her, letting her ride out the waves. His own hips grinding against the mattress, his cock hard and heavy, aching for relief.

When she becomes too sensitive, he takes pity on her and quickly kisses back up her body, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

Her need for him is too overwhelming though, and within seconds, she meets him in a kiss, moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue. 

She doesn’t allow herself to get lost in the moment for too long, her body craving more, and she reaches between them, her fingers wrapping around his thick cock, ready to remind him that she still has a chance of winning this bet. 

Bucky welcomes her touch, his hips thrusting forward, groaning against her mouth.

She takes advantage of his pleasure-filled state, rubbing her thumb across the head of his cock, the tip slick with his arousal, and proudly states, “I told you I could be quiet.” 

The laugh he makes in return sends a shiver down her back, and she can barely quiet the soft squeak as he pulls her hand away, his fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist.

He’s always careful not to cause her any real discomfort, but the look he gives her still makes her freeze, wondering what she’s gotten herself into.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky chuckles, slowly pinning her hands over her head as he starts to grind his cock against her. “We’re barely getting started.”

Her body tenses in anticipation, expecting him to thrust inside of her, but he doesn’t change his pace, his eyes taking in how beautiful she looks, all desperate and needy, her skin flushed.

Even after all this time with him, she’s still not used to all the attention he gives her, and she’s grateful that he allows her to move with him.

Each shift of her hips makes her breath quicken just a bit more, the length of his cock sliding along her clit, and she’s pretty sure she could come just like this. 

The thought of it makes her body pulse with arousal, and she quickly nods her head, breathing quickly. “Please,” she whispers, her fingers flexing under his hold.

He grins down at her, tightening his grip slightly, keeping the same pace, watching her fight between completely giving in and trying to silence her noises.

Bucky wants the noises. He needs them. He needs to hear her whines and moans and cries as he brings her pleasure.

She’s clearly determined to win this, but so is he. And the moment he feels her almost reaching the edge, he suddenly stops, pulling his hips out of reach of her.

She has no idea how, but she manages to keep the whine of “no” down, her voice almost betraying her. Bucky’s soft laughter helps keep her focused, though, and she glares at him, breathing heavily.

Her mouth opens in protest, but before she can even think of how to react, his vibranium hand closes around her throat, pushing her down against the bed. 

“Oh god,” is all she can say, her voice trembling as she tries to mentally prepare herself for whatever Bucky has planned.

He knows her too well though, and the moment he moves, she almost loses the bet.

His right hand slides between her thighs, and in one smooth motion, he fills her with two fingers, curling them inside of her to press against her front wall.

She bites her lip hard enough to almost draw blood, but she’s able to dampen her cry of pleasure as she throws her head back, both hands now gripping the sheet. 

Bucky gives her no time to gather her composure before he starts moving, the heel of his hand rubbing hard against her clit while his fingers stroke over her g-spot.

She may not be speaking, but her body is talking, the sounds of her wetness filling the air. He growls his approval and leans over her, his metal fingers twitching against her throat.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs, watching her as he quickly works her towards another orgasm. “Your pussy’s talking to me, doll. Just begging for more.”

She pulls her lips inward between her teeth, biting down as she breathes heavily through her nose, the pleasure starting to make it harder to focus.

His words aren’t making it any easier, but she’s grateful that he doesn’t make her look at him, her eyes currently shut tight, her head pressing into the pillow underneath her. 

There’s something so intoxicating to Bucky about being in charge of her pleasure, and he knows he’ll never get enough of her.

For just a moment, he forgets about the bet, his eyes taking in the way she writhes underneath his touch, everything about her encouraging him to keep going. Her back arching, her legs spread, hips thrusting in time with his hand as he fucks her deep and hard.

Except, she’s still keeping her noises to a minimum. Even as she starts to breathe quicker, the gasps turning to shuddering sighs, she manages to somehow keep it all under control.

And it’s starting to get under Bucky’s skin. He can’t be a gracious loser when it comes to this.

That primal feeling resurfaces in Bucky, the urge to take her hard and fast igniting inside of him. But, first, he needs to make her come again.

He quickly moves his left hand down her body, pressing hard against her clit, giving him the ability to fuck her harder with his fingers.

Her eyes roll back in her head, and she nearly screams, his fingers deep inside of her, curled and rubbing hard against the spongy tissue.

She can feel the pressure building, and she grabs her legs, her hands wrapping around her ankles to keep her spread wide for Bucky.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, just as breathless as she is, his body humming with pleasure. “Can feel you, sweetheart,” he moans, grinding harder against her clit, knowing exactly what she needs to get over the edge. “Doing so good for me. Gonna come all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

She quickly nods her head, but she can’t trust herself to speak. She can barely breathe anyway as her fingers dig into her ankles, the slight pain giving her something to focus on, reminding her of the stakes here.

She’s so overwhelmed, and he hasn’t even fucked her with his cock yet. She has no idea how she’s going to win this bet.

She can’t think about that right now though, because her entire body suddenly tenses, and she squirts, coating his hand with her juices.

She barely hears Bucky’s groan of approval, but his words of praise quickly flood her brain, and she comes for him, using every bit of energy to not cry out.

“Good girl. Fuck, look at you,” his deep voice adds to the pleasure still washing over her and she lets go of her ankles to reach out for Bucky, needing him.

He quickly joins her, resting some of his weight on top of her, letting her cling to him as her body shudders, her hips riding his fingers. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs against her neck, his fingers buried deep inside of her, savoring the way her pussy pulses with each wave of pleasure. “I think I should I make you come again, just like this.”

He’s only half-serious, his cock aching to be inside of her.

Her expected whine makes him laugh, and he curls his fingers inside of her again, easily finding that spot that makes her tremble.

She’s still sensitive from her orgasm, but her mind is starting to clear, and she immediately shakes her head. “Absolutely not.” Another breathy moan, and then, “I think you should let me suck your cock.”

Bucky groans, allowing himself to briefly consider it, but kisses her softly and tells her no.

As much as they both enjoy when he fucks her mouth, it’s not going to help him win this bet. Her mouth needs to be free to make all those beautiful noises.

“I think you’re forgetting the point here, doll.” he teases, sitting up between her thighs and slowly sliding his fingers out of her dripping pussy.

She doesn’t even try to stop the soft whine from the loss, and he grins at her, watching her as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking the delicious taste off both digits. 

The sight of him clearly enjoying himself makes her want to bring him more pleasure, and she leans up to kiss him again, welcoming the taste of her wetness on his lips and tongue.

When her teeth playfully bite at his bottom lip, his fingers tangle in her hair to pull her head back, meeting her grin with one of his own.

“How about I put my cock somewhere else?” 

The smile on her face grows, despite her slight disappointment at not getting to have him in her mouth. And as Bucky rests back on his knees, she slides her hands down to touch herself, giving him an even better view of her wet pussy. 

The action immediately makes him groan, and his hands move to her ankles, gripping them to steady himself. After all this time, she still has the ability to catch him off guard, and it makes him love her even more.

They both watch as he moves his hips forward to slide his cock along her slick slit, almost slipping inside her before gliding up to tease her exposed clit.

The movement sends a jolt of pleasure through both of them, and she lets out a soft whine, shifting her hips to try to guide him to where he needs to be.

It’s futile, though. Bucky’s doing this on purpose. Trying to make her forget the bet, but she keeps herself under control, breathing heavily through her nose, proving to him she’s just as dedicated as he is.

With a longing look on her face, and another shift of her hips, she pleads, “Fuck me.”

Bucky’s fingers tighten around her ankles, but he stays exactly where he is, continuing to tease her with the head of his cock. “You sure you’re ready?”

His gentle tone makes her laugh softly, but he shakes his head at her, his eyes dark with desire.

“I’m serious, doll.” His breathing is just as heavy as hers, his body tense from trying to control himself. “I’m planning to fuck you until you scream for me.”

She’s far from making objections, her need for him overwhelming. As if he needs any more encouragement, she licks her lips and raises her brow at him, declaring yet again, “I’m going to win this bet.”

His laugh sends another shiver down her spine and a pulse of pleasure straight to her clit. There’s no way she’s winning this bet, but she’s going to have fun losing.

Bucky angles his hips, their bodies fitting together perfectly, and as the tip of his cock pushes against her entrance, he tells her, “Arms over your head.”

She narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t question it, knowing there’s a good reason for it. And she’s excited to find out what it is. 

The moment her hands grip the pillow under her head, he smirks at her and snaps his hips, burying himself inside of her.

A harsh gasp leaves her, but it’s not loud enough to make her lose and she throws her head back, biting her lips to keep her mouth shut as he starts to fuck her hard. 

Bucky pushes her legs back, spreading her wider as he finds a quick rhythm. His own noises of pleasure get louder, but he does nothing to quiet them.

He knows how much she craves the sounds he makes, the pleasure she gives him like nothing he’s ever experienced. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans, trying not to squeeze her ankles too hard, “you feel so good, baby. So wet, oh my god.”

She can’t look at him. She clings to the pillow underneath her, her forearms cradling her head as she does everything in her power not to cry out. His cock feels so good inside of her, reaching all the spots that make her toes curl and her body shudder in pleasure.

Bucky is more than desperate to hear more from her. The soft gasps and whimpers doing nothing to quell the ache to experience her pleasure at its fullest.

He’s used to her cries and moans filling the room, and while everything about her is telling him she’s enjoying herself, it’s not nearly enough. 

“Stay just like that,” he orders her, sliding his hands down, squeezing her thick thighs as keeps moving, his hips never faltering.

She’s in no mood to disobey, willingly letting him fuck her towards yet another orgasm. Bucky can feel her tightening, her walls trying to keep him in place on each outstroke.

“That’s it. You wanna come for me again? Wanna come all over my cock?”

She can’t trust her voice and all she can do is nod her head, finally opening her eyes to look up at him.

He immediately growls and leans forward, letting her thighs spread around him as his hands go to her bouncing tits, making her back arch, allowing him even deeper.

Bucky curses again, her wetness allowing him to bottom out each time, and he can feel his own orgasm building, the sight of her writhing underneath him almost too much.

“Fuck,” he growls, his right hand moving to her stomach, loving the feel of his fingers digging into her soft flesh, his hips never slowing. “You feel so good. Come on, come for me, doll, let me feel you.”

All it takes is one brush of his thumb over clit and she comes again, her fingers sore from her tight grip the pillow. But all she can focus on is the electric current of pleasure rushing through her, the tension causing her to clench her teeth.

She resists the urge to press her face against her arm, and somehow manages to make it through the intense pleasure with only making soft, breathy moans.

It’s at this point that something in Bucky snaps.

He fucks her through the waves of pleasure, waiting until her body finally starts to relax, before he suddenly pulls out.

The whine she makes is louder than all the sounds she’s made tonight, and she opens her mouth in surprise, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m not quite done with you yet,” he promises her, the gruffness of his voice making her hips shift.

Bucky chuckles softly and runs his hands over her body, his fingers dancing over her throat before sliding down between her breasts. 

Before he does anything else, he checks in with her. “You ready to keep going?”

Her words come easy this time. “Yes, please," she smiles, lifting her hips again as if to entice him.

He has other plans though, and instructs her to turn over, the roughness of his voice returning. The excitement on her face is clear as she quickly obeys, getting into position - head down, ass up.

Bucky takes a moment to appreciate the view, the desire to claim her burning him up. He controls his breathing and reaches out, running his palm along her back and down to her ass, relishing the way she immediately spreads her thighs even more.

“Good girl,” he praises her, his voice deep with admiration. And then he slaps her ass, hard enough to make her gasp, and she turns her head to look over her shoulder at him.

They grin at each other, and he does it again, making her groan softly, but she pushes back, welcoming the sting. 

Bucky’s hand rubs across the pinkening skin as his metal hand slips between her thighs, teasing her with his fingertips.

She’s more than ready for him to keep fucking her, but he still asks again, needing to hear her give him permission one final time.

As soon as she utters the soft plea of ‘yes, please’ he’s lining up behind her, his hand wrapped around his thick shaft to guide himself back to her welcoming pussy.

He wastes no time and sinks into her with a soft groan, her hot, slick walls enveloping his hard cock like she was made for him. 

Bucky takes her slowly at first, the feel of her pussy fluttering with each long stroke of his cock making it difficult to focus.

She’s so sensitive, and with each deep thrust, her soft noises start to get just a bit louder, reminding him he’s on the right track.

His tender touches start to become a bit firmer, and as her hips begin to meet his with more force, he suddenly grips her waist.

Bucky plans to do whatever it takes to elicit louder noises from her, and without warning, he starts to piston his hips, making her take all of him, over and over. 

This time she’s expecting it though and has just enough time to grit her teeth, each thrust making her gasp, her breath coming quick and shallow.

It’s taking all of her focus not to give in and let herself lose the bet already; she’s just too stubborn to give in, no matter how good Bucky is making her feel.

The irritation grows in Bucky, her lack of noise starting to feel personal, and his hands move to her hips, grabbing fistfuls of her ass as he starts to fuck her harder.

He watches as her back arches and her fingers grip the bedsheets, each deep thrust causing her legs start to shake again. She’s almost there. He can feel it.

She whines his name, and her hands scramble to grip the edge of the mattress, keeping her head turned, refusing to bury her face in the covers.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmurs, the tenderness a stark contrast to the way he’s fucking her. “Gonna squirt for me again, aren’t you?”

All she can do is nod her head, her eyes shut tight, trying her best to keep her noises under control. But, with each thrust of his cock, she feels herself slipping, her skin breaking out in a light sheen of sweat. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air to Bucky, watching as she starts to slowly lose control.

Any other time, he might take it easy on her, wanting her to be proud of herself for doing something she didn’t think she could do.

But, he’s way past that point now. 

Now, all he wants is to make her lose control and scream for him. And he has one more trick up his sleeve.

Bucky’s strong hands slide up along her back as he raises himself up, placing his feet flat on the bed in order to crouch over her, keeping his cock buried inside of her.

“Oh god,” she breathes, her eyes rolling back in her head as she tries to prepare herself.

She loves this position, but it’s going to be her downfall. And it’s clear Bucky knows it, because the moment he starts moving his hips, he starts talking to her, the growl in his voice pushing her closer to the edge.

“That’s right. Told you I was gonna fuck you until you scream for me.” 

He fucks her hard, the angle making his cock rub against her g-spot with each stroke, and she can feel the coil in her belly tightening.

She can no longer stop her noises from getting louder, and without thinking, she makes a desperate move to regain some semblance of composure.

With a quick pull of her elbows, she buries her face between her forearms, trying to quiet the cry of pleasure as she reaches a breaking point.

Bucky won’t allow it though, and grabs a fistful of her hair, forcing her head to the side.

“Fucking take it,” he demands, grunting with each hard thrust, “fucking take all of me.”

It’s too much. She can’t hold on anymore and her body tenses, her tightening pussy almost pushing him out.

“That’s it!” he growls. “Come for me, baby! God, I love you so fucking much.”

She sobs as her stomach tenses and she squirts, each hard thrust causing her wetness to run down her thighs and soak the sheets.

He talks her through it, like he always does, telling her how beautiful she is, how good she feels, and how much he loves making her come for him. 

Even as her body pulses from the aftershocks, Bucky keeps going, slowing his pace as he settles back to his knees behind her, trying to help her come down slowly.

She was loud, but not enough to satisfy his need to hear her scream.

“I need you to give me one more,” he murmurs, running his hands along her sweaty back. 

She whispers his name and shakes her head, her trembling limbs trying to give out on her.

Bucky’s quick to guide her onto her back again, this time slipping a pillow underneath to raise her hips.

He’s already fucked her senseless - she’s barely able to keep her eyes open - but he knows she has one more to give him.

Bucky starts slow again, giving her time to come back down, waiting until she can finally look up at him, still clearly cock-drunk.

He murmurs words of praise, telling her once again how beautiful she is, splayed out like this for him, her arms over her head, her thighs spread wide.

“You’re gonna look so good in that swing, sweetheart. All tied up and on display for me.”

Whatever insecurities that usually run through her mind are absent, and she moans at his words, starting to slowly move her hips against him, welcoming his cock back inside of her.

The image of being completely at his mercy makes her body pulse, and Bucky smiles down at her, sliding his hands along the sensitive skin of her thighs, just taking another moment to truly appreciate her. 

At this point, it doesn’t matter how he makes her come. She’s going to scream for him either way, all her inhibitions now gone that the bet is over.

And that frees him up to give her everything she could possibly need. “Tell me how you wanna come this time.” 

She breathes heavily and just slowly shakes her head for a moment, still not sure she has anything left to give.

But, if there’s anyone that can pull it out of her it’s Bucky. 

He waits patiently, fucking her slowly, barely pulling out before sliding back in until he’s completely sheathed. “Do you want me to keep fucking you like this?”

His fingers slowly move to her pussy, watching the way her body takes him so perfectly as his thumb finds her clit.

“Or do you need something else?” 

The shaking of her head turns into nods and she tries to find her voice as her back arches, her body welcoming the intense pleasure.

Her body is so sensitive, like every nerve ending is exposed, and she’s still not sure what she needs. Bucky will give her whatever she asks for, but she’s too lost in the moment to answer him.

As much as he’s enjoying the unfiltered sounds coming out of her, he needs her to talk. He needs to know she’s still with him, that she truly wants him to keep going.

“Sweetheart.”

There’s a slight edge to his tone, and she meets his eyes again, a soft smile forming on her face.

He grins down at her and nods encouragingly, “I need your words.”

She nods again, but as she starts to say “I want-” her words are cut off by a soft whine, Bucky’s cock bottoming out inside of her, finding that spot that makes her legs shake.

They both laugh softly, and she shakes her head at him before she finally finishes her thought, “I want you to come with me.”

A deep moan leaves Bucky at her request, his grip on her thighs tightening as he resists the urge to start moving faster.

“Is that what you need?” he asks, starting to lean forward, peppering kisses along her breasts and collarbone.

Her answer of ‘yes’ comes quickly and he starts to rock against her, grinding his pelvis against her clit.

“Yes,” she repeats, the simple word causing pleasure to race up Bucky’s spine.

He drops to his elbows, caging her in, and they both start moving at the same time, her legs wrapped around him, encouraging his hard thrusts.

“Yes, fuck me, oh my god.” She doesn’t care how loud she is anymore, the cries and moans leaving her without a second thought. 

Bucky’s already close, her pussy practically milking his cock, each flutter making him groan. But, he’s a man of his word and he’s not going to let himself give into the pleasure until she comes one more time.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans, panting above her, unable to tear his gaze away, committing this moment to memory. “Such a perfect pussy, baby. Just made to take my cock.”

She clings to him, her nails scratching down his back, sure to leave marks. But he welcomes it, the sting adding to his pleasure, watching as she cries out, her body starting to tense, her final orgasm building.

When she whines his name, he hears the apprehension in her voice, as if to warn him that this one’s going to overwhelm her. 

Bucky’s fingers slide through her hair, and he cradles her head, forcing her to keep looking at him.

“It’s okay,” he promises her. “Give it to me. Give me everything.” Her back arches and her pussy tightens, the sounds of her wetness filling the air as she starts to squirt again. “Fuck yes, come for me!”

And she does, her breath hitching as the sudden explosion of pleasure rocks her body.

Bucky doesn’t stop, moving hard and fast against her, forcing his cock to stay inside of her, even as her walls clench around him, almost pushing him out.

She cries out, finally giving him what he’s been working towards all night, her scream of pleasure sure to wake the neighbors. 

Bucky can barely hold back, his own orgasm threatening to consume him, but he fights through it, giving her a few more seconds of his attention.

“That’s it, scream for me. Let everyone fucking hear you.”

But then she’s begging him to come too, her sobs of pleasure pushing him over the edge, and he kisses her hard, his tongue sliding along hers.

All his senses are consumed by her, every single part of him entirely overwhelmed with pleasure, the rhythm of his hips faltering as his cock pulses, filling her up with his cum.

After a few more lazy thrusts, their hips finally come to a stop, and he groans against her mouth, collapsing on top of her. 

They’re both panting, their arms wrapped around each other, Bucky’s weight a welcome feeling as he starts to nuzzle her neck, breathing in her scent.

They take their time coming back down, murmuring words of love and affection, their lips eventually meeting again in a soft, tender kiss. 

She barely registers him rolling them over, but makes a soft noise of protest when he slowly pulls out.

Bucky’s own sigh joins hers, the loss of her warmth making his softening cock twitch. If it wasn’t so late, and she wasn’t clearly spent, he’d happily go another round.

For now, they snuggle quietly, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while his fingers make slow, soothing strokes along her back.

Bucky’s sensitive ears pick up the steady rhythm of her heart as well, the sound a constant comfort to him even on his hardest days. 

Eventually, they finally move, sharing another brief kiss and exchanging words of love yet again, neither of them ever tiring of hearing it - or professing it to each other.

But, they need to clean up, his release still leaking out of her, leaving her slick - and he’s not much better off, their combined fluids matting the hair at the base of his cock.

Bucky’s first to finish in the attached bathroom, and he’s already in bed when she returns, the covers pulled up to his stomach, his phone in his hands.

The silly grin on his face makes her laugh, and she climbs onto the bed, asking him, “What are you up to?”

He gives her a quick glance, his bright smile making her heart flutter as he returns his attention back to his phone.

“I’m purchasing that sex swing.” 

---------------------------

Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Next part: The Prize

Main Masterlist

[dilf-docs]

all the works listed below are mine. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed. requests are open!

All Roads Lead to Rome‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎3k

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎6k

professor!pedro pascal x younger fem!reader (AU)

to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

Le Pedí Al Mar Y Al Sol Que Te Trajera ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎2k

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

vacations are supposed to be fun! and with a hot older famous boyfriend? now we're really talking.

Darlin', Can I Be Your Favorite? ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

dbf!boxer pedro pascal x younger fem!reader (AU)

it should be simple. helping your dad's best friend to train for his upcoming match in his hometown, chile. but turns out, world-renowned boxer the viper isn't just a menace in the ring.

Where Art Thou, Why Not Uponeth Me? ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

renaldo x younger fem!reader (based on snl 50)

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Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See) ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

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Call It What You Want‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader (a series)

you and pedro are married, but you've kept it a secret up to the point you sometimes forget there's supposed to be a golden band on your finger. but then you both get cast in your first movie together. the chemistry is off the charts, and it starts to catch upon you: will the lines between shipping and reality finally blur?

I'm Happy Where The Devils Are ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Pt. 2‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎7k

dbf!joel miller x younger fem!reader

something something about forbidden things; you never learn, not until the heart you gave returns to you in shreds, bleeding out of love. what's left when you've given all of your heaven away? hell.

You're A Daydream, Stay A While ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 6k

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

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Give Me Coffee, Utah Love ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 4k

sleazy!joel 'mullet' miller x younger fem!reader

on the run and looking for a fresh start, a cheap gasoline coffee and to-do list slipping from your bag later, you (have lost your mind and) consider this stranger's proposition.

Let The Lights Bleed All Over Me ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 4k

dark jackson!joel x younger!reader

you're known for your kindness and sunshine personality, but they make it impossible for joel to have you for himself. and one thing you know about joel miller, is he isn't a patient man.

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old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

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dbf!joel miller x younger fem!reader (a series)

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Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty? ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 6k

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Tuyo Será, Y Tuyo Será ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 5k

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He Comes Alive At Midnight (Every Night) ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 6k

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harry castillo x younger fem!reader (a series)

Two New Yorkers who've never crossed paths in their bustling Manhattan lives find themselves caught in between the ice and that in their blue borrowed hearts.

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎6k

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

X Si Volvemos ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎1k

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

A Pillar I Am Of Pride ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ 3k

vander x younger fem!reader

you're too young, that's what he tells himself; that you could be one of his kids. but of course you have spent too much time with vi, and unfortunately for him, stubborn rhymes with your name: you just don't know when to quit.

The Rock N' Roll Got Harder and Softer‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎5k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

common sense isn't really your strongest suit. so here you are, riding a stranger's bike on halloween night. hey, he saved you! with one hell of a costume, no doubt. because it has to be one, right?

Knockin' On Heaven's Door‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Pt. 2‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎4k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

you're what people call a ray of sunshine, probably the most likeable person in the planet. so why is this hot idiot next door so mean to you?

Drunk In Love‎‎‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎3k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

you don't exactly hate your job as bartender. well, sometimes, like when customers who can't take a no show up. your boyfriend decides to take matters into his hands, or better said, tentacles...

Sabor A Chocolate ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎2k

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

your boyfriend eddie and his symbiote pal just make sure you know how loved you are.

©dilf-docs all right reserved. last updated: april 29th, 2025 / cr: divider @kodaswrld

[ramp-it-up]

Anatomy of a Kiss

Summary: You and Logan agree on one thing: you both hate each other. So what happens when you kiss him?

Word count: 4.2 K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT Not Beta’d. ONE DEADPOOL X WOLVERINE SPOILER AHEAD! Read at your own risk. S MUT! Enemies to lovers; snark to fluff, idiots in love; use of the words stupid, dumb, insipid as insults. Reader's father is either a mobster or a mutant villain, or both; (Reader may or may not be a mutant herself), a couple dark themes and mention of parent death; Reader has Daddy issues; Reader is a thicc girlie; Princess and Old Man as nicknames; there are two slaps; a tipsy kiss; povs switch thorughout the fic. pining; insinuations of masturbation, oral (f receiving), spitting, praise and degredation kink, size kink, creampie, cum play, explicit sex acts, raw p in v (wrap it up) voice kink, this Logan is Dom Logan.

A/N: This was in my soul for a couple of weeks, but I don't feel it's all that great. Here goes. Let me know if you like it by reblogging, liking and commenting please. Thank you. ☺️

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The biggest mistake that Logan Howlett ever made in his life was kissing you back.

Because now he was never going to get you out of his system. 

—--

You were celebrating.

Being being voted best small business owner and philanthropist in the city was a big fucking deal. You decided to let your hair down and let go of your famous self-control and discipline for one night.

And now you were tooted on most of a bottle of Moet and Chandon as you walked back to your high rise apartment from the civic center.

It was a perfect night and you stopped and smiled at the moon, feeling sublime. 

Until you heard his voice.

“Keep moving before I throw you over my shoulder and get you inside myself, Princess.”

You rolled your eyes at your body guard, the only thing your father offered you that you didn’t reject.

Because you weren’t stupid. 

Other than sharing his dna, you were not like your father at all, and you divested yourself of everything that had to do with him.

“What about the penthouse? You kept that.”

Your body felt engulfed as if by flames. You were angry, both at the fact that you’d apparently said all that out loud, and at Logan’s audacity.

“Fuck you, Howlett. The apartment is my mother’s. But she died because of my dad and that’s why he wants to “protect” me.”

You wobbled as you did your air quotes, and you could sense Logan ready to spring to catch you if you fell. You recovered quickly, however, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“But he can't seem to do the one thing that will protect me. Get out of the life. He’s an old man, for heaven’s sake!”

Logan chuckled and shook his head.

“He’s not so old.”

You were in full blown argument mode.

“He’s over 70.”

“Like I said, he’s not so old. And you don’t know so much, little girl. Life is not that simple.”

“I am 32 years old, Mr. Howlett. I am not one of those little girls that fawn all over you. I am a woman.”

You straightened up and you knew that your thick body in the black cocktail dress was banging.

Logan’s eyes reflected your body, although he was staring back into yours. He’d taken it all in earlier.

“You are a teeny, tiny little Princess.”

He was fucking infuriating as he smiled down at you like that. The alcohol made you step to him.

“Someone needs to kiss that insipid smirk off your face, Howlett.”

That stupid eyebrow shot up, and your belly flipped.

Slap. You meant slap, but Logan was quicker than your champagne brain.

“I dare you, Princess.”

—-----

After what happened happened, you hightailed it back to your building, the electricity zapping around the elevator as you stared each other down. As soon as the doors opened, you moved as quickly as your tipsy legs would take through your foyer and living room and down the hallway to your bedroom door.

Logan followed you.

“Princess–”

The door slammed in his face, and he stood there for a good five minutes, restraining himself from knocking it down, before he relented and made his way back to his own room. 

He’d confront you tomorrow (later today), when you were sober.

—-

On the other side of the door, you were thinking of packing your bags and moving to South America. You needed a continent between you and Logan. How in the world had you allowed yourself to give in to a drunken urge that manifested the late night thoughts that you’d had for months? 

You were slipping. Bad.

You absolutely could not face him the next day. You leaned against the door, relieved when you heard him leave, and touched your lips. They still felt as if they were swollen from the kiss. 

You were sobering up now, remembering it. But just a few minutes ago that dare was all you needed to immediately lock your lips onto his. 

You also remembered the way he’d pulled away in shock and stared at your mouth for a beat before he grabbed your hair, pulled you close again, and kissed you so good that your toes curled.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK! Fuck my life!”

You were losing control. And that was not good. Not good at all.

—

Logan couldn’t get you out of his mind. 

And that pissed him off.

He lay in bed, and thought about how, (if he could die) under penalty of death he would never admit just how often he thought about you.

He’d been glad for the room at your place that came with the job; bunking with Wade and Althea was getting real old, real fast. 

But suddenly this arrangement felt too close for comfort.

You didn’t need to know about the fact that the movie playing behind his closed eyelids during his little shower workouts every night was your sexy smile, or the way your ass filled out your jeans. Especially those black ones.

And when he thought about you wearing those jeans with that wrap around shirt that showcased your tits just right. Well, fuck. He’d have gallons of cum for the shower drain.

Nah, you knowing that would only stroke your ego. Somehow, his mind drifted to the other things of yours that needed stroking.

“Oh, Fuck all!”

He sat up and sat on the edge of his bed, reaching for a cigar, reason number 634 why you hated him. 

But if you hated him so much, then why did you kiss him tonight?

—---

Why did you do it? You didn’t even like Logan. In fact you hated him.

Right?

You loathed the way he called you Princess, an obvious reminder that you were a trust fund baby, although you were far from a child, and to spite the fact that you were trying to make your own way.

You hated him from the top of his ridiculous thick hair, to the soles of his huge shit-kicker boot clad feet. You hated how tall and how ripped he was, the way his arm veins threaded atop the muscles there and led the way to his thick, calloused fingers that felt so nice against your skin.

You hated the chest hair that poked out from the top of the tacky tank tops and flannel shirts he always wore underneath the ever present leather jacket, and the way his blue jeans showcased the muscles in his thighs. 

And you absolutely NEVER accidentally gazed at his crotch and ascertained that he was packing.

That would be asinine.

And his stupid face. That was the kicker. Logan’s face would be handsome if he didn’t wear that ridiculous smirk all the time on that mouth that might look nice if he was normal. 

The mouth that felt nice against yours. 

That might feel nice against your…

You groaned around your toothbrush and rolled your eyes at yourself, fully sober now after a quick cold shower. But somehow your body was still warm and buzzing.

What the fuck had you done?

— 

Logan didn’t even like you.

You were bossy, irritating, loud. 

Fuck, you were loud, always chattering away to your customers, always smiling and making them feel at home. 

He absolutely loathed the way you were trying to make your own living, despite the fact that your father was loaded. Running a food truck with the best tacos in town drew hundreds of people every day and giving away a portion of your food to the unhoused every night was what irritated Logan the most. 

More people to watch.

He was sure you did it to surround him with more people to hate. He just knew that you liked pushing his buttons. 

You just reveled in being the anti-Logan.

The more he glared, the more you glowed. 

On fucking purpose.

The kicker was you cranking up the karaoke machine on Thursday nights and belting it out to Journey or REO Speedwagon. It was so annoying. 

Especially the way you closed your eyes and swayed to the music during the bridge. The happy look on your face wasn’t beautiful at all, it was simple, and he didn’t memorize every curve of your face because it was a dumb one.

He couldn’t get away, because he had three months left on the security contract your father signed with him.

It was unfortunate, because you just wouldn’t shut up.

Except when his tongue was in your mouth.

No. 

Even then, you made noises. 

Those delicious little moans that vibrated down his spine and made his dick harder with every second. Moans that made him see visions of your mouth wrapped around his cock. Moans that gave him a waking dream of you giving him head, and…

Fuck, now Logan had a raging hard on and could not sleep for the life of him. 

He really did not like you.

—--

Kissing Logan had you in a tailspin. 

You punched your pillow as you tossed and turned in bed and conjured positive thoughts.

You could forget this.

Pretend it never happened.

Convince yourself that he didn’t taste like heaven and hell and the best fucking thing in a long time.

You could forget.

It was fine.

Everything was just fucking fine. 

All you had to do was completely forget the way he made you feel when he slid his tongue into your mouth. It was easy. 

Except you were wet as fuck. 

“Listen, bitch. You are not doing me any favors right now,” you mumbled to your cunt. 

She didn't care. 

Your pussy just continued to clench on air as if to say, “He’s right down the hall. Let’s just go finish what we started.”

You groaned and tried to smother yourself with your pillow.

It didn’t work.

—-

Logan just kept thinking of the way you stared at him between kisses. Lips parted on a gasp, plump and soft, right before he'd slipped his hand on your neck and kissed you again. Now your taste haunted him.

Logan huffed and put his head in his hands. Flashes of the kiss played like a movie in his head. Finally, he stood up and went to his door, ready to settle this once and for all.

When he opened it, there you were, in just a black camisole and panties, and god, did he want you.

But there was your mouth again.

“I fucking hate you.”

The problem with that was, he could smell you. You might be saying that you hated him, but your body was calling him right now. And Logan’s knees were weak at the power of his lust.

When you looked him in the eye, you licked your lips, your eyes dilated, your nipples tightened into stiff peaks, and your pussy weeping for him, Logan knew it was the end of the line of his self-restraint.

You smelled delicious, like your mandarin orange body wash and your wet-for-him cunt. 

He stepped toward you and you slapped his face, leaving him with a grin on his face.

Then you slapped him again.

“You got it out of your system now? That anger?”

He cocked that damned eyebrow at you and moved even closer. 

“Or is it frustration?”

——

You were in trouble now.

Not because you were scared Logan was going to hurt you.

Just the opposite.

Logan dipped his head to smell at your pulse point, body so close, but never touching you. Your arms went to grab his impossible shoulders and that's when his huge paws grabbed your hips, dragging you further into his room as he backed toward his bed.

He was full on nuzzling your neck now, and your eyes were rolling as the tension between you two was finally ebbing.

The words came tumbling out.

“I’m so fucking angry that you get me so frustrated, you ass..”

You were turning your head toward his, wanting his lips again, on his lap now, crotch sat on his unbuttoned jeans, and refusing to move to ignite the fire.

Logan grunted at you.

“I see that. You’re trying to stare me down even though you are leaking all over me.”

Your body clenched and got wetter at the naming of that fact. You were terrified of what might happen next.

Yet you wanted it so badly.

——

Logan couldn’t wait any more.

He removed one hand from gripping the flesh at your hips that he’d fantasized about for months, to trailing up your cheek to your hair to take off your scarf.

His fingers were in your hair again and your eyelids stuttered as you mouth dropped open for air.

That made him so fucking hard. And it made him want to kiss you again.

He had to know.

“What are you here for, Princess?”

——

His sexy whisper would do you in.

For good.

“I don’t know.”

Logan was staring at you like you were the treasure chest at the end of a quest as you tried to remain as still as possible on his lap. It was so hard.

Logan was so hard beneath you.

“Oh? Let’s run it back to earlier when you weren’t letting that big brain of yours get in the way.”

Frustration surged within you and your mouth got reckless.

“Stop yapping and just do it already.”

——-

“There’s my girl,” Logan growled at you as his dick responded to the challenge and his eyes flashed at your tone.

“Always busting my balls, aren’t you? Need to give that smart mouth something else to do.” 

Before you could reply, Logan’s lips covered yours so perfectly that it was like magnetic puzzle pieces. You fit together and locked. 

Logan’s tongue traced your lower lip and he drew it into his mouth, nibbling, gently at first and then nipping more harshly, causing a gasp and enabling entry. His tongue swiped at yours as he dominated you.

You were not going to win this round.

——

You could only whimper and grab his shoulders tighter as he kissed you. For all that was holy, why did his kisses have to be so damn good?

One of your hands ventured into the thick hair you’d dreamt of feeling between your fingertips and pulled as your desire peaked. Then your palms went to his face as he pulled away and you squirmed as you realized what was about to happen. 

“What are you here for, Princess?”

That question again.

That voice. It rumbled straight to your core and Logan wasn’t letting you off the hook. 

Logan wasn’t letting you up off of him. 

The hardness of his metal button and zipper, but mostly him (oh god he was huge) chaffed your thighs as he sealed his lips over yours again and his hand went from your scalp down your neck and back to your hip again, holding you down to feel him.

You finally moved, smearing your wetness all over your panties and his jeans and Jesus, it felt so good.

——

Logan’s eyes took in all of you in your scanty clothing, following your every movement and when his eyes moved down to your damp panties he swallowed audibly. He clenched his jaw with the strain of holding back.

Logan couldn’t deny that he wanted you. His 200 year old heart felt brand new.

“Mmmmph. Here for this feeling Logan.” 

Your voice was the greatest symphony. His stomach clenched when you looked him in the eye.

“I’m here for you.”

You leaned forward and nuzzled his cheek with your nose, then whispered a demand in his ear.

“Touch me, Logan.”

Without thinking, but instinctively careful of you, Logan’s claws extended, shredding the sides of your panties and rendering them in pieces. 

“Fuck!”

You gasped as he stood up with you in his retracted grip and threw you on the bed, the scraps of your underwear abandoning you.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, he was so weak for you. He was on his knees at the foot of the bed as he ran his rough hands up and down your legs.

——-

“I’m touching you, now what?”

He spoke to you, but he was looking at the juncture of your thighs, at the well-manicured hair there, all casual, as if he weren’t teasing the hell out of you.

You had something for him.

“If you don’t know what to do, then I’ll show you.”

You reached up and took off your camisole and Logan’s eyes raked upwards and widened at the sight of what you were holding, which was your breast in one hand, as you pinched and rolled your own nipple. Your other hand trailed down your body as your legs fell open to give yourself access to your clit, which you had the nerve to play with in front of Logan’s face. 

——

Now he was the one who was angry.

Logan snarled, then batted your hand away.

“Careful Princess. Don’t poke the Wolverine.”

His hands tightened on your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed where he was.

———

Logan leaned down, his hot breath ghosting your pussy as he looked up at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. 

You couldn’t let the moment get too tender.

“What if the Wolverine wants to poke–”

Logan’s hand covered your mouth, cutting you off at just the moment he licked a long, hot, wet stripe up the center of you and then pursed his lips around your clit to suck at you ruthlessly.

Your smart ass remark was forgotten as a moan bubbled up into your throat. Logan took his hand away once it was clear that you couldn’t talk anymore, or at least that your capacity for sass had diminished. 

You were leaning up on your elbow and watching him feast on you, convulsing with each swipe of his broad tongue and each pull on your clit.

As mesmerized as you were at his skill, you managed to brush his thick dark hair away from his eyes so that he could see properly. You didn’t want anything getting in the way of the best head you’d ever received.

——-

Logan’s hands were now palming the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten; you were practically sitting on his fingers. For him, you tasted even better than you smelled. He couldn’t believe it.

He looked up at you incredulously, watching your breasts moving with each heave of your lungs trying to capture air, and your mouth open to capture it. He met your eyes and frowned at you as he reached down and stroked his pulsing cock.

“What’s wrong?”

“The fucking Cuties you eat all day long. They got you tasting like a fucking orange. ‘S fucking impossible.”

He yanked you closer and buried his face between your legs. You made those cute little noises with every swipe of his tongue, and he licked and sucked until you convulsed in his hands, screaming.

You were still trying to catch your breath before he was on you, licking and suckling your hard and soft breasts.

“Damn,” you murmured as Logan swiped his thick, bulbous head into your entrance and meeting resistance, “You’re so fucking huge Logan.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that phrase, but coming from you it hit different. His chest puffed with pride.

Logn smiled into your neck, inhaling your scent and growling against your skin.

“Don’t be scared, Princess. I’ll make it feel good for you. I should be more worried than you are. I’m gonna split you open, but you are about to shatter me into a thousand pieces.”

He didn't mean to tell you the absolute truth. But he had.

Logan knew there was no coming back from this for him.

——

You shuddered at the words which were breathed over your skin.

Logan trailed the tip of his tongue up the side of your neck the looked you in the eye. It was too much.

You lowered your gaze and he chuckled, making you sigh when he tugged on your lobe with his teeth and started pushing inside you. It was slow, but sensual and somehow still desperate. 

With each increment of himself that he gave you, you felt destroyed, yet you wanted more. You clutched at his chest as you widened your legs for him, as if that would help.

“No one else has ever made me feel this way. Hurts so good, Logan. More. Please?”

The question was, were you just talking about his penis?

——-

You begging him made Logan want to cry as he slipped further inside of you. When he bottomed out, you both shuddered, you at the sensation of such fullness, and him at the way you were so snugly and warmly wrapped around him.

“Fuck! Princess. Should have known you would be hot and tight. But I wasn’t ready.”

Logan wasn’t ready for you at all.

—-

His pupils were completely blown and the look on Logan’s face made you clench down even tighter as he stroked deeper into you. 

“Y-yess, feels so good.” 

You felt like liquid in his arms. Your hands moved over his shoulders as you hitched your thigh around his hips. He ran his hand up your thigh and around to your leg, holding you in place as he began to pound into you harder.

You whispered a confession into his ear.

“I’ve dreamed about this so many times.” 

Logan lifted his head from watching his cock destroy you, his brow arched in surprise. 

“You’ve dreamt about me?” 

You bit your lip and nodded, all of a sudden feeling shy. 

“At night after a tense night between us, I’d go to my room and imagine that you’d follow me to…shut me up.”

Your lashes fanned your face as you smirked.

“Oh yeah?”

Logan swiveled his hips and you gasped. He was lighting you up from the inside.

“Sounds like a cool dream, Princess,” he said, leaning down to your ear.

“But you’re talking far too much in reality.”

And he began snapping his hips at a frenzied pace, causing your back to arch and your mouth to fall open, leaving you moaning until you screamed with your orgasm.

You couldn’t talk; hell you couldn’t even think when he was going like this.

——

At this point, there was no more finesse; Logan was stroking in and out of you, almost completely leaving you and reentering just to feel that sensation again. The way his fat cockhead breached you was like no other feeling in the world.

Your arched back was displaying your breasts to him at a perfect angle. It inspired something within him.

“Look at you Princess. All gorgeous and fucked out and taking this cock for me. All dumb now. Bet you like not having to think so much. Just take it like the good little slut you are for me, yeah?”

His filthy commentary made the coil in your belly snap, and you came like a freight train, squeezing him so much that he had pull out to keep from coming himself.

He kissed you as you could only whimper in protest. Logan felt a warmth blooming in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time, if at all, as you lay melted in his arms.

He couldn’t wait to be back inside you.

“Can’t tell you how many times I dreamt about having you under me just… like… this….”

And he slid back home.

“Mmm… those lips down there suck my tip so well, how will these lips do?”

Logan’s thick thumb was in your mouth and you swirled your tongue around it to show him what your mouth could do. He groaned and pried your mouth open with his hand.

“Keep it open and do what I say.”

——-

The band was tightening in your belly again. You knew what was coming and nearly came again when Logan spit into your mouth. The orgasms were blending together now.

“Swallow.”

You did, and Logan thrust into you hard an deep while thrumming your clit. That was all it took for you to cum again and this time, you gushed around him, making a mess on his bed.

He looked down in disbelief and laughed with glee, handling you like a fuck doll to do with as he pleased.

That's when you realized that you loved being used by him.

“Bet ya didn’t dream you’d be such a dirty little slut for me, did ya, Princess?”

——

Logan realized that he was your slut, too. He was lost to your sounds, the sight of your beautiful lust drunk face, and the feeling of your cunt squeezing him with multiple orgasms now.

He started tracing urgent circles on your clit again.

“Look at me.”

That’s when you said the most beautiful words to him.

“So fucking good L-Logan. Cum inside me. Please. ‘M on the pill.”

“Music to… my fucking.. ears….”

——

Logan’s fingers moved to your shoulders, holding you captive as he stroked deeper and harder. His harsh breaths in your ear increased, the most erotic sound in the world.

You clamped down on him and he growled, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, the warm wave of fluid combing and causing a lovely, filthy mess.

It was so satisfying.

And you couldn’t let it lie.

——

He pulled out and stared at the ceiling in disbelief, before looking over at you to find you playing in his cum and licking your fingers, leaning over to give him a taste on your lips.

“What? You tired, Old Man?”

He shook his head and laughed as his cock came back to life.

Kissing you back had been the biggest mistake of his life.

He was never going to get you out of his system.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

-----

You shivered as Logan loomed over you, with that damned eyebrow cocked and that smirk on his face.

“Oh Princess. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

Then Logan grabbed you and kissed you again.

——

Reblog if you enjoyed it! 🥰

[fungateshortcakes]

Come as you are

Pairing: oldman!Logan x chubbyfem!Reader

Summary: You have developed a crush on the man that has offered you safety and friendship all these months ago. But how could he ever love someone like you?

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: english is not my first language, slight angst, fluff, age gap, body image issues, insecurities, self loathing, happy ending, very self indulging

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

The air in the smelting plant was heavy with the silence that stretched throughout. The only sound came from the slow crackle of the fire, its light casting soft, flickering shadows onto the walls. You sat at the edge of the old, worn down couch, picking at a loose thread on your sweater, trying to focus on anything but the man across the room.

Logan was drinking his fifth coffee of the night while reading through some newspapers, his movements methodical while he turned a page, his soft groan cutting through the silence as his reading glasses slipped lower on his nose. You’d always found him fascinating to watch—so gentle with the things he handled, except for when he handled himself. The way his brows knitted together as he read, deepening the shadow of a wrinkle between them. There were so many mundane things he did that drew you to him.

It was part of why you had fallen for him in the first place.

But you would never tell him that.

You sighed quietly, your fingers curling into your lap. Logan had been your friend for a few months now, ever since he helped you out of a scrape you didn’t want to think too much about. He had offered you safety, companionship, and a kind of loyalty you’d never known from anyone else. And you?

You had given him nothing.

Sure, you helped around the home, if you could call it that, cooked dinner for him and Charles, patched his clothes when they tore, patched him when he got into another fight at his job—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. That you weren’t enough. Never enough.

It wasn’t just the way your body didn’t fit society’s definition of “perfect" and that your clothes could only hide so much. You had made your peace with being chubby long ago. Or at least, you thought you had. But sitting here, watching a man like Logan chiseled, hardened, and impossibly strong, you couldn’t help but feel painfully out of place.

And then there was the age gap.

You were in your early twenties. He was... what? Pushing 200? Sure, he didn’t look it. His is healing factor had frozen him in what seemed to be his late 50s, but the years between you loomed like a canyon you would never be able to cross.

Why would someone like him ever look at someone like you?

“Somethin’ on your mind?” his voice startled you, rough and low, breaking through the haze of your never ending, self deprecating thoughts. You looked up to find him watching you, his glasses sitting on the table, his dark eyes sharp and focused just on you. “No,” you said, too quickly for his liking, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed deeply, a look you had come to know too well on him “Ya don’t look fine.” He states matter of factly. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out forced. “I’m just tired.” Logan didn’t buy it.

“Bullshit,” he said bluntly, leaning forward in his chair. “You’ve been quiet all day. You're never quiet. What’s goin’ on?” Yeah, you never shut up. You were quite the chatterbox around him because you felt so at ease, as if you wouldn’t be judged. Now you thought maybe that was something that annoyed him about you. The constant talking and noise because of you, not a silent moment because you were never able to read the room and shut up. You frowned, turning away from him. “Nothing,” you insisted, standing up abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t make it two steps before he shot up from his seat, striding over to you and catching your wrist in his large, rugged hand. He didn’t grip hard, Logan never touched you with anything but the gentlest care, but it stopped you in your tracks with a gasp.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone softer now. You hesitated, your chest tight with the weight of all the things you had been holding back for so long “Logan, just... drop it, okay?” you pleaded, trying to get your hand out of his grasp. “No.” he stood, his hand still around your wrist, his eyes searching yours. “You don’t get to shut me out like that.”

Your resolve started to crack, but you weren't about to let him win, so you forcefully ripped your arm awas from his grip “Why do you even care?” you sputtered out, your voice starting to feel raw. His brow furrowed even more, his chest heaving with your rejection “What kind of question is that?”

“Because you shouldn’t!” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m nothing to you, Logan. Just some stupid kid who’s too young, too... too fat—” you weren't able to finish your sentence as Logans hands shot up to hold you by your shoulders, not letting you go “Don’t.” His voice was sharp, cutting through your words like a blade. You froze, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. You swallowed thickly, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he rasped lowly, his tone softening again but no less firm. You bit your lip harshly, a distressed sound ripping from your throat “Why not?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s the truth.”

Logan stepped closer, his rough hands gentle on your body, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering. “You really think that?”

You nodded, shrugging his hands off you despite needing the warmth, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, look at you, Logan. You��re... you’re everything. And I’m just... me.” you sniffled, avoiding his eyes. He exhaled heavily, his hand coming up to rake through his grey hair. “You think I care about any of that? About numbers or size or—”

“Yes!” you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Because you could have anyone, Logan. Someone more mature. Someone prettier, someone better!.” you nearly yelled, but undeniably got chocked up on your tears. He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw tight, his hands clenching at his sides. Then, without a word, he closed the space between you, making you press yourself against the wall.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but steady, his tired eyes piercing “You think I care about how old you are? About how much curves you've got? Hell, sugar, you’re the only good thing I have left in my life, and you’re standing here actin’ like you’re not enough?”

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan—” you started breathlessly, but he lifted a warning finger at you. “No,” he said, cutting you off. “You don’t get to tell me what I want. And what I want is you. All of you. Just as you are.” Tears spilled over your round cheeks before you could stop them, and Logan’s hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs firmly brushing them away.

His hands held your face as if it was a precious artifact made out of porcelain, one that would shatter if handled too carelessly “I know I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “Hell, I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. But I know what I feel. And I feel it for you.”

Your breath hitched and he tilted your chin up ever so gently to meet his eyes, his gaze locked on yours. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said quietly. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You couldn’t.

Instead, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his broad chest as the dam finally broke. Logan held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped firmly around your plush waist. He was so warm and he smelled so good. Like home. This was home. “You’re it for me, sugar” he whispered into your hair, his salt and pepper beard scratching your temple “Don’t ever doubt that.”

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, and for the first time in what felt like forever you let yourself believe it. “You mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, rare smile. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” you didn’t respond, not with words. Instead, you leaned in slowly, giving Logan every chance to pull away, though you knew he wouldn’t. Not after that. He met you halfway, your lips brushing softly at first, tentative and sweet.

The kiss deepened, a tender exploration that spoke of all the moments you hadn’t been brave enough to share until now. Logan hadn't thought he would ever feel like his younger self again, kissing a pretty lady while his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. His broad hands smoothed over the soft curves that were your hips, trying to map your body like he had wanted for so long.

When you finally seperated, just a breath apart, you were suddenly lifted up into the air. You shrieked, clinging to Logan while he held you up by your thick thighs effortlessly. He smirked smuggly at you, a rare sight, and you pouted. "Just because I am dying doesn't mean I can't handle a girl like you, sugar" he drawled and carried you back over to the couch. He let himself fall onto the worn down cushions with you on top of him, your weight comforting on him. You were no light feather and he appreciated that. He could actually feel you on top of him, actually had something to grab you by.

Upon his mention that he was actively dying because of the adamantium lacing his bones, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach and your smile dropped. He noticed and gave your cheek a kiss "Hey. Don't worry. I'll be here for as long as you'll have me" and when he leaned down to kiss you again, it was slow and steady and full of promises you knew he’d never break.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

I really hope you liked this short fic and maybe can relate to it as well!

Characters like Logan are always paired with the skinny, dolled up, feminine, conventionally attractive woman and that kind of makes me feel like (if someone like Logan existed) i wouldn’t have a chance because i am fat. I already think that, but still!

We need more representation because we are people like everyone else and deserve to live in peace just like everyone else.

I know it's hard to believe- but you are beautiful and worthy, no matter your size. I still have to believe that myself, but I will get there someday🎀

[katxbuckyx]

Give me a minute to hold my girl. (Bucky Barnes x reader.)

Hello!

I wrote a quick Congressman!Barnes one shot, I hope you will enjoy it! It was not very well proofread, but I will do it when I'll have more time!

Sign count: 5842

Description: When you got out of shadows, there's only one arms, you want to run into.

Warnings: Mention of mental abuse, alcohol, bullying. Almost non existent mention of body insecurity.

The work's mine, I don't give permission to share it anywhere without asking.

(Gif's not mine.)

***

You were congressman Barnes's assistant. You were helping him with the speeches, keeping him company at the meeting, talking with him about his program and about the things he wanted to do, the laws he wanted to present, how he wanted to make the world a better place even though he felt like he didn't belong to it anymore. You were also running him some errands, but mostly it didn't feel like working as an assistant. In your previous job, you were doing everything, including grocery shopping for your boss, but now? Bucky was bringing you coffee, not the way around. He was nice to you, asked how your day was, was small talking to you, which was new because you knew his reserved and grumpy attitude, he was reluctant to let new people in. You couldn't help but get attached to him, you liked him, maybe even more than a boss, but you kept it quiet.

So, when he didn't come to a meeting, after his failed speech to the reporters, and after you gently scolded him for not reading the speech that you had written him, you felt bad. And you decided to check if he was okay. You came to his house, late afternoon and knocked on his doors. He didn't open, it seemed like he wasn't at home. You were worried, so you took out the key he gave you a long time ago, and you entered his house. The place looked like a mess. There was pans with leftover food on the kitchen stove, some half eaten chilli hot dog on the counter. Along with his bill packets that he was trying to read while eating, because there was a huge stain on the page. There was a lot of things thrown around but you didn't see or hear Bucky. The house was dark. You started walking around, calling him but no answer. He really wasn't home... You were even more worried, especially when you saw that his guns and the holders was gone from the closet. Where did he go? You hoped that he didn't get himself in some trouble, you wouldn't survive if something happened to him.

While trying to think where he could go, you heard some screams from outside. People were screaming and running away. You quickly run out to the street, after closing the front door in a hurry. When you were outside, you looked around. In the sky was some black, shadowy mist spreading out slowly, and when it reached people, they disappeared, turned into shadows... Damn, another blip? You thought, and started running away. You didn't go far, before you could hide back again in Bucky's house, you were gone. The darkness hit you.

You found yourself in your family house. You didn't know what was going on, you left your country and your home when you were 20, and you never looked back. And now, you were standing in your childhood bedroom, filled with your things hat you left behind. There was some darkness creeping in the corners and you felt shivers going down your back, hearing the familiar screaming outside the room. Oh, no.... No, it couldn't be happening.... With your breath held, you walked out. You saw your father, drunk and angry, shouting at your mother. What broke your heart, was the sight of little young you, barely ten years old, standing in front of your mom, protecting her. Without thinking, you run in front of both of them, shielding them. When you did that, you went back to your room. It looked like you went back to the beginning, like someone pushed the reverse button. It happened multiple times, before you stepped out again. Thinking that you were doing it wrong... You weren't supposed to jump in front of them... With a fierce expression on your face, you walked back into the kitchen again, but this time, you didn't stand in front of your mum and little you again. This time, you came closer to your younger self, and wrapped your arms around her, sheltering her. You ignored the way your father was shouting, you held her. "I'm sorry, that I couldn't be here when you were little. You wouldn't have to suffer." you whispered into her ear.

When you said that, you disappeared again. Now, you were standing in your primary school. You were looking at some boys hitting some girl, calling her ugly names. You would recognized those pigtails everywhere, and now, you knew what to do. You ran to yourself, shielding you from the bullies, wshipering to her ears things that you wish you could've heard when you were younger: "You're beautiful and you will grow up in someone who is kind, smart and strong. Don't let them bring you down. Don't let them tear your soul apart."

Before you knew, you were back in New York. The city was almost in ruins. Again. You were confused, and there was tears streaming down your cheeks, but you were safe. You were no longer stuck in the shadows where all your pain came back to life.

Standing there, reliving the past again, you realised that this was what the mist was doing... Showing the deepest, moist painful moments of life. Everyone who disappeared there, must have seen them too... "Bucky..." you whispered, thinking about him in that moment. If he disappeared too, he must have seen his past, his past as the Winter Soldier, and maybe even before war. Before his life turned into a nightmare filled with pain and death.

Filled with bad feelings, you were wondering where he could be. You hoped you will find him safe and sound. You started walking toward where the most people were gathering, to the Avengers Tower which no longer had the name, Avengers didn't exist anymore. Valentina bought it, Bucky told you that a while ago. He was looking for things that could brought her down. If there was a place where he could go, it was the Tower. Him and his stupid saviour complex...

When you got there, you were panting heavily, your hair a mess. You were calling his name. You walked around the crowd. Until you saw him... He was alive. A little bruised and dirty, but alive. And that was what mattered the most. He was standing with a group of people from which you only recognized Walker, and Yelena. The other ones were not so familiar, but you could swear that you saw the face of the man wearing red suit somewhere in the TV. Maybe it was in some old communist documentary film? The girl was wearing a leather suit that looked like a protective shield in some way. And that guy wearing a sweater? Nope, never saw him before in your life. Was Bucky catching strays again? Who was those guys? Were they a team?

"Bucky!" you called out his name and he turned around immediately, hearing your voice.

Before you could think, you started running in his direction, not giving a damn about how you look, or how your body looked, you just wanted to hold him. You jumped into his arms, and he caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"You're safe." I murmured into his neck. "I was so worried when I didn't find you in your house..."

He just wrapped his arms around you tighter, holding you even closer, even to the point where you couldn't breathe, but you didn't mind that. "I didn't mean to scare you, doll."

You wanted to say something, but John interrupted you. "Look, we don't have the time to..."

"Shut up, Walker." Barnes hushed him. "Give me a minute to hold my girl." he hummed, hugging you tightly.

You looked at him with surprised expression. "Your girl?" you asked.

"My girl." He answered, smiling at you. "Mine and only mine. If you want to." He added, quietly.

"I want to. Of course, I want to." you replied, kissing him on the lips, without hesitation. "I wouldn't fight my shadows to come find you if I didn't want to be yours."

"And I would still be in the shadows, if it wasn't for you, doll." He kissed you again.

[tea-writes19]

hash browns | s.w.

pairing: sam wilson x f!plus-size!reader

summary: you’ve caught yourself a not so secret admirer

warnings: fluff, suggestive content, fatphobia (not from sam), my pitiful attempts at comedy, swearing

a/n: based on this post. i’m not sure how many people read sam wilson x reader fics but this is for y’all. set post tfatws so sam is captain america here

liked by yourbsfuser, samwilson, and others

yourusername: ladies this is your sign to wear the outfit even with the tummy rolls

view comments below

user1: hot damn

user2: you’re literally so pretty😩

yourbsfuser: i wanna be you when i grow up

yourusername: awww love you babes

user3: hear me out

user4: bro what is there to hear out. she’s a conventionally attractive woman

user5: men will say hear me out and then show a literal goddess🙄

user6: are we just gonna ignore the fact that SAM WILSON liked this???

User7: no no we are not

user8: omg what?!?

user9: AND HIS COMMENT

user10: us bigger girlies really won today

samwilson: ma’am i could make you the crispiest, most delicious hash browns every morning for the rest of our lives if you please just give me one chance

user11: captain america what’re you doing here🧐

user12: not him simping on main

user13: me too sam me too

user14: @/yourusername give him a chance!!

user15: please not her ignoring this

liked by samwilson, yourbsfuser, joaquintorres and others

yourusername: beach days🐚🌺

tagged: @/yourbsfuser

view comments below

user19: this is so aesthetic!!

yourbsfuser: i’m so sunburnt😩

yourusername: i can feel the skin cancer festering

yourbsfuser: please don’t ever use the word ‘fester’ again

user20: pretty!!!

user21: i would never wear a bikini if i looked like that…

user22: fr…

samwilson: ho shut the hell up

user21: 😧

user23: when he defends his girl😩

user24: sam you dropped this king👑

yourusername: 👀😏

samwilson: marry me please

user25: SAMUEL—

user26: he’s down bad😭

yourusername: what do you have to offer?🧐

samwilson: a beautiful house on the ocean

sarahwilson: that’s my fucking house

samwilson: i own half of it!!!

user27: i’m dying😭😭

yourusername added to their story—>

[caption: damn these are good hash browns]

story replies

user32: oh my god

user33: sam really do be standing on business

samwilson: i told you i’d make you the most delicious hash browns

yourusername: and you did😘

liked by sarahwilson, yourusername, joaquintorres and more

samwilson: y'all are all invited to the wedding btw (except if your name is bucky barnes)

tagged: @/yourusername

view comments below

yourusername: where tf are we getting the money for that samuel???

samwilson: don’t worry bucky has like millions in backpay

buckybarnes: i thought i wasn’t invited bitch

samwilson: nvm pepper can spot us

yourusername: 🤦🏻‍♀️

user34: holy shit he got the girl

user35: i’m so happy rn

user36: they’re so fucking cute fr

joaquintorres: congrats i think?

samwilson: now this is why you’re the favorite

buckybarnes: 🖕

yourusername: boys be nice

user37: not y/n gentle parenting😭😭

sarahwilson: i called it btw

samwilson: yeah yeah

yourusername: 🥰🥰

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Soldier's Baby Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Series Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Pt. 2 Summary: Things between you and Bucky are beginning to change. He's embracing his role as a father well, making sure to connect with you along the way. Are you developing a crush? Does he like you back?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

You sit across from Bucky, still clutching the mug you've long since forgotten to drink from. The living room is quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows in hazy golden streaks. Daisy plays on the floor in her usual chaos-stuffed animals scattered, blocks dumped out, her bunny lying on its side like it's recovering from a long day.

Bucky's there too, something that's become a usual sight over the past few weeks. Not right beside her-but close. Sitting a few feet away, legs crossed, his arms draped loosely over his jean-covered knees. He's just… watching. Not in a weird way. Just kind of soft. Thoughtful. Like he doesn't want to intrude, but can't help being near her.

She doesn't seem to mind. Every so often, she glances at him, then returns to whatever she's doing-lining up blocks, then knocking them down. He offers her a little smile once or twice when their eyes meet. She grins back.

Then, out of nowhere, she stands up, wobbling on unsteady legs, and toddles over to him with purpose.

"Build fort?" she asks, looking up at him with her big, bright eyes.

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. "A fort?"

She nods seriously. "With blankies."

Bucky looks like he doesn't quite know what to do. He glances toward me-just briefly-then looks back down at her. "Uh… sure," he says slowly. "We can try."

She beams and immediately grabs a throw blanket off the couch, dragging it behind her like a cape.

He follows her without hesitation now, kneeling on the floor and scooping up a few pillows. "Okay, kid. Where are we building this masterpiece?"

"Right here," she says, plopping down beside him.

And then, it starts.

Bucky pretends the cushions are impossibly heavy, making exaggerated groaning sounds every time he lifts one. "This one's the size of a mountain," he mutters, flexing his metal arm dramatically. "Might need backup."

Daisy giggles. "You're strong!"

"Only because I had my oatmeal this morning," he tells her, deadpan.

It earns a small chuckle from you. You watch from the side now, your mug still untouched. The fort takes shape slowly, with blankets stretched across the backs of chairs, cushions propped upright, and Daisy offering creative direction with every step.

He lets her lead. Never takes over. Just helps, asks questions, follows her excited little ideas without hesitation.

She crawls into the half-formed space, pats the floor beside her. "Come in!"

"I think I might be too tall," he says, glancing up at the blanket ceiling. "But I'll try."

He ducks inside, legs sticking out awkwardly as Daisy shuffles in with her bunny and one of her books. You find yourself smiling-genuinely, this time. The sight of it… It's strange and gentle and a little unreal.

After a few minutes, the fort begins to tilt ominously and Bucky eases out, letting Daisy settle in alone. He sits just beside it, his back to the couch.

You move slowly, walking over and lowering yourself to the floor a few feet from him. Not too close. But close enough to talk.

"She really likes you," you say quietly.

He glances toward the fort, then back to you, something small and sheepish in his expression. "She's funny," he murmurs. "Kept handing me things like I knew what I was doing."

"You did alright."

"I've built a few bunkers in my day," he replies dryly. "Guess forts aren't that different."

"She doesn't usually warm up to people this fast," you admit. She's had a hard time not being shy around many of the other Avengers. When they come around, she insists on being near you.

He tilts his head slightly, arms draped over his knees again. "Guess I'm lucky."

"No," you say, meaning it. "You're just… careful with her. That matters."

He's quiet for a second. Then: "I don't really know how to be around kids," he admits. "I haven't dealt with them since my younger sisters were around. Didn't expect it to be… like this."

"Like what?"

"Easy. Kinda," he adds quickly. "Not all the way. But… she makes it easier."

You nod. That familiar warm feeling fills your chest.

"I, uh… I don't wanna mess this up," Bucky says after a moment. "Being around her. Or you. I like being with you guys."

Your breath catches a little. He doesn't mind being around me. At first, I was worried he wouldn't like talking to me. The truth is, I haven't had friends in years. Kinda hard to make them in captivity. I don't really know what to say or do anymore. I was worried things would be extremely awkward between the two of us, the only thing keeping us connected being Daisy.

"You're not," you manage. "Messing it up, I mean."

He meets your eyes briefly. Doesn't say anything, just nods.

Daisy crawls to the edge of the fort again, poking her head out. "More blankies!"

Bucky chuckles and leans over to pass her another one.

You sit there a little longer, watching them. Watching him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don't feel like you need to brace yourself for something bad. For once, the room safe.

----

You're sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, your back propped against the edge of the couch while Daisy babbles softly beside you. She's got her little plastic doll cradled in one arm, trying her best to mimic what you just showed her-gently brushing its hair with the tiny pink comb from the toy set. You've got another doll in your hands, holding it upright and giving it a "very serious" voice for the tea party you're clearly late to.

"And where is your invitation, Miss Daisy?" you ask in your best snooty British accent.

Daisy giggles. "I dunno!"

You laugh softly, heart warm and aching all at once. There's something so fragile and beautiful about these quiet moments. The soft buzz of the compound feels a million miles away. It's just you, your daughter, and a pair of overworked plastic dolls.

Then you hear his footsteps.

You glance up to see Bucky hovering in the doorway, one hand on the frame like he's not sure if he should come in.

His gaze lands on you and Daisy, and something softens in his expression.

You smile at him-tentative, but real. "Hey."

"Hey," he says, voice low and warm. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not," you say quickly, shifting to the side and patting the floor near you. "Wanna join the tea party?"

He huffs a quiet laugh but stays standing. "I, uh, actually came to ask something."

You tilt your head, curious. Daisy is completely absorbed in brushing the doll's hair again.

Bucky shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck. "Would you… wanna go out with me? I mean-not like that," he adds quickly, eyes wide. "I just mean… would it be okay if I took you and Daisy out? For ice cream. Just a short trip."

Your heart jumps, panic and wonder flaring all at once.

"Out?" you echo, your voice thinner than you'd like.

His brows knit together, like he's trying to read your face without scaring you off. "Only if you want to. We'd stay close. I found a little place with outdoor seating and-thought it might be nice."

You look down at Daisy, who's now dressing her doll in a sparkly piece of mismatched plastic clothing.

She's never really been outside before.

You haven't been outside in what feels like forever.

But you see something in Bucky's eyes—patience, not pressure.

You swallow thickly and nod. "Okay. Yeah. That sounds… nice."

The smile that spreads across his face is small but genuine. "Alright. I'm going to go get ready. You can take your time."

He turns to leave, then pauses. "Also, there's a car seat already in the car. Just so you know. You don't need to worry about it."

Your heart twists in your chest. "You thought of that?"

"Course I did," he says, almost shyly. "Her safety's important."

You watch him go, stunned. Over the past few weeks he's really shown up. From the moment he found out about her, he's done his best to offer some sort of presence in Daisy's life. He thinks about her. He considers what's best for her. For the both of you.

You glance down at your daughter.

She holds up her doll with a proud smile. "Ice cream, Mama!"

You chuckle and brush her curls back from her face. "Yeah, sweetie. Let's get you ready to go."

----

By the time you manage to corral Daisy's wild hair into two fuzzy buns and coax her into socks and shoes, there's a gentle knock at the door.

"It's just me," Bucky calls, his voice low and calm through the frame.

You shift Daisy to one hip and open the door.

He's standing there in jeans and a dark henley, sleeves pushed up, hair tucked neatly behind his ears. His metal hand catches the hallway light. It should make him look dangerous. It doesn't. Not to you. Not anymore.

He gives Daisy a small smile, eyes crinkling. "You ready, kiddo?"

"Ready!" she says brightly, gripping your shirt with one hand and waving the other at him.

Bucky chuckles-quiet, like the sound still feels unfamiliar-and glances at you. "You ready?"

You hesitate. The world outside feels like another planet entirely.

"I think so," you say. "Yeah."

He nods and steps back, giving you space. You follow his steady footsteps into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

The walk to the garage is quiet. Daisy hums a tuneless melody and babbles to her stuffed bunny. "Bunny, we go bye-bye!" she giggles, waving at everyone you pass. No one stares. That's new. It's not often there's children in the compound. Daisy tends to draw attention.

Then, stepping outside, the sunlight hits you like a wave. You blink up at the sky. It's so blue. So open.

You stop for a second, stunned. The breeze brushes your shirt, gently kissing the skin underneath, and somewhere, birds are chirping. You forgot how loud the world is. How beautiful the earth can be.

Bucky slows beside you, his eyes gentle. "You okay?"

You swallow. "Yeah. Just… taking it in. I haven't been outside like this in a long time. It's a little overwhelming..."

He doesn't rush you. Just waits. And when you nod, you both keep moving.

You reach the car-a dark SUV, plain and sturdy. Nothing flashy. You like that.

Bucky opens the back door, and you lean in to buckle Daisy into her car seat. She kicks her feet against the seat and clutches her bunny tight. "We goin' ta ice cream!"

"Yes, we are," you murmur, adjusting the straps and brushing hair from her forehead.

You shut the door gently and find Bucky holding the passenger door open for you.

"You didn't have to-" you start.

"I wanted to," he says simply.

Your cheeks warm as you climb in. That's definitely something you weren't expecting.

The car smells clean—new leather and a faint trace of mint and Bucky's cologne. The radio's off. Everything feels still.

He starts the engine. "Let me know if I drive too fast."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that something I need to worry about?"

He smirks. "I've been told I'm heavy on the gas."

"Noted," you mutter, buckling up.

The compound fades behind you as the drive begins. The world outside unfolds like a pop-up book—streets, people, cars, color. It's overwhelming. And beautiful.

Daisy presses her face to the window. "Big! So big!"

You can't help but whisper, "You're not wrong."

"You okay?" Bucky asks, glancing your way.

You nod. "It's just… loud. Fast. I forgot."

He nods, eyes flicking back to the road. "I remember the first time I came back to the city. Everything was too much."

You glance over at him. "How'd you deal with it?"

"I didn't," he admits. "I went home and hid in my room for three days."

A laugh slips out of you-sharp, surprised. Real.

He smiles softly. "That's a nice sound."

You look away quickly, heart thudding.

A few more turns, and you pull up to a little ice cream shop with pastel trim and a crooked sign that says "SCOOP!" with a cartoon cone. It looks like something from a picture book.

Bucky parks and gets out, jogging around the front of the car to get to your side. Once again, he opens the door for you. He keeps a comfortable distance as you climb out of the car, thanking him. You open the back door and unbuckle Daisy. She clings to you for a second, then spots the sign and gasps. "Ice cream, Mama! Pink one, please!"

"We'll see, baby," you say with a small laugh.

Inside, the shop is warm and colorful. Chalkboard menus line the walls. A bell jingles as you enter. The girl behind the counter has glittery eyelids and a big smile.

You freeze.

The menu blurs in your vision-chocolate explosion, birthday cake crunch, mango swirl. Too many choices.

"You okay?" Bucky's voice is beside you again, steady.

You nod, embarrassed. "It's just been a while. I don't know what's good."

"Mint chip's solid," he offers. "Or cookies and cream."

You nod slowly. "Cookies and cream. That sounds nice."

Daisy jabs a finger toward the bright pink tub. "That one!"

"Good choice," Bucky says. "Matches your spark."

You order, grab your scoops-yours and Bucky's in paper cups, Daisy's in a tiny cone-and find a seat outside beneath a striped umbrella.

The breeze tugs at Daisy's hair. She kicks her legs and hums to herself, getting more ice cream on her cheeks than in her mouth.

Bucky hands her a napkin. She squints at it, puzzled.

He chuckles. "Here. Let me." He leans across and gently wipes her cheek. His touch is tender and soft. Like he's afraid to somehow accidentally hurt her.

"Thank you." she chirps, fingers sticky.

"No problem, peanut," he murmurs.

Your chest aches at the sound of the nickname. He started calling her nicknames a few days ago, a sign he's getting more comfortable with her. It makes you feel happy.

You sit quietly. The noise around you-cars, birds, laughter-feels like the kind of thing you used to take for granted.

Then he turns to you.

"You ever think about what it would've been like… if HYDRA hadn't taken us?"

You nod. "All the time."

He stirs his ice cream with the little spoon. "I used to imagine a normal life. Brooklyn apartment. Maybe a dog. A job that didn't involve blood." He says it quietly, almost shyly.

You glance at Daisy. She's squishing her cone now.

"I think about that too," you whisper. "I had so many goals. Dreams. Things I wanted to do. But then I look at her… and I realize, I wouldn't trade her for anything. Not even for a normal life."

His eyes find yours. "That's how I know you're strong. Most people would wish the pain away."

"I do wish the pain away," you admit. "But not her. Never her. I'd go through it all again if it meant having her."

There's a pause. Then he clears his throat.

"You wanna take her to the park before we head back?"

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

He nods. "I know a quiet one. Not far."

The park is tucked behind a bookstore and apartment complex, half-hidden by trees. A small playground sits beside a patch of wildflowers.

Daisy runs wild with wonder, darting from flower to flower. A squirrel makes her shriek with joy.

Then the guilt creeps in.

She's never seen this before. And it's your fault.

"She was born in a lab," you whisper, not even sure why you're saying it out loud. "She deserved better."

Bucky doesn't flinch. "You gave her everything you could. You kept her alive. That's not nothing."

You look at him, eyes burning. "But it still feels like not enough."

He nods. "I feel that too. I didn't know... If I had-I would've found you. I swear I would've."

You believe him. God, you do. You regret not telling him.

But today is supposed to be happy. You can't stay in that place.

You kneel beside a patch of white flowers and call out, "Hey, kiddo. Come here."

Daisy skips over, eyes wide.

"That's what you're named after," you tell her, brushing a petal. "You're my Daisy."

She gasps. "Me?! I'm speshul!" She grins.

"You really are."

Bucky smiles and carefully plucks two of the flowers, handing one to each of you.

"For you ladies," he says.

Daisy giggles at the word ladies but clutches the flower tight.

Your heart does something dangerous.

You look at the flower. Then at him.

He's kind and thoughtful.

And you think you might like him.

You haven't liked anyone in a long time-not like this. Not in the way that makes your stomach twist and your chest ache and your brain spiral all at once.

Especially not someone who notices you.

No one ever really noticed you before. You were the smart one. The soft one. The big one.

The girl boys didn't flirt with. Didn't even glance at. And now? You're even softer.

But Bucky sees you.

And somehow, that terrifies you more than anything.

He doesn't notice you're lost in thought-he's crouched beside Daisy, showing her a tiny roly poly crawling across his palm.

She squeals in delight.

Eventually, you head back to the car. Daisy falls asleep the second you buckle her in.

"Thanks," you say quietly, watching the road blur past. "For taking us out. I needed it. Just… didn't know how to do it alone."

"You're not alone anymore," he says gently. "I'm going to help you."

Those words nearly bring you to tears.

Back at the compound, he opens your door. This time you're expecting it. You unbuckle Daisy. Then you look at him.

"Hey," you say softly. "Would you like to carry her in?"

He pauses. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

You've seen who he is. What he's like. And it's time you let him know you trust him.

He nods. "I'd love to."

You pass her over, and she melts into his arms like she was always meant to fit there. The image makes you smile.

Inside the room, he lays her on the bed and tucks her bunny beside her. She murmurs in her sleep. He lingers, brushing a curl from her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"For what?" you whisper back.

"For letting me be part of this."

"Of course. She's your kid, too."

His eyes meet yours, and something unspoken stretches between you.

Then he straightens, glancing around at the room-at the small pile of toys, the neatly folded clothes.

"Tomorrow," he says, "I'm finding you two a real room. Not this."

"You don't have to-"

"I do," he says firmly. "You're both my responsibility. And you deserve better. It's the least I can do."

Your heart flutters.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He nods, then quietly excuses himself.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the daisy from earlier still in your hand, your heart pounding.

You think you might be starting to really like this man.

And that thought… that thought terrifies you.

But it also makes you feel alive again.

----

That night, sleep doesn't come easy.

You lie still in the dark, the soft sound of Daisy's breathing beside you offering some comfort. But your own breath feels too shallow. Your skin feels too tight. The room, though warm, feels hollow. Like the walls are closing in.

You close your eyes, try to force it-sleep, peace, anything. Instead, memories flicker behind your eyelids. The sterile white walls. The flickering overhead lights. The voices that twisted your thoughts. The coldness of being completely, utterly alone.

You sit up quietly, careful not to disturb Daisy. She doesn't stir, curled into her blanket, her bunny tucked beneath her chin. You tuck it a little closer, just in case.

And then, without thinking too hard about it, you step out into the hallway.

You wander until the quiet hush of night leads you outside to one of the patios. The air is colder out here than you expected-sharper, but not in a bad way. The kind of cold that feels like it keeps you present. Alive.

That's when you see him.

Bucky's already out there, sitting on a long stone bench under a light that flickers slightly. His jacket is draped over a thin white tank, sleeves rolled up, the rest of him still and thoughtful. His fingers are laced together, resting on his knee. He looks lost in thought as he stares out at the plants on the patio.

I wonder what he's thinking of?

You hesitate.

"Hi," you say quietly, your voice barely more than a breath.

He looks up, snapping out of his trance.

You falter. "Sorry-I didn't mean to interrupt. I can go, I just-"

"It's okay," he says before you can finish. "You don't have to leave."

You blink, surprised. "Are you sure?"

He nods, eyes warm under the dim light. "C'mere. Sit."

You cross the patio slowly, sliding onto the bench beside him. Not too close. But not far, either.

The silence stretches a beat before he speaks. "Couldn't sleep?"

You shake your head. "No. I, um… I have nightmares sometimes. Flashbacks."

His expression doesn't change, but you see something shift in his eyes. Recognition. Understanding.

"It's hard to feel safe falling asleep," you admit. "Even here."

He nods, looking straight ahead. "I know the feeling."

You glance over at him.

"That's why I'm out here too," he says softly. "Some nights, it's like I can feel it all again. The chair. The cold. The words they used to say to me before I forgot everything again."

You stay quiet, letting him speak.

"They wiped me so many times, I don't even know what's real anymore. I'll remember something… a voice, a smell, a face… and then it's gone. Or I'll think I made it up. There's so many gaps, it drives me crazy sometimes. It's like living in a confusing movie."

Your chest aches for him. "That sounds unbearable."

He exhales slowly. "It was. Still is, some days."

You nod slowly. "They played a lot of games with me, too. Psychological stuff. Isolation. Manipulation. They tried to convince me I didn't exist unless they needed me to."

Bucky turns to look at you, his expression dark with empathy.

You swallow. "I thought I was going to die in there. And then… one day they told me I was pregnant. The embryo had taken."

He goes still.

"I didn't even understand how it had happened at first. I mean, I knew the process, I did a study on in vitro in high school. But the whole experience was hazy from the drugs they gave me. I was just so numb. And scared. I didn't know what to think, or how to feel."

You look down at your hands.

"It was hard at first. Every change my body went through… I didn't have anyone to ask questions. No one talked to me. They just watched. Studied. Like I was some experiment they forgot to write the purpose of."

His jaw tightens.

"But then… then she kicked," you say, your voice cracking. "And for the first time, it wasn't just me in there anymore. I wasn't alone. There was a real baby."

You feel your throat tightening, but you push through it.

"I started talking to her. Telling her stories. Whispering about the world. I think… I think she saved me. Just by being there."

Bucky's gaze never leaves you.

Your voice is barely more than a whisper. "She kept me going."

He's silent, letting your words settle in the air between you. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost reverent.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "You shouldn't have had to go through that."

You laugh, a wet sound. "Sorry for trauma-dumping."

"Don't be," he says immediately. "I wanted to know. I needed to. I wasn't there when it happened, but… this helps me understand. Helps me feel closer to Daisy. To you."

Your breath catches.

You blink away the tears, the cold air stinging your cheeks.

"I didn't want this to be the way things went," you say honestly. "But I'm glad… I'm glad I'm not doing it alone now. I'm glad it's you. That you're her father. You care so much about her, and it really shows."

His eyes soften, and there's something in his expression-something so deeply sincere it knocks the wind out of you.

"She's lucky," you continue, voice shaking. "You're kind. And patient. And you've been… you've been nothing but understanding. I haven't had that in a long time."

He leans forward slightly. "I'm grateful you're her mom. You love her so much. I can see it. And you… you were there for her when I couldn't be. You saved her. You saved both of you."

You don't know what to say. You just sit there in the silence that follows, heart beating too loud.

Then a breeze blows through, colder now, and a shiver sneaks up your spine.

Bucky notices immediately.

"You cold?"

You try to shake it off, but he's already shrugging off his jacket.

"Here," he says, holding it out to you.

You freeze.

It's such a sweet gesture. Kind. The kind of thing no one's done for you in so long.

But your brain kicks in.

What if it doesn't fit?

What if it clings in the wrong places?

What if he sees?

"I-" you stammer. "It's alright. The cold… it helps ground me."

He pauses. His hand stays outstretched for a second longer, then slowly lowers it to his lap.

"Oh," he says. His voice is careful. "Okay."

You glance at him. He doesn't look angry. But there's something in his eyes-a flicker of hurt, maybe. Not from rejection, but from knowing you don't feel safe enough to accept something as simple as a jacket.

You feel awful.

He doesn't push. Just keeps it on his lap, just in case.

You both sit in quiet for a moment longer. Then you sigh softly.

"She really likes you, you know," you say. "Daisy. She talks about you all the time."

He smiles, something soft and real. "She's… amazing. I don't even know how to describe it. I didn't think I'd ever get a chance to… feel this."

"You're good with her."

"I'm trying to be."

You nod.

Then a thought crosses your mind, and your stomach flips.

"I should check on her," you say quietly. "It's been a little while."

Bucky straightens. "I'll walk you."

You don't say no.

The walk back is quiet but comfortable. Your arms brush once, and you don't pull away.

When you reach your door, he hesitates. Then says, "I talked to Tony."

You blink. "Oh?"

"You're getting moved," he says. "Out of the hospital wing. Into the residential part of the compound. With the rest of us."

You stare at him, stunned.

"I really… I don't know what to say. Thank you-"

"You don't have to," he says, shaking his head. "It's okay."

You linger at the door.

"Goodnight," you say softly.

His smile is warm. "Goodnight."

You step inside, heart beating far too fast, and shut the door gently behind you.

Daisy is still asleep.

But you?

You're wide awake-this time for a different reason.

------

The next morning, there's a knock at your door just as the first pale light of dawn begins to seep through the blinds. It's soft-barely more than a gentle tap-but it cuts through the quiet like a bell. Your eyes flutter open, the haze of sleep clinging stubbornly to the corners of your vision. You blink once, then again, and slowly sit up, your limbs heavy with the weight of half-shed dreams.

Daisy stirs beside you, her tiny body curled like a comma beneath the blankets. She must have climbed into your bed at some point during the night. Her hand rests lightly on your side, her fingers twitching as if chasing something in her dreams. She lets out a small, contented sigh before settling again.

Careful not to disturb her, you slide out of bed, the cold floor a shock against your bare feet. You pad quietly to the door and open it just a crack, still adjusting to the way the fluorescent hallway light stings your sleepy eyes.

Bucky stands there with a stack of flattened cardboard boxes in his arms. His hair is messy-flattened a bit on one side like he slept hard and his gray t-shirt clings loosely to his frame. He looks like he's been up for a while, though. Alert, steady. His face is unreadable at first, then softens when his eyes meet yours.

"Morning," he says, voice gravelly and quiet so as not to wake the child behind you. "Brought some boxes."

Your gaze flickers down to the stack in his arms. A twinge of nerves stirs in your stomach. Today's the day.

"Morning," you murmur, voice still husky with sleep. "Thanks."

He tilts his head toward the boxes. "Figured we'd get started early. Thought you might want a hand."

You step aside, opening the door for him. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

He nods once and walks in, setting the boxes down near the foot of the bed. His eyes drift toward Daisy, who's still snuggled beneath the covers, her dark hair splayed across the pillow like a halo. His expression shifts-gentle, something soft you haven't seen on his face often, but it's there now. He lingers a second longer than necessary, like he can't help it.

Daisy's eyes flutter open.

She blinks at him sleepily, then beams. "Hi."

Bucky offers her a rare, lopsided smile. "Hey, trouble."

Daisy giggles and wriggles out from under the blanket. She runs to him, arms outstretched, and he doesn't hesitate. He accepts her hug, gently crouching down to give her a hug back.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he murmurs to her.

She leans her head against his shoulder, already halfway to dozing again. You watch them with a strange ache in your chest, a mix of gratitude, fear, and something else-something warm and tentative and terrifying.

Packing doesn't take long. You don't have many possessions to begin with. Most of what you own fits into two cardboard boxes: one for you, one for Daisy. A few changes of clothes. Her stuffed animals. The blanket Natasha gave you that she clings to when she's scared. Some books, a worn hairbrush, and a handful of drawings you and Daisy have done together. You press your thumb against one, trying to smooth the bent edge, your heart catching in your throat.

Bucky doesn't let you do much of the heavy lifting. Every time you reach for something too large, he's already moving it. You try to argue, but he just gives you a look-not stern, exactly, but firm. Protective.

"I've got it," he says. "Just take care of Daisy."

She's toddling around the room, chattering to herself and occasionally picking up things she's decided are hers. A sock. A pen. Your water bottle. She tries to carry all of them in her tiny arms, swaying like a baby deer as she waddles across the floor.

When it's time to move, you follow Bucky down a quieter hallway-one you've never really had a reason to walk through before. It's warm here, the lighting dimmer, softer. The walls are lined with muted artwork instead of sterile metal. You notice how Daisy keeps glancing up at him as you walk, like she wants to make sure he's still there.

"She does that when she's nervous," you say quietly.

Bucky glances down at her and reaches out his vibranium hand, fingers twitching slightly. Daisy hesitates, then takes two steps forward and clasps it without saying a word. The way he looks at her-so focused, so still-it makes your breath catch.

You stop in front of a door.

When he stops in front of a door, he shifts the box in his grip and glances toward you, almost sheepish. "So… this one's next to my room," he says, eyes flickering to the door beside yours. "I thought it might be good to be close. In case Daisy ever needs anything… or you do. But if you want more space, I totally get it. I can show you some other options."

You blink at him, heart catching on the thoughtfulness laced in his tone. "No," you say quickly, then softer. "No, Bucky… This is perfect. Really."

He looks relieved, nods once, and opens the door.

He steps aside so you can enter first. The moment you enter, your breath catches in your throat. It's beautiful.

The room is… different. Nothing like the cold, temporary space you've been staying in. This one is soft, warm, welcoming. The walls are painted a calming off-white, and the huge windows let in golden morning light that makes the space glow. There's a couch in the corner, not regulation-issue like the rest, but something plush and lived-in. A thick rug sprawls across the floor, perfect for little feet and afternoon naps. There's even a small wooden table set low to the ground with tiny chairs-and already scattered with coloring books and blunt crayons.

You spot the beds next. One large one with a thick, quilted comforter. And a smaller one, clearly made for Daisy. It's painted a pale shade of pink, with soft star-shaped pillows and sheets printed with tiny moons. Above it, hand-painted onto the wall in elegant lettering, is her name: DAISY.

You stare at it, your throat going dry.

"I-I didn't know what kind of theme she'd like," Bucky says awkwardly behind you. "But stars seemed… safe. Not too much."

You turn slowly. "You did this?"

He shrugs like it's nothing. "She needs a place that's hers."

You look at him, really look, and there's something in his face that's both raw and uncertain. Like he's hoping-maybe-this was the right thing. Like he's not sure if he overstepped.

Daisy lets out a squeal and darts across the room, launching herself onto her little bed. She hugs one of the star pillows tight, then immediately starts jumping, giggling with abandon.

"She loves it," you whisper. "You… you didn't have to do all this."

His eyes meet yours. "Yeah, I did." He clears his throat. "I'd also like to take you out. Get you both some clothes of your own, maybe some toys for Daisy. Whenever you're ready to go back into the city."

You open your mouth to argue, to say you'll pay him back somehow-but he cuts you off before you can. "Don't worry about it. Really. I don't want anything."

Daisy giggles from her little bed, holding up her stuffed bunny for you both to see.

"Has she always had this much energy?" Bucky asks, grinning a little.

You laugh. "Pretty much. As soon as she learned how to walk, she didn't stop running."

He chuckles, then hesitates. His gaze lowers. "Would you… mind telling me about that? Her milestones, I mean. What it was like when she crawled… or talked?"

Your chest tightens. "You want to know?"

"I know I wasn't there. But I want to understand her. And you."

So you tell him. About the first time Daisy pulled herself up. How she used the stool in the visitation room. How determined she was to stand. The first time she babbled 'mama' and how happy it made you feel. The first steps, the clumsy falls, the way your heart swelled with every new moment.

He listens closely, eyes shining with something bittersweet.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't belong here," he says softly. "Like I missed everything."

You touch his arm gently. "You belong here, Bucky. Daisy loves you. That's what matters. And there's a lot of other milestones she's still got to hit that you can be a part of."

He swallows. "Thanks."

Daisy grabs his hand, tugging him toward her bed. "Play!"

He looks at you like he wants to keep talking, but you nod. "Go on. She'll pout if you don't."

-----

That night, you’re sound asleep when the nightmare comes.

You’re back there again.

The cold is the first thing you feel-concrete under your spine, slick with something wet. Blood. You're not sure whose. Likely yours. The air is sterile and metallic. You can smell it, taste it. You can barely move. Every inch of your body is on fire.

You're surrounded by a group of white coat covered doctors. Their faces are blocked by a dark medical mask. They watch pain wrack through your body over and over again, taking notes every few minutes on their notebooks. They completely disrespect you, observing your body without your consent. They don't offer you a blanket to cover up or a rag to wipe your face. In the moment, that's the last concerning thing. All you feel is pain. Just pain.

When you beg for some relief, an epidural or something, they quickly shoot you down, insisting it's better for the baby this way. Their eyes tell you something different. They like seeing you in pain.

No one offers you a hand to hold. No one helps guide your baby out. They just stand and observe, preparing for Daisy's arrival.

The contractions hit in waves, unbearable and sharp. You scream, but it's hoarse, broken. No one helps. They never do.

The lights overhead are blinding. Fluorescent and buzzing. Too bright and too loud. You want to close your eyes, but you can't. You have to push. You have to survive this.

Your body feels like it's tearing apart. And then-

A cry.

Not yours.

She's here.

You don't even have time to look at her.

You reach out, your arms trembling, blood-covered hands desperate to hold her. They swoop into action, one of the doctors snatching a small prepared blanket. Gloved fingers are already lifting her away. The cord that's been connecting the two of you, her lifeline for all these months, is severed, breaking the connection to your baby. They crowd around her like vultures waiting to attack. You scream again. "No! No, please-give her back, please-" but it doesn't matter. They're taking her. You can't even see her face. Just a glimpse of shiny skin, squirming limbs, a wail that slices through your chest like a blade.

Someone states that it's a girl, sending the other doctors into a fury as they write in their notebooks. It all happens so fast.

The door slams shut.

You're left in the dark.

Bleeding. Empty.

Alone.

You're screaming her name when hands gently shake your shoulders. A voice calls your name, low and steady.

"Y/N. It's okay. Hey. Wake up. You're safe."

Your eyes fly open, chest heaving. Bucky's there-his hands hovering but not touching. Daisy is sobbing softly from her bed in the corner.

"She's okay," Bucky whispers. "You're okay. You had a nightmare. Daisy's right here. No one's taking her."

You can't stop shaking.

"I-I didn't mean to wake you-"

"Shh, don't worry about that."

You stumble out of bed and rush to Daisy, who's confused and scared. You pull her close. She clings to you, tiny fists curled in your shirt. You rock her gently, trying to breathe. Trying to silence the storm in your mind.

Eventually, she calms in your arms. Her breathing slows. You tuck her back into bed and turn around-Bucky's still there.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"Don't be. Are you alright?"

You sit beside him, your body trembling. "I saw it all again. The day she was born. It's always the same dream, and you'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it still terrifies me each time."

He waits, patient.

"I was cleaning. Just… scrubbing floors. When my water broke, they dragged me to the lab. No hospital. No help. Just that cold table."

Your voice cracks.

"They didn't give me anything for the pain. They said it might hurt the baby. I was alone. Screaming. And when she came out, she-she was screaming. And then they took her. I couldn't do anything about. Didn't let me see her. Didn't let me hold her. I was so scared, Bucky. So scared. And all I wanted was to see my baby and make sure she was okay."

You're crying now, openly, sobs shaking your frame.

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. You turn and hug him. Hard.

He freezes for a second-then wraps his arms around you, protective and warm. You bury your face into his chest, crying into his shirt. He rubs gentle circles on your back, whispering comfort.

"You're safe now. She's safe. No one's taking her from you again."

He doesn't speak anymore. Doesn't rush you. Just holds you.

You lose track of time. Eventually, you pull back, sniffling. "I got your shirt wet…"

He chuckles softly. "I don't mind."

He hesitates, then brushes a tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb. His eyes search yours. You feel your heart flutter.

"Again, I'm sorry I woke you-"

"It's okay. I've been there. I get it."

You nod. "I don't know if I can fall back asleep."

His voice is quieter now, almost unsure. "Do you… want me to stay? Just for the rest of the night. In case… you need anything."

You blink at him, raw from the nightmare, but comforted by his presence. You don't even hesitate.

"Okay," you whisper. "Yeah. I'd… like that."

He nods, standing slowly like he doesn't want to jolt you. "Alright. I'll stay."

You expect him to settle back on the bed, but instead he turns and makes his way across the room toward the small couch near the window. He tugs the throw blanket off the back and bunches it up like a pillow, already sitting down, his long frame folding awkwardly into the tight space.

You sit there for a beat, watching him adjust-his knees nearly to his chest, the throw barely covering him-and your stomach twists.

"Wait," you say quietly. He pauses.

You fidget with the edge of the blanket, your voice tentative. "You don't have to sleep on the couch. The bed's big enough. If you want to sleep here. I mean-you don't have to-but if you're comfortable…"

You're rambling. You can feel it. And panic starts to rise when he doesn't answer right away.

"I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, that's okay," you rush to say. "I get it. It's not a big deal. I just didn't want you to think you had to sleep over there-"

"It's not that," Bucky interrupts gently.

You glance up. His eyes are soft, mouth tugged in the faintest, almost shy smile.

"I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

You feel your cheeks heat, and your heart stutters. "You're not. I'm sure."

Another pause, and then he rises from the couch and walks back over. He climbs onto the far side of the bed, careful not to disturb you or take up too much space. He stays on top of the covers, arms folded under his head, facing the ceiling.

You settle beneath the blankets, eyes staring into the soft dark. You can hear his breathing-slow, steady. Not asleep. Just… calm.

"Goodnight," you whisper.

"Goodnight," he murmurs back.

You're not sure when you fall asleep.

But for the first time in what feels like years, your body doesn't stay locked in that panicked, rigid state. It eases. Unwinds. Your mind floats. And the darkness of sleep, when it comes, doesn't feel like a trap this time-it feels like rest. Bucky's presence helped chase the nightmares away.

-----

The morning light is soft when it wakes you.

You're warm. Warmer than usual. The blankets are gone-pushed down to your ankles sometime during the night-but you're not cold at all. Something solid is pressed behind you, curved around your body. A firm chest, rising and falling with slow, even breaths. A strong arm, heavy and protective, slung over your waist.

It takes a moment for you to remember.

Bucky.

He stayed.

You freeze, blinking at the pale light filtering in through the curtains. Your head is tucked under his chin, your body curled against his like puzzle pieces meant to fit. You feel his breath ghost along your forehead.

And then you feel something else.

Peace.

Your gaze drifts across the room, trying not to move too much, not to wake him. Daisy is sitting on the floor near her little pink bed, babbling softly to herself while stacking blocks and placing her bunny beside them. Her chubby fingers move with quiet determination.

She hasn't noticed you're awake yet.

Carefully, slowly, you start to wiggle free from Bucky's hold. But his arm-his metal arm-is locked tight around your waist, like even in sleep, his instincts are to keep you close. Protected and anchored.

It takes effort, but you manage to slide out without waking him.

You sit on the edge of the bed, glancing over your shoulder at him.

He looks so different like this. Asleep, his face is relaxed, no tension in his brow or jaw. He looks younger. Softer. Like the weight of the world isn't crushing him for once.

You find yourself staring too long.

A soft babble from across the room pulls your attention back. Daisy.

You cross the room and kneel beside her, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her curly hair.

"Good morning, baby," you whisper.

"Morning, Momma." She giggles and pats your cheek, then offers you one of her blocks like it's the greatest treasure in the world.

You play with her for a few minutes, feeling the lightness of the moment settle around your shoulders. The shadows of the night have faded for now.

Behind you, the bed shifts.

You glance back and see Bucky sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room like he's orienting himself, his gaze finally landing on the two of you.

He blinks once. Then smiles.

"Morning," he says, his voice still husky with sleep.

You smile shyly, tucking some hair behind your ear. "Morning."

Daisy toddles over and climbs into your lap, settling in as you rock her gently.

"You okay?" Bucky asks, gaze flickering over you.

You nod. "Yeah. I actually… slept."

His expression softens. "Good. You needed it."

You glance away for a second, then back. "I hope I didn't keep you up. I think I move around a lot."

"You were fine," he says. "Actually… I slept better than I have in a long time."

You blink. "Really?"

He shrugs a shoulder, a little sheepish. "I guess having someone else around helps. The silence at night-sometimes it gets too loud, y'know?"

You nod. "Yeah. I do."

Daisy's tummy grumbles, loud and clear. She makes a dramatic little face and pats her belly.

Bucky grins. "Someone's hungry."

"She's always hungry," you tease, tickling her side. Daisy squeals and squirms in your arms.

"I know a good diner," he says, already moving to stand. "Not too far. We could go. If you're up for it."

You smile, heart fluttering just a little too fast in your chest.

"Yeah," you say. "We'd like that."

As Bucky disappears to his room to get ready, you gather Daisy's things and try to quiet the storm inside you. Because it's not just comfort you feel around him anymore. It's something deeper.

Something warm.

Something dangerous.

You glance at your daughter, who's happily chatting to her bunny again, and you know one thing for sure:

Whatever you feel for Bucky… it comes second to her.

But the truth is, you're already starting to imagine what life could look like if he stayed.

Not just in your room.

But in your world.

------

You're still thinking about the way Bucky held you last night, the feel of his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, long after he leaves to get ready.

Your stomach is fluttery in a way that has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the quiet way he looked at you when he said good morning.

You try to focus on brushing Daisy's hair and getting her dressed in a cute pink shirt and blue jeans. She chatters away the whole time, bouncing in place and clearly excited to go out.

When Bucky returns, he's wearing a soft navy blue henley that fits him way too well, his hair tucked behind his ears and slightly damp like he just ran his hands through it after washing up. You look up and blink, feeling a little breathless, which is ridiculous. It's just Bucky.

But then he smiles down at Daisy and then at you-warm, soft, and easy-and your heart gives a little kick again.

"Ready to go, girls?"

You nod. "Yeah. Thanks again for… all of this."

He brushes it off with a shrug, but he glances at you again, gaze lingering. "Of course."

The diner is small and old-fashioned, tucked on a quiet corner just a few blocks away from the compound. Bucky says it's one of the only places in the city that still serves pancakes the way he remembers them. The staff knows him by name. He gets a booth in the back, where it's quieter, and pulls out the chair for you before helping Daisy into the seat next to him. She lights up when he gives her the kid's menu and a little pack of crayons.

You sit across from him, trying not to stare at the way he smiles at your daughter like she's the most amazing little thing he's ever seen.

You're wearing jeans and one of your nicer shirts-a soft cotton one with a subtle, slightly deeper V-neck than usual. Nothing revealing, just a bit more shape than you usually show. It makes you feel... a little exposed. But today, you wanted to try. You wanted to feel pretty.

"She likes strawberries on her pancakes," you mention softly. That's something you found out when she tried pancakes for the first time last week.

"I'll make sure to tell them," Bucky replies, already flagging down the server.

There's something in the way he keeps checking on you throughout breakfast that's different. It's not just casual attentiveness-it's protective. Like he's constantly scanning the room out of habit, but his focus always circles back to you and Daisy.

You're not used to someone being like this. Not for you.

Across from you, Bucky settles in with that watchful calm he always carries. His jacket creaks slightly as he leans forward to help Daisy open her straw, and his hand lingers for a second longer than it needs to near yours. You try not to read into it.

But there's something different today. He keeps looking at you-not in a way that makes you nervous, but like he's noticing you for the first time in a new light. Like you're not just someone he's helping anymore. Like you're something more.

Breakfast is easy. Comfortable. He helps Daisy scoop bites of scrambled eggs onto her toast, and when you laugh at the little dance she does after getting syrup on her fingers, he smiles-actually smiles, and it reaches all the way up into the corners of his eyes.

For a while, you forget everything else. You even stop worrying about how you look in this shirt. Because when Bucky looks at you, he doesn't flinch. He doesn't judge. His gaze settles on you with quiet warmth, and you feel a little more like a person again.

When your hand brushes against his accidentally while reaching for the napkins, you both pause. He doesn't move away. His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you feel suspended in that quiet, gentle gaze. It makes your pulse skitter.

Eventually, Daisy starts getting squirmy, and you gather her up in your arms as Bucky flags down the waitress for the check.

"I'll wait outside with her," you say softly.

"You sure?" He glances toward the window. "It's still a little chilly."

You nod. "She needs the air."

He doesn"t argue. "I'll be quick."

The diner's warmth lingers on your skin as you step outside, Daisy's small hand wrapped securely in yours. The morning has settled into that sweet spot between late spring chill and gentle sun, the kind of weather that teases summer without quite committing. You take a breath and tip your face up toward the sky. It's a rare quiet moment. Daisy's giggling, hopping from one sidewalk crack to the next.

Your shirt catches a breeze that brushes along your skin. You cross your arms casually, not out of shame, just… cautiousness.

"Hey there, beautiful."

The voice hits you like a chill. You tense before you even fully turn.

A man stands just off to the side, leaning against the wall like he's been waiting for something-or someone. His hoodie's unzipped, revealing a graphic tee stretched tight over his stomach. His smile isn't friendly. It's calculating. Greedy.

You instinctively step back, placing yourself between him and Daisy.

"I'm not interested," you say, polite but firm. The words come out shakier than you'd like.

He chuckles. "Didn't ask if you were. Just sayin' hey. You got a name, sweetheart?"

You grip Daisy's hand tighter and angle your body away. "Please don't talk to me."

"Aww, don't be like that. You and I could have a good time. Don't you think? You're standing out here lookin' like a snack and expectin' no one to notice? That's not how the world works, baby."

Your skin crawls. Daisy senses your unease and hugs your leg, her small face pressing into your thigh. This isn't shit you want your daughter listening to. You look toward the diner window, heart stuttering, hoping Bucky will come out soon so you can leave-but you can't see him through the glare.

"I'm with someone," you try, voice barely above a whisper. "Please just leave me alone."

But he steps closer, eyes flicking over your neckline, a lecherous glint in his gaze.

"Bet he ain't treatin' you right," he says. "Someone like you needs a real man."

You stiffen. Fear flares like ice in your chest. You're frozen-too aware of Daisy beside you, too afraid to escalate it. You want to scream, to grab her and run, but your limbs feel heavy, your throat tight.

Then a shadow moves behind the diner's door.

It swings open with a sharp creak, and Bucky steps out.

He's got that casual stride you've come to recognize, but it falters when he sees the scene in front of him. The way you're backed against the brick wall. The man towering too close. Daisy gripping your jeans with white-knuckled fists, shoving her head into your plush thigh.

Everything about him changes.

He's no longer relaxed. He's ready, eyes dark, posture coiled tight like a spring. You've seen him in training before, but this is different. This is personal.

"Step away," he says, calm but commanding. His voice is low, smooth, with a lethal edge.

The man turns lazily, trying to play it cool. "What's it to you, man? Just chattin'."

Bucky's eyes don't leave yours as he walks toward you. His jaw ticks once. "You've got three seconds to walk away."

The guy scoffs. "Jesus, relax. What, she your girl or something?"

Bucky steps directly in front of you, placing himself between your body and the man without a word. His hand hovers behind him until it finds your arm-his touch is feather-light, just grounding enough to make you feel safe again.

"She said no," Bucky says. "Respect that and walk away."

The man's bravado falters. For a second, it looks like he might say something else, but then he meets Bucky's eyes-sees the fire banked behind them-and decides against it.

"Bitch ain't worth it anyway," the guy mutters as he backs off and crosses the street, disappearing into the morning traffic.

Bucky doesn't chase. Doesn't gloat.

He just turns to you with such a sharp contrast of gentleness it steals the breath from your lungs.

"You okay?" he asks, voice lower now. Softer.

You nod, blinking hard, because the adrenaline is crashing and your knees feel like they might give out.

He kneels down to Daisy first. "You good, peanut?"

She nods and wraps her arms around his neck without a word. He picks her up easily, one arm steady around her, the other reaching out to you.

His hand hovers at your elbow. "Let's get you out of here."

You don't realize until later that he never let go of you the entire walk to the car. Not once.

------

The sun is warm on your skin, dappled through the canopy of leaves above the patio garden. A breeze carries the soft scent of lavender, brushing gently against your cheek as you watch Daisy stumble through the grass in her crooked little walk, chasing a butterfly with her tattered stuffed bunny clutched in one hand.

You wish you could bottle this moment-press it into your memory like a dried flower and keep it safe forever.

She laughs, shrill and delighted, and the sound fills your chest with something light and fragile. For a few seconds, you forget the way your mind has been knotted lately. The way Bucky looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention. The way your heart has started to ache when he's not around.

You're just beginning to reach for your water bottle when it happens.

The shift is almost imperceptible—just a strange sound. A soft click. Mechanical. Wrong.

You blink, eyes flicking to the far edge of the garden where the trees meet the wall. There-movement. Too smooth to be a squirrel. Not natural.

And then you hear it.

Bootsteps. Definitely not Bucky's. You've memorized the sound of his steps, the sound of him.

Your heart slams into your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out. No one is supposed to be here. No one.

You stand slowly, carefully.

"Daisy," you call, keeping your voice light, masking the ice creeping into your veins. "Come here, baby."

She doesn't sense the danger. Of course she doesn't. She toddles toward you with a smile, holding her bunny up in triumph.

"Buh-fly!" she shouts.

You're reaching for her when you see them.

Three figures step from the trees like shadows ripped from a nightmare-black gear, masked faces, purposeful steps. Hydra insignia on their arms.

Your stomach drops so hard you feel like you might vomit.

You don't think. You run.

You grab Daisy and bolt toward the nearest sliding door, adrenaline thundering through your limbs. She's screaming, clutching your neck, her bunny falling somewhere behind you-but you don't stop.

You can't.

You slam into the security panel with your elbow-jammed.

"Come on, come on, open-!"

Glass shatters behind you. You scream, twisting your body to shield Daisy from the blast as shards rain past your head. You get the door open just wide enough and shove through, shoulder first. The pain is instant-white-hot and sharp. Your ankle twists wrong as you hit the floor on the other side. You manage to curl Daisy into you protectively, shielding her from the floor.

But you don't stop.

You run the best you can down the hall.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a war drum. Daisy sobs into your neck, tiny fists tangled in your hair.

You take a sharp left and nearly collide with Natasha.

She doesn't ask questions. She takes one look at your face-at the blood already soaking your sleeve-and her eyes harden.

"Get out of sight. Now."

She's gone before you can answer, a red blur sprinting back down the hallway.

You limp through another door-Tony's old lab. Dusty and unused. But secure. Maybe.

Hopefully.

You scan the room with frantic eyes and spot a storage cabinet tucked behind a bench.

You fall to your knees, dragging the door open with trembling hands. It's small, but enough.

"Baby, listen to me," you whisper, voice shaking. "I need you to go in here, okay?"

Daisy's eyes are round with confusion and fear. "No, Mommy! Don't wanna! Mommy!"

You want to break. You want to sob and hold her and never let go. But you can't.

You stroke her hair, trying to stay calm even as your body trembles.

"Bucky's coming, okay? He's coming. And you're going to stay in here and be so brave. Just for a little bit. You don't come out unless it's me or Bucky. Only us. You understand?" He has to be coming.

Her lower lip trembles, but she nods.

You kiss her forehead and close the door as softly as you can. The click of the latch sounds too loud.

Then you turn.

A long metal rod lies on the bench. You grip it with both hands, ignoring the fire in your shoulder and the blood pooling at your side. You stand to guard the door.

The AI is offline. Every defense Tony built… silent.

The lights flicker. And die.

Total darkness.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

The hallway outside falls silent.

You can hear your own breathing, shallow and shaky.

Then-

They're here.

The door bursts open.

Two agents flood in, weapons up. One scans the room. The other locks eyes with you.

"There she is," he snarls.

You don't wait. You swing.

The rod cracks across his helmet with a sickening thud. He stumbles, caught off guard. But the second one is already grabbing your arm, wrenching it back. You scream, twisting and kicking.

You fight like your life depends on it-because it does. Because hers does.

A sharp pain blossoms in your side. A knife. It slices in deep, and for a second, you can't breathe.

You're going down. The floor slams into your back. The world tilts sideways.

You hear Daisy cry from the cabinet. She must've heard you scream. She must know something's wrong.

You try to get up.

But everything hurts.

The agent steps closer, raising something in his hand.

And then the door breaks down into pieces.

Bucky.

He doesn't enter-he erupts into the room.

His metal arm crashes into the first man's head, sending him into the wall with a crunch that turns your stomach. The other Hydra agent doesn't even have time to react. Bucky's already on him, fists flying, a snarl twisting his face into something wild. It all happens so fast.

You blink and try to move. To speak.

He's there before you can form a word, dropping to his knees beside you, covered in blood-not his.

"Y/N-Jesus-no, no, no-stay with me," he says, hands already pressing to your side.

You gasp. "Closet. She's in the closet-"

Steve bursts into the lab, his hair matted with sweat.

He doesn't hesitate. "Steve!" he yells. "Get Daisy! She's in the closet."

Bucky lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. His supersoldier strength. He curls you into his chest, clutching you tightly.

You're bleeding. You know it. You can feel the warmth trickling down your back from your side. The copper taste in your mouth.

"Bucky," you whisper, barely there. "Don't let her see me like this."

His jaw clenches. His voice breaks. "No one's seeing you like this. You're gonna be fine. I've got you."

You try to nod, but everything fades.

The last thing you hear is Steve telling Bucky to get you to the hospital wing.

---- Bucky POV ----

He had only stepped out for an hour.

Just an hour.

He'd seen a little stuffed bunny in a shop window that looked exactly like Daisy's, and he bought it, heart warm. Then daisies in a flower bucket on the corner reminded him of Y/N’s smile. He bought those too.

He was almost back to the compound when he saw Peter webbing down two men in dark gear.

"What's going on?" Bucky demanded.

"They tried to sneak in. Hydra-somehow they got in the compound. They shut everything down and hacked our systems."

Bucky's blood turned ice-cold.

He bolted. Inside the building was chaos. Workers yelling and agents fighting. Alarms screaming.

He sprinted toward the housing wing. Bodies and shattered glass. And on the ground-Daisy's bunny.

His chest caved in. No. No.

He scooped it up and ran, yelling their names, barreling through halls, slamming into walls, looking everywhere. He was halfway to the labs when the power went out.

He heard fighting. Screaming.

Then-

There she was.

Lying on the floor. Bleeding and broken.

And they were still hurting her.

He lost control. The Hydra agents didn't stand a chance.

He knelt beside her, panic rushing in.

Then Steve came. Found Daisy. Her little arms went around his neck, sobbing. Bucky was already scooping Y/N into his arms.

"Get her to the hospital wing," Steve said. "I've got Daisy."

And then he was running. Her blood warm on his skin. Her pulse-weak.

"Bruce!" Bucky barked as he stormed in.

Bruce was just shifting back to himself, shirt torn. "What the hell happened-"

"She’s bleeding out. She's stabbed, concussed. Help her!"

"Put her down-give me space!"

Bucky hovered until Bruce barked at him. He backed up, but only barely.

Outside, Steve handed over Daisy. The toddler was sobbing, reaching out.

Bucky pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight. He kissed her forehead-first time ever.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Mommy scared," Daisy cried into his neck. "Loud noises."

"I know. I know, baby." His voice broke. "But you're safe. I swear. I've got you."

Steve stood beside him, covered in blood, holding the squished bunny.

"I wasn't there," Bucky muttered, eyes on the door. "They got to her. To Daisy. And I wasn't there."

"You didn't know," Steve said. "None of us did."

"It's my job to protect them," Bucky snapped. "And I failed."

Steve rested a hand on his shoulder. "All you can do is be there for them now."

Bucky held Daisy tighter, tears stinging his eyes as he stared through the hospital glass… praying Y/N would wake up.

He wasn't there in time. He broke his promise to protect Y/N and their daughter. And it kills him.

But he's here now.

And he's not going anywhere.

-----

Darkness gives way slowly-thick, heavy, reluctant.

You blink against the light bleeding in from the corner of the room, every muscle aching like you've been dragged through fire. Your head throbs in dull waves. There's a sterile scent in the air. The steady beep of a monitor somewhere near your ear.

Hospital.

You're alive.

It takes effort to turn your head.

And when you do-your breath catches.

Across the room, on a long bench pressed against the wall, you see them.

Bucky.

He's slumped back, one arm stretched protectively around Daisy, who is curled against his chest with her head tucked beneath his chin. Her little bunny is half-crushed in her arms. Her thumb is in her mouth, and one chubby hand fists the collar of his shirt.

She's safe.

They both are.

Relief crashes over you in a sudden, overwhelming wave, and tears sting your eyes before you can stop them.

You shift slightly, a quiet groan escaping your lips-and that's all it takes.

Bucky stirs.

His eyes open sluggishly, unfocused at first, blinking against sleep. Then they find you.

And everything changes.

"Y/N?" he breathes, voice rough and low, like it's been fighting to come out for hours.

You offer him a weak smile. "Hey."

His whole body tenses like he's about to bolt from the bench, but then Daisy mumbles in her sleep, her grip tightening on his shirt.

He stills, hand pressing gently to her back. His eyes never leave yours.

You've never seen him like this.

His expression crumples.

"You're awake," he murmurs, like he's still trying to believe it. "God, you're awake."

You nod, barely.

"Daisy… she's okay?" Your voice is hoarse. It hurts to talk. Everything hurts.

He nods quickly, eyes glassy. "She's okay. Shaken up, but… she's okay."

You glance down at your side, where the pain is worst. Thick bandages. IV lines. Your arm is bruised from shoulder to wrist. There's a stitch of fire still pulsing in your head-probably a concussion.

"You saved her," you whisper, throat tightening. "You got there in time."

He flinches like you hit him.

"No," he says, voice thick. "I didn't. I should've been there sooner. I wasn't there. You were out there alone, fighting for your life-fighting for her-and I was-" His voice breaks. "I was buying her another fucking stuffed bunny."

He gestures to the toy in her grip like it's poison.

You blink slowly. The pain is catching up to you now, bleeding into every nerve. But your heart hurts more than any of it.

"Bucky…"

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. "You could've died, Y/N. If I'd been five minutes later-" He cuts himself off, jaw clenched. "She needed me," he chokes, almost inaudible. "And you… you needed me. And I wasn't there."

There's so much pain in his eyes. Guilt. Fear. Love, too-undeniable, raw, and trembling on the edge of every breath.

You lift your fingers, trembling, and reach toward him. He shifts forward instinctively, leaning in to meet you halfway, his large hand gently covering yours where it rests against the mattress.

"You are here," you whisper. "We're both alive. That's what matters."

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods slowly-but the torment doesn't leave his face.

Daisy stirs again, mumbling something in her sleep. He looks down at her and adjusts the blanket around her tiny shoulders.

You see it-the way he looks at her. The way his expression softens with something that looks an awful lot like home. Like she belongs there. Like he does, too.

"I don't want to ever see her that scared again," he says quietly, more to himself than to you. "I never want her to look at me and wonder why I wasn't there."

"It's okay," you whisper. "You didn't know, Bucky. No one knew. Stop being so hard on yourself."

Bucky doesn't respond. He just leans his forehead gently against Daisy's hair and closes his eyes. For a long, quiet moment, there's only the sound of the machines and the soft hum of ventilation.

You watch him, your chest aching-not just from the injuries, but from something deeper. Something heavier. Something blooming in the space where fear used to live.

You've been scared for so long.

Of being alone. Of never being enough. Of always running.

But here-right now-you're not running anymore.

You're lying in a bed, broken but breathing, watching a man cradle your daughter like she's everything in the world.

And in that moment, you know something with absolute certainty.

You're not alone.

Not anymore.

------

The hospital smells like too much bleach and quiet grief. You hate it.

You grip your crutches tighter, the rubber pads biting into your palms as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Your ankle is still swollen-purple and angry beneath the compression wrap-but you can bear weight now, at least enough to hobble along if you have to.

"I'm okay," you say, even though your voice lacks conviction. "I can do this."

Across the room, Bucky watches you, unmoving. His arms are folded over his chest, but not out of impatience-more like he's holding something in. He doesn't say anything at first. Just crosses the room slowly until he's beside you, his presence a wall of warmth.

Then, without a word, he slips his hand just beneath your elbow, steadying you.

"You don't have to do it alone," he murmurs, so softly it feels like it slides directly into your chest.

You hesitate. It's instinct to resist help, to prove you can handle it. But your body aches in ways you can't push through tonight. So you nod once, small and reluctant.

"Thanks."

He walks beside you, matching your pace exactly. One hand stays light on your back, the other at your forearm. He doesn't guide you so much as offer himself as a quiet anchor. His warmth seeps into your skin every time your shoulders brush.

The walk back to your room is long. The compound is still a fractured version of what it was before-scorch marks trail along the walls like smudged shadows. One hallway still smells faintly of smoke. Construction drones whir softly overhead, climbing scaffolding, piecing shattered metal and glass back together.

When you reach the residential wing, the air feels heavier. Familiar, but haunted.

The door opens to your space and before you can even step inside, Daisy spots you.

"Mommy!"

She shrieks your name and bolts across the room, her bare feet slapping the floor, arms open like she's going to catch you. She doesn't reach you-Bucky gently redirects her to her toys-but she clutches her stuffed bunny tight, her eyes bright and excited.

She's okay. She's okay.

The relief hits you so hard you nearly stumble, and Bucky's hand immediately steadies your hip.

You make it to the bed, and he helps you down with careful precision, lifting your leg onto a stack of pillows without being asked. You sigh and let yourself lean back. Everything hurts. But not as much as it did before.

"You alright?" he asks, crouching beside you again.

You nod. "Thanks to you."

His gaze lingers on you, eyes flickering over every bruise, every bandage.

"I know the building's being patched up," he starts, voice a bit lower now, "but if you want... I could stay in here. Just to keep you two safe. Just until things are back to normal."

Your heart flutters-not fear this time, but something warmer, something unfamiliar and fragile.

"You want to stay?" you ask, tilting your head.

"If it's okay with you," he says, and his eyes are earnest, almost shy. "I'd sleep on the floor. Or the couch. Just... I don't want anything getting past me again."

There's a quiet beat before you answer. He's not pushing. He's giving you a choice.

"Okay," you whisper. "Yeah. I'd like that."

He nods once, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

The night unfolds slowly. Bucky helps Daisy into her pajamas, gently untangling her hair with his fingers when it knots behind her ears. You watch from the bed, silent, stunned at how easily he's become part of your world.

Later, he's sitting cross-legged beside Daisy's little mattress on the floor, holding up a book with colorful pages.

"And then," he says in a ridiculous voice, "the monster said, 'That's MY sandwich!'"

Daisy giggles uncontrollably, clutching her bunny to her chest. Her laughter bubbles in the air, warm and familiar.

You watch Bucky read, swapping voices between characters-gravelly one second, high-pitched the next. You've never seen this side of him before. It's soft. Human.

When Daisy finally starts to drift off, Bucky leans in and brushes her hair back with two fingers. Then, gently, he presses a kiss to her forehead.

Your breath catches. Something about it is so tender, so instinctive, that your chest aches.

He rises quietly, turning toward the couch without fanfare. But before he walks away, he looks at you.

"You need anything?"

You hesitate, eyes flicking to the too-small couch, then back to him.

"If you want… you don't have to take the couch," you say. "You can stay here. On the bed. Like before."

Bucky blinks, surprised. "You sure?"

You nod, your cheeks warm. "Yeah. I mean-it's not fair for you to take the couch."

He waits for one last signal from you. You lift the corner of the blanket slightly. He walks over and eases himself down-on top of the sheets again, not too close, but closer than before. The heat from his body spreads toward you like sunlight.

You both lie there, eyes on the ceiling, breath slowing.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper.

"'Night," he replies, voice low.

The room falls quiet, save for Daisy's soft, even breathing.

You feel him shift slightly beside you, just enough that your hands almost brush. The comfort of him is magnetic. Steady. You close your eyes and feel safer than you have in days.

----

You don't mean to fall asleep so close to him. It just… happens.

The night slips by in silence, warm and calm. And at some point-maybe hours after you both whispered your goodnights-his arm finds your waist.

Your bodies mold together, soft and steady, like they've been doing this for years. One of your hands rests against his chest, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your palm. His breath warms the top of your head, slow and even. He smells like soap and faintly of cologne.

You wake slowly, the way sunlight filters through cracked blinds. The air feels thick with comfort, soft with the weight of shared dreams.

And then a tiny thump jolts the bed.

"Mommy."

A familiar voice, high and curious and so close.

You blink groggily. Daisy climbs up onto the bed in her little mismatched pajamas, a picture book clutched tightly in both hands. She's smiling. Barefoot. Completely unaware of the fragile, tangled thing she's just walked into.

You realize then: Bucky's still holding you.

And you're holding him.

His arm is snug around your waist, your legs a mess of tangled sheets and warmth. Your face is tucked into the hollow of his throat. There's a beat-a held breath-as Bucky wakes up too. You feel his body tense against yours, a sharp inhale like he doesn't know where he is or if he's done something wrong.

You keep still. Let him have the moment.

Then you feel it. His grip eases. His body stays close, but less guarded. He doesn't pull away entirely. His hand remains right where it was, fingers spread softly over your side. Like he chooses to stay.

Your heart flutters, pounding almost embarrassingly loud in your chest.

Daisy plops down between you, wedging herself into the middle without a second thought. It forces a small space between you and Bucky, and the loss of his warmth makes your skin ache, just a little.

"Read book," she demands, thrusting it toward him like a sacred offering.

Bucky blinks, still fighting sleep. "Yeah? You want this one?"

She nods emphatically, waves bouncing, and settles back against his side with the book in her lap.

You shift, sitting up slightly with the pillow behind you, careful not to jostle your ankle too much. Bucky adjusts too, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with you again, but neither of you mentions the way you woke up. You both feel it lingering in the air. Unspoken. Heavy in a good way.

He clears his throat, flips open the book.

The illustrations are colorful and round. Cartoonish creatures-tiny fuzzy things that look like puffballs with eyes-smile from every page.

"This one's about a family," Bucky says, his voice still scratchy from sleep. "See? There's a momma, a baby, and… a daddy."

Daisy leans forward, inspecting the pictures. Her little finger points.

"What's a daddy?" she asks, curious.

You see the way Bucky's jaw tightens for just a second. Like he doesn't want to say the wrong thing. He glances at you, then back at her.

"Well…" he starts slowly, "A dad takes care of you. He keeps you safe. He makes sure you have food, and helps you when you're sad. He's someone who's always there."

Daisy turns, squinting at him. "Like you?"

The question hits the air like a firework. Your breath catches. Bucky stiffens again, visibly unsure-he doesn't want to overstep. Not without your say.

You see it in his eyes. The hesitation. The longing.

You reach over and place your hand gently on his.

"Yes, baby," you say softly, your voice warm and certain. "Bucky is your daddy."

There's a pause.

Then Daisy breaks into the widest, sunniest grin you've ever seen. Her little cheeks puff up, eyes sparkling.

"I like havin' a daddy," she says, the words slightly squished in the way only a two-year-old can manage.

Bucky just stares at her. His lips part, breath shallow, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing.

"Daddy!" Daisy says brightly, testing it out. Then again. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Something melts on Bucky's face. His eyes go soft. Wet, even. His mouth trembles with a smile, wide and stunned.

He pulls her into his arms with such care, so much reverence, like she's made of glass and starlight.

He presses his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

"Yeah," he whispers, voice hoarse. "I'm your daddy, peanut."

Your heart caves in on itself in the best way. You feel it all at once-the heat behind your eyes, the warmth in your chest, the quiet, overwhelming love blooming between the three of you like spring after a long, brutal winter.

Daisy giggles, nuzzling into him. "My Daddy," she says again, soft and sure.

And this time, Bucky doesn't hesitate at all. He presses a long, tender kiss on her forehead.

-----

The lounge is quiet except for the animated voices coming from the TV. Daisy is curled up on a floor cushion in front of the screen, her wide eyes fixed on the bright colors flashing across it. Her bunny is tucked beside her like a second limb. She's so absorbed in the movie that she hasn't said a word in ten minutes-something of a miracle.

You're seated on the couch, your ankle elevated on a pillow placed on the coffee table in front of you. Your hands wrap around a cup of tea that's long gone lukewarm. Bucky is beside you, just close enough that your legs brush every so often when either of you shifts. He's lounging in an effortless way-ankles crossed, one arm slung over the back of the couch.

That arm is the first thing that starts to short-circuit your brain.

He doesn't touch you. Not directly. But it's there, his arm resting behind you, a solid presence that makes it impossible to think straight. And it isn't just that-it's the way he tilts slightly toward you as he watches the movie, like he's more interested in the way you laugh quietly than the film itself.

Your heart flutters wildly, hopelessly.

Is this… something?

Or is he just stretching? Just getting comfortable? He's a nice guy. A gentleman. Maybe he doesn't even realize what it's doing to you-how every molecule in your body is suddenly on edge, how your brain is running at full speed trying to analyze the angle of his elbow.

You keep thinking back to the little things: the way he carries Daisy like she's the most precious thing in the world. The way he always checks on you before you even know you need help. The way he held you last night, asleep but instinctively protective.

He doesn't treat everyone like this… does he?

But then again-he's kind. He's good. This could all be nothing. Just who he is.

You shift slightly, pulling your cardigan tighter around you, hoping the movement will ground you. His fingers brush your shoulder when he adjusts his arm just a little-just enough to make you swallow hard and stare intently at the movie like it holds all the answers.

And then Daisy scrambles up onto the couch and wedges herself right between you. "Daddy!" she chirps, her grin wide. "Play with me!"

His arm drops from behind you without hesitation, and he turns toward her with a warm smile. "Yeah, peanut? What do you wanna play?"

You try not to miss the heat of his arm behind you. Try not to feel like something just slipped away. Natasha passes by the lounge, catching the scene from the doorway. She raises a perfectly arched brow as she glances between the three of you-Daisy bouncing on her knees, Bucky giving her his full attention, and you, very clearly flustered and overthinking.

She doesn't say a word.

Just smirks, gives you a look that speaks volumes, and walks on.

You're left there, heartbeat still tangled up in your ribs, wondering what she saw.

----

Later that day, you're back in the lounge, needle and thread in hand as you patch up a tiny rip in one of Daisy's shirts. The soft hum of laughter filters in from the patio-Daisy's bright giggle and Bucky's lower, amused chuckle as they chase shadows and bugs across the concrete.

They're far enough that they can't hear you, but close enough that you keep glancing at the glass doors like you can't help it.

Natasha slides into the seat beside you like she's been waiting for the right moment. She leans back, long legs crossed, and eyes the shirt in your hands.

"She's lucky to have you," she says, her voice casual but not careless. You've started to get to know her. You trust her.

"Thanks," you murmur, tying a knot in the thread.

A pause. Then-

"So… you and Barnes?"

You look up, blinking. "What about us?"

She lifts a brow. "Are you together?"

You nearly prick your finger on the needle. "No! No, we're-he's just helping me. Helping Daisy. He's… being nice."

"Uh-huh." Her tone is amused, not mocking. "He asked you out yet?"

You laugh softly, a little too tightly. "He doesn't like me, Nat. He's just being a good guy. That's who he is. He's being a good co-parent."

Natasha gives you a look that cuts through all the excuses you're clinging to. "That's not what I see."

You glance toward the patio again. Daisy is squatting in the grass now, poking a tiny stick at something, and Bucky is crouched beside her, totally engrossed in her world. The way he looks at her, like she's everything.

Like you're everything, when he looks at you.

"We're friends," you say, quieter now. "He's been through hell, I've been through hell. We're just being there for each other and our daughter. And I'm just… someone he's helping. That's all. We're friends."

Natasha leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Bucky doesn't treat his friends like this. He's polite to everyone, yeah. But you? He shows up for you. He's with you every second he can be. He dotes on your every want and need. He doesn't do that with Steve. He looks at you like he's afraid to blink."

Your stomach flips, and your hands go still in your lap. That is true. He doesn't buy Steve flowers. His fingers don't linger on Natasha. He doesn't spend nearly as much time with everyone else as he does with us. Over the past few months that we've gotten to know him, his visits have evolved from a couple of minutes here and there to a couple of hours and eventually most of the day.

Well, that could just be because he wants to spend more time with Daisy. She is his kid after all. There's no way to avoid me since I'm usually with Daisy.

What if he's helping me because he thinks I'm too weak? That I can't do things on my own.

No. He wouldn't think that. Our friendship is not out of pity.

Right?

"I think he's falling," she adds confidently. "And I think you are too. You just don't know it yet."

You don't have a response. Not yet. The truth is loud in your chest, but fear muffles it. Fear of being wrong. Of reading too deeply again.

Outside, Bucky lifts Daisy high into the air while she squeals with delight, the sun catching in his hair, that rare smile on his face.

Your heart aches with something you're not sure you're ready to name.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

----

The kitchen smells like butter and garlic, like comfort and warmth and something that almost feels like home. You're seated at the edge of the counter on a stool, your injured ankle propped on a pillow beneath you, a cutting board balanced on your lap. The knife moves slowly but confidently in your hand as you slice through carrots and celery for the soup.

Across the kitchen, Bucky stands beside Daisy at the island, helping her stir the cookie dough in a large mixing bowl. His hand gently covers hers on the wooden spoon, guiding her in a steady rhythm.

"You're doing great, peanut," he says with that soft voice that turns your stomach to absolute mush. Daisy beams up at him like he hung the moon.

"I'm makin' cookies!" she declares proudly, holding up the spoon, which promptly drips batter onto the counter.

Bucky chuckles. "You sure are."

You can't help but smile as you listen, glancing up from your cutting board to watch the two of them. Your chest flutters. They're... adorable. Domestic. The way he gently brushes batter from Daisy's cheek, the way she leans into him like he's been her safe place forever. It all makes something warm pool low in your belly.

You stir the soup with one hand, slowly, carefully. A thought occurs to you, and you frown slightly, scanning the cabinets.

"We're missing the bouillon cubes," you murmur, mostly to yourself.

You turn toward the seasoning cabinet and rise from the stool slowly, favoring your good leg. The cubes are at the very top shelf. Of course they are.

You stretch up carefully, balancing on your toes-but pain shoots up your ankle, sharp and immediate. You wince, hissing through your teeth, and start to lower yourself.

But then he's there. Bucky.

You don't even hear him move, but suddenly, his hand is gently pressed against your back, steadying you. He's so close behind you, his presence almost overwhelming in the best way. His breath brushes the side of your cheek as he reaches up, grabbing the bouillon package from the top shelf with ease.

"Got it," he says softly, handing it to you.

You take it from him, blinking, your fingers brushing his as you do. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest.

You realize just how close he is. His chest almost touches your back. His face is inches from yours, his jaw tense, brows drawn with concern.

"You shouldn't be reaching for things like that," he murmurs. "You're still healing. Let me get things for you."

Your mouth feels dry. "Thanks," you say, your voice just a little too soft.

There's a moment-a beat-where neither of you move.

His eyes flick down to your mouth for half a second. Your breath catches.

Then-

"Daddy! I put too much flour!" Daisy calls from behind.

He turns, giving you a little squeeze on your arm before stepping away. "Duty calls."

You're left standing there, breathless, clutching the bouillon package like it's a lifeline.

Your ankle still aches.

But your heart? That's what's really throbbing.

----

Later that afternoon, the kitchen is warm with the scent of soup and cookies. Daisy is at the coffee table in the adjoining lounge, fully immersed in her coloring books, her feet kicking back and forth while she hums to herself off-key. You're sitting at the kitchen table with your ankle propped up, still sore, though less than before. The pain comes and goes, but the stiffness sticks around.

Bucky's leaning near the counter, drying off the last of the cookie trays with a towel in his hand, his sleeves pushed up. The sun streaming in through the windows hits him in all the right ways- softening the edges of him, catching in his hair, setting his skin in warm light. He looks domestic, handsome. You try not to look too long. Fail, obviously.

He glances at you, and his eyes are already waiting. "You sure you're okay?"

You nod, lifting your cup. "I'm fine. Just stiff. Sitting helps."

He hums low in his throat, tossing the towel onto the counter. "I meant from earlier."

You blink, caught. "Oh. That. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You looked like you were in pain," he says, taking a slow step closer. "You shouldn't have tried to reach that shelf."

"I didn't think it would hurt."

"You never think it will," he says quietly, his mouth tugging into a crooked half-smile. "You've got this whole brave face thing down. But I see you."

You look up at him, heat blooming beneath your skin.

He stops in front of you. Doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, with quiet ease, he drags the chair next to yours just a few inches closer before sitting down, the space between you now nonexistent. You feel the brush of his arm as he rests it casually along the back of your chair, not quite touching you-but enough to feel the air shift.

Your breath stutters. Your heart pounds. You feel like a teenager again, excited by the proximity of your crush.

He's watching you again. Not teasing, not smirking. Just… watching. With that unreadable expression that makes your stomach flip.

"You don't have to reach for things, y'know," he says, voice low. "I'm right here."

You don't know what to say to that-because it's not really about the soup or the cabinet anymore. Not really.

You try to recover, offering a quiet, "Thanks. For helping."

His fingers brush the edge of your chair lightly-and your shoulder leans into it before you can stop yourself.

He notices. Doesn't push it. Just lets his knuckles rest there, barely grazing you.

"Anytime," he murmurs.

And just when it feels like your heart might rattle right out of your chest, Daisy looks up from the floor and proudly announces: "I drawed a daddy!"

Both your heads turn.

She's holding up her page, her crayon scribbles a colorful mess, but there's a stick figure with brown hair and a metal arm. You don't even have to guess.

Bucky smiles-the softest thing you've ever seen on him. It takes over his whole face. His chest rises slowly, then falls. "That's me, huh?" he says gently.

Daisy grins. "You got arms!"

"I do got arms," he agrees, and he winks at her.

You can't help it-you stare at him again. The way he looks at Daisy. The way he smiles. The way his voice softens around her name. The way it's already become instinct for him to be near you.

And when he looks at you again, he doesn't look away. You're still wondering-does he know what he's doing to you?

Then his hand, resting behind you, moves just a little closer. Not enough to press fully into your back. But enough to feel the heat. Enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You say nothing.

Neither does he.

But the space between you hums like something ready to bloom.

-----

Night settles softly over the compound, cloaking the broken halls and half-fixed walls in silence. Somewhere down the corridor, the distant hum of drills and welding sparks fades into rest, leaving your little shared room in a gentle hush.

You sit on the bed, leg propped up on a pillow. The dull ache of your ankle is manageable now, a background hum compared to the louder thoughts in your mind.

Natasha's voice still echoes in your head.

He looks at you like he's afraid to blink.

Your heart has been doing gymnastics all day, especially after that quiet moment on the couch-his arm behind you, his body leaned just a little too close. It could have been nothing. But maybe… it wasn't.

You hear Daisy giggling, her voice muffled by the wall separating the sleeping nook from the rest of the room. Bucky is reading to her in that same funny voice he always uses, shifting tones between characters. You smile to yourself as you catch the tail end of it.

"…and that's how the sleepy squirrel finally found his nut," he says with exaggerated flair.

Daisy laughs. "Silly Squirrel!"

Bucky chuckles, and you can hear the mattress creak slightly as he helps her settle under the covers. "Alright, peanut. Time to close your eyes."

You hear a tiny yawn, followed by a quiet, "G'night, daddy."

"Night, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I'll be right nearby."

A few moments later, the lights dim, and you feel the shift in the bed as Bucky makes his way back to you. This time, he doesn't ask. He just climbs in beside you, slow and quiet, like it's second nature now. Like he belongs there.

And maybe he does.

You don't look at him right away-you're not sure you can without your face giving something away. But you feel his warmth beside you, the edge of his blanket brushing against yours. You both lie there in the hush, the only sound the occasional rustle of Daisy shifting in her little bed.

Then-his hand finds yours.

It's hesitant at first, the brush of his fingers against your knuckles making your breath catch. You glance down and see his hand, open, waiting-not grabbing, not pushing, just there, asking without asking.

And you give in.

You slip your fingers between his, and he holds on. His touch is warm, grounding, steady-and yet it makes your heart stutter in your chest like a drumline.

You can feel the smile tugging at your lips, even in the dark.

He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the tension drain from his shoulders. The way his thumb gently brushes against yours-like he's just as relieved as you are.

Like this has been building for a while now, and he's finally taken one step closer.

And you're glad.

You're so, so glad.

Sleep creeps in slowly after that, soft and easy with his hand in yours and the weight of him beside you. You close your eyes with your heart fluttering, your mind already imagining waking up the next morning with his fingers still tangled with yours.

You fall asleep hoping for more tomorrows like this one.

Maybe this isn't just a crush.

Maybe it is the beginning of something real.

----- 3rd POV -----

The clang of metal echoes through the Avengers' training gym-rhythmic, sharp, familiar. Bucky grunts softly as he finishes his set of pull-ups, dropping lightly to the ground with practiced ease. Across from him, Steve is at the punching bag, sweat glistening on his brow as he moves with precise, controlled jabs.

They've been working out in silence for a while now, just like the old days. No need for words when muscle memory and old habits take over. But even now, Steve can sense it-something different in Bucky's expression. Something weighing on his mind.

"You good?" Steve asks without looking up, landing one last hit before he lets the bag swing back into stillness.

Bucky pauses as he wipes his face with a towel, jaw tight. "Yeah," he says, then follows it with a sigh. "No. I don't know."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Talk to me."

Bucky leans against the weight bench, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes drift to the floor. "You remember how I used to be with girls?"

Steve snorts. "How could I forget? You'd flirt with anything that breathed."

A small grin tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth, but it fades just as quickly. "Yeah. That guy… he was cocky. Easy charm, you know? Now, I feel like I'm standing at the edge of something, and I don't know how to take the next step."

Steve's smile softens. "This about Y/N?"

Bucky hesitates, but then nods. "Yeah."

He scrubs a hand through his hair and finally meets Steve's eyes. "She's… different. Not just from the girls I used to chase-I mean from anyone. She's strong, kind, funny. She doesn't treat me like I'm dangerous or broken, and when I'm with her, things feel… lighter. Better."

Steve listens quietly, nodding.

Bucky continues, his voice lower. "And Daisy-that kid… she's like sunshine, Steve. And she looks at me like I'm something good. Like I'm her world. And I want to be that. I want to protect them. Keep showing up for them. But it's not just about being there. I want more."

"You're falling for her."

Bucky's expression is almost sheepish. "Yeah. I think-I think I am."

Steve studies him for a moment. "So what's stopping you?"

"I haven't been on a date since before the war, Steve. Before Hydra. Before the Winter Soldier. I don't know how to do this anymore. And she's been through so much. I don't want to mess this up, or make her uncomfortable. What if I read this whole thing wrong?"

Steve places a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You're not that guy from before the war anymore. And that's not a bad thing. You're someone stronger now. Someone who's been through hell and still wants to love again. That's not weakness-that's courage."

Bucky exhales, eyes distant. "She makes me want to be better. Softer. But I keep thinking… what if I'm not what she wants?"

Steve chuckles. "Buck, if you could see the way she looks at you when she thinks no one's watching, you wouldn't be asking that."

A beat of silence.

Bucky chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. "You think?"

"I know," Steve says, a grin on his face. "You've already got one foot in the door. Just take the next step."

Bucky's shoulders loosen a little. There's still doubt, still nerves-but now, there's a flicker of hope too.

"Maybe I'll ask her soon," he murmurs.

Steve nods. "You'll know when it's the right moment."

And for the first time in a long while, Bucky starts to believe that maybe-just maybe-he deserves that moment.

-----

It's been a few weeks since the attack, and though you're still adjusting to everything, today feels like a small step back into normalcy. Bucky's been patient with you, never rushing, always understanding your hesitations. But today-today he's determined to get you out of the compound, get you out of the bubble that's formed around you, and take you shopping. It's been a while since you've felt like you could do something like this, but Bucky wants to help, and you're willing to try.

Daisy is practically bouncing off the walls, excited for the trip. She's already picked out a few toys in her mind, but you know today is about more than just her. Bucky wants to make sure you have what you need too, and while that sounds wonderful, there's a knot in your stomach that you can't quite shake.

You haven't been shopping for clothes in a while-not since before everything changed. You're not sure how to feel about it, especially with your body and the changes it's gone through. The idea of clothes shopping is a little nerve-wracking. You try to shake off the unease, but it lingers as you walk beside Bucky, who seems completely at ease in the bustling city.

His hand brushes against yours as he leads you into the store, a quiet gesture that makes your heart flutter, but you quickly distract yourself with Daisy's chatter. She's holding your hand tightly, pulling you toward the toy aisle, her excitement infectious. For a while, you forget about the worries in the back of your mind, watching as Bucky helps her pick out some new toys. He's so attentive, so gentle with her, and it warms your heart to see them interact.

After a while, it's time for you to pick out clothes. You feel a little nervous, not sure how this will go. Bucky's voice is gentle when he tells you, "You deserve some new clothes, Y/N. Not just the stuff you were given."

You start to protest, feeling the familiar tension in your chest. "I'm okay with what I have now, really-"

But he cuts you off, his tone firm but caring. "No. You deserve better than that. You don't have to settle. Let me do this for you, okay?"

Your heart stirs at the way he says it, and you know there's no arguing with him when he's like this. He's right. You do deserve to feel good about yourself, even if it makes you nervous. So you give in, nodding slightly, and follow him toward the clothing section.

Bucky leads you to a small section of dresses, watching as you sift through the racks, trying not to let the nerves show on your face. You're not sure how to feel about the clothes in front of you-so many choices, and none of them feel quite right. There's a beautiful dress that catches your eye, though, hanging on a rack in the corner. You run your fingers over the fabric, feeling how soft it is, how delicate. Maybe this one.

But when you pick it up, you hesitate, suddenly unsure. What if it doesn't look good on you? What if it's too much? Your insecurities swirl in your mind, and you find yourself questioning everything-Is it too tight? Too revealing? Will he think I look ridiculous?

You let out a small sigh, but you know you need to try it on. You want to try it on. So you grab the dress and head to the changing room. Bucky stays outside with Daisy, and you hear their laughter through the thin walls as you step into the fitting room.

You slip into the dress, the soft fabric hugging your curves in a way that feels unfamiliar, but also comfortable. You stand in front of the mirror for a moment, turning this way and that. The dress isn't too tight; it's just right, the color flattering your skin tone. But the uncertainty still lingers. You feel a little vulnerable, exposed. What if Bucky thinks it's too much?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your stomach. You feel beautiful, but also unsure. You wish you could ask someone-anyone-what they think.

And then, suddenly, you hear a soft bang bang bang on the door. You glance at the door, a little startled. "Mommy, come out! Mommy!" Daisy calls from the other side, her voice so sweet, so innocent, it makes your heart melt.

Bucky's voice follows, softer, coaxing, "Daisy, let's wait a little longer, okay? Mommy needs a bit of time."

But Daisy isn't having it. She starts tapping her little hands on the door, her impatience building, and before you know it, you can hear her feet shuffling.

You chuckle softly to yourself, feeling a warmth in your chest as you move toward the door, ready to open it for your little girl. You take one last glance at yourself in the mirror, hoping you look okay. You can do this.

You open the door, and there she is-Daisy, standing there with her wide, eager eyes, a grin spreading across her face. But her expression changes as soon as she sees you, and her eyes go wide.

Bucky is standing behind her, leaning against the wall, waiting patiently. But when he sees you, his gaze sharpens, the usual casual ease slipping away for a moment.

He freezes, and you notice the way his eyes widen as they roam over you, taking in the way the dress fits you, the way it flows and catches the light. His lips part slightly, and there's a moment-a brief, breathless pause-before he says, "You... You look... stunning."

The word lingers in the air, and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. You're not sure what to say to that. You suddenly feel exposed, standing there in front of both him and Daisy. But you can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips.

Daisy, oblivious to the tension in the air, claps her hands, excited. "Mommy looks pretty!"

You bend down to give her a kiss on the forehead, still a little flustered. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Bucky clears his throat softly, and when you glance up at him, you see the way he's still watching you-like he's trying to commit the sight to memory. His gaze softens, and there's a tenderness in his expression that makes your heart flutter. He doesn't look at you like he's just looking at the clothes. He looks at you like he sees you-like he's amazed by you.

"You should get it," Bucky says quietly, his voice low, sincere. "You deserve to feel good. To feel beautiful."

You smile, a little unsure, but thankful for his words. You nod, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I'll get it. Thanks, B."

For a moment, he freezes at the nickname, something he's never heard from you before. He smiles back, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before turning to Daisy, who's now pulling on his hand, eager to move on to the next adventure.

"I'll keep her entertained," Bucky says, his voice soft, "You take your time. No rush."

You nod, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest, as you step back into the dressing room to make your decision.

As you slip back into your regular clothes and head back to the main store area, you feel a sense of gratitude toward Bucky-his kindness, his genuine care for you. Maybe today is about more than just shopping. Maybe today is about him showing you that you deserve everything good that's come your way.

You glance at Bucky as he helps Daisy pick out another toy, and for a moment, everything feels like it's falling into place.

----

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU

Taglist: @svtbpbts @vicmc624 @baw1066

[tempobaekh]

Short N’ Sweet

pairings: frank castle x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, suggestive, allusions to sex at the end and a tiny mention of sexual acts?? readers physical appearance is not mentioned

a/n: i am going absolutely feral for this man, like foaming at the mouth feral, gnawing at the bars of my enclosure kind of feral. and i also love sabrina and because of Halloween i got this idea, this might be a little late since yknow Halloween is over but i just got this idea so we can ignore that:) also i wanna thank my biggest fav frank writer @agirlcandream84 for inspiring me to write this. i absolutely love her work and the way she writes frank please go read some of her work. okay enough yapping from me

Halloween night was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. The costume you’d been planning had been kept under wraps—literally—and you’d teased Frank endlessly about it, keeping him guessing for weeks, knowing full well the look on his face would be priceless.

Ever since you’d seen Sabrina Carpenter's iconic outfits from her Short N’ Sweet tour, the idea had taken root. Glitz, glam, a bit of sparkle, and a lot of confidence—that was going to be your vibe tonight. And you knew it would knock Frank’s socks off.

Or maybe more like knock his pants off.

Frank, being Frank, wasn’t exactly putting in the same level of effort. He’d gone with his usual all-black getup: a black shirt that fit him just right, dark pants, combat boots, and his well-worn jacket. Not much of a costume, but with his gruff demeanor and dark eyes, he still looked intense and dangerously handsome.

You’d teased him about needing a 'proper' Halloween costume, but he’d only smirked, knowing you’d be the one to steal the show. Still, he was eager to see you; he’d been waiting all week, and you could feel the thrill of his anticipation even through the closed door.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he called out.

With one last deep breath, you slipped on a towel and cinched it tight around your chest, and stepped out of the bathroom, strutting a little as your heels clicked on the hardwood as you made your way toward him

He looked up when he heard you approaching, his gaze immediately sharpening with curiosity. You watched as his eyes narrowed slightly, scanning you up and down in curiosity. "You gonna tell me what the costume is, sweetheart?” he asked, a little smirk creeping onto his lips.

A mischievous smile played on your lips as you took a step closer, letting him get a little look at your carefully styled hair and the faint sparkle of the makeup you’d applied.

“Mm, you could say that,” you teased, giving him a wink. “But the real costume’s under here. Want to see?”

“Hell yes, I do,” he murmured, his gaze darkening, lips twitching in that half-smile of his that always drove you wild. “C’mon, darlin’—let me see it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You took a step back, giving him a grin, and with a flourish, you unwrapped the towel and tossed it aside, holding out your arms as you posed.

Frank’s reaction was immediate. His jaw went slack, his dark eyes going wide as he took you in. His gaze roamed up and down, lingering on every detail—from your heels up your bare legs, taking in the glittering, skin-colored tights that shimmered like liquid gold. He lingered on the lacy, sparkling red bodysuit that hugged every curve perfectly, bedazzled in red crystals that caught the light with each tiny shift and gave you an ethereal, almost unreal glow. The garters—lacy, sparkling, and just suggestive enough to make his jaw clench—added an extra edge to the look.

When he finally found his voice, he only managed a rough, “Damn, sweetheart.”

Laughing, you spun around, tossing the towel aside and letting him see the details you’d added just for him. He took in the bedazzled kiss mark on the top of your right inner thigh, positioned right where he always planted kisses with his face and tongue buried between your legs as you writhe and moan with pleasure under him. And when you turned around, you knew he’d see the second kiss mark on your left shoulder blade—another favorite spot of his when he has you on your hands and knees and thrusting into you from behind.

You felt the air between you shift, and a shiver ran down your spine at the brief image in your head.

“You like it?” you asked, turning around and looking at him, enjoying the way his eyes roamed over you, taking in every last detail.

Frank’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed the distance between you, his large hands resting on your hips before he traced one finger down to that kiss mark on your thigh.

"Sweetheart…" he murmured, sounding almost reverent. “You look…”

"Too much?" You asked, feigning a worried tone, but you couldn’t hide your smile.

"Too much? No… no, darlin’, it's perfect," he said, reaching out to gently run a hand along your arm, his fingers grazing the crystals. His voice was low, roughened with restrained desire as he brushed his thumb over the spot. “Did you put this here just for me?”

You smiled, heart racing. “Maybe. Figured it might be a nice little reminder for you.”

His fingers skimmed up to your waist, tugging you closer, his hands warm and possessive. “Can’t lie… I’m definitely thinkin’ about ditchin’ Josie’s altogether tonight.”

“But it’s Halloween,” you teased, giving him a look that only seemed to make him hungrier. “We can’t just skip it, Frankie. Besides, I want to show off a little.”

“You’re killin’ me here,” he muttered, his voice dropping as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck. His fingers flexed against your waist. “Whole place is gonna be starin’ at you. Don’t think I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off you, darlin’.”

You laughed softly. "Guess you'll have to try, Castle."

He let out a low groan, and you felt his hands slide lower to your behind. "Yeah, easy for you to say when you’re wearin’… this." His eyes dipped down to the kiss mark on your thigh, a possessive gleam in his gaze as pulle away and traced the outline with his thumb again. "This here… You’re just tryin’ to drive me insane, aren’t ya?"

You shrugged, an innocent smile on your face. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just giving you something to look forward to, and besides, you're the only one who gets to take it off me.”

That got his attention. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You keep talkin’ like that, and we’re not makin’ it to Josie’s tonight, baby. But we’re not stayin’ long. Got… plans for when we get back.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the grin across your face. "Come on, big guy. Try to survive the night without dragging me home too early."

When you arrived at Josie’s to meet up with Karen and her friends from her law firm, you caught more than a few looks. Heads turned, eyes lingered, and you could feel Frank tense beside you, his arm protectively draped around your waist as he pulled you in close.

Every now and then, he’d lean down to murmur, “You know, you’re lucky I’m keepin’ it together.”

“Oh, I know,” you replied each time with a wink, enjoying every bit of his attention.

As the night went on, Frank’s hands couldn’t seem to leave you alone, not that you minded. They’d drift to the small of your back, settle on your hip, or tug you closer to him. It wasn’t possessive so much as it was protective—he just wanted you to himself and wasn’t shy about it.

The night was fun, filled with drinks, laughs, and compliments from Karen and Marci who appreciated the sheer effort you’d put into your costume. But the real thrill was feeling Frank’s hand skimming along your waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin where your tights met your bodysuit. Every time he leaned down to murmur something downright filthy in your ear, you could feel the low, restrained fire in his voice that would make your thighs clench.

Finally, as midnight approached, Frank leaned in close, voice low and warm against your ear. "Alright, darlin’. I think we’ve done our part here. Time to go home."

You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced up at him. "Couldn’t wait to get me alone, huh?"

"Not one bit," he admitted, his fingers lacing through yours as he led you out of Josie’s and into the cool night air.

The drive back home felt like a blur, and as soon as you got home, his hands were on you the second you closed the door. He pulled you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

Frank’s lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, his hands roaming your back with an almost desperate energy. His touch was firm but reverent, like he was savoring every inch of you. The smooth leather of his jacket pressed cool against your bare arms as he pulled you flush against him, his strength and warmth radiating through the layers between you.

“You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and thick with want. His hand drifted to your thigh, his fingers brushing over the kiss mark there, and he let out a soft, possessive growl. “This right here? This ain’t fair.”

You smiled against his mouth, your breath hitching as his fingers teased along the edge of your garter. "I thought you liked it," you teased, your voice a little breathless.

"Like it?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes blazing as they swept over you. "I can’t think straight, darlin’. All night, all I’ve been thinkin’ about is gettin’ you alone."

His hands slipped to your hips, gripping just firmly enough to remind you of his strength as he guided you back toward the couch. You let out a soft laugh, but it caught in your throat when he leaned down, trailing kisses along your jaw, then down your neck. He paused just at the hollow of your throat, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Frankie…” you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair as his lips continued their path, brushing over the crystals adorning your shoulder blade.

He hummed against your skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. “You knew exactly what you were doin’, wearin’ this,” he said, his tone somewhere between a grumble and a purr. His fingers toyed with the edge of the bodysuit, skimming over the the crystals adorning the fabric. “You’re lucky I got any patience left.”

"Maybe I don’t want you to be patient," you replied, your voice soft but laced with mischief as you tugged him back to meet your lips.

Frank chuckled darkly, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. "Careful what you ask for, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. The way he said it, low and promising, sent a thrill straight through you.

And with that, he captured your lips again, deeper this time, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was setting the stage for something as bold and electric as the confidence you wore tonight.

Note: gifs, pictures, and header DOES NOT belong to me. CREDITS TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS!! Feedback and reblog is appreciated.<3

[fattummyt]

"Kinks Shirt"

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe | Captain America

Pairings: Steve Rogers | Captain America/Plus-Size Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None. (❁´◡`❁)

Tags: Humor, Naked Female Clothed Male, Large Breasts, Fat Reader, Sharing Clothes, Nipple Play, Play Fighting, Penis In Vagina Sex, Secrets, Humor, Steve Rogers is a Brat, Clothing Kink

Author's Notes: This title is loosely inspired by the song "Kinks Shirt" by Matt Nathanson.

Read it on AO3 here!

Summary: Steve loves you. If he didn't-- why else would he let you wear all his loose tank tops to bed? Surely he had no other motivations besides his burning love for you... and his boob fetish.

For the most part, Steve has remained fairly indifferent to your breasts, however, after an impromptu night out drinking with Tony and Pepper a few weeks back, you stayed the night at his place and ended up borrowing one of his shirts to sleep in. It was one of his old over sized US Army fatigues that he ended up cutting the sleeves and the neck out to work out in. Pretty pissed, he scolded you a bit for messing his well organized drawers during your drunkenness-- that was until he saw you with the shirt on, then promptly jacked off to the memory of you in the bathroom while you slept. After that, he slowly started modifying all of his over-sized t-shirts just in case you wanted to stay the night again.

It was just before bed as you two laid together. Steve sat against the headboard reading, tucked under his comforter like a 1950s sitcom husband and you laid on your side, phone resting just a few inches above your face, waiting to slip from your hands and meet its impending doom.

Steve looked up from his book for a moment, studying you as he shifted to a more reclined position. You seemed to be actively involved with whatever you were doing, probably playing some puzzle game or organizing the shopping list-- things you did every night before bed.

He leaned his head on his hand, thumbing back to his page before you rested your arm above your head revealing the wholeness of your side rolls and the top of your breasts, slightly jiggling as you adjusted your body into a more comfortable position.

You weren't aware of Steve's breast fetish-- you'd only been dating for 3 months, and in that time, you only managed to fuck around probably 5 times due to conflicts in your schedules.

For the most part, Steve has remained fairly indifferent to your breasts, however, after an impromptu night out drinking with Tony and Pepper a few weeks back, you stayed the night at his place and ended up borrowing one of his shirts to sleep in. It was one of his old over sized US Army fatigues that he ended up cutting the sleeves and the neck out to work out in.

Pretty pissed, he scolded you a bit for messing his well organized drawers during your drunkenness-- that was until he saw you with the shirt on, then promptly jacked off to the memory of you in the bathroom while you slept. After that, he slowly started modifying all of his over-sized t-shirts just in case you wanted to stay the night again.

"Why don't you just buy me some tank tops instead?" You asked one night. But Steve thinks you wearing his old clothes gives them purpose-- and that purpose is showing off your big tits.

"How can you call yourself a red blooded American if you didn't like tits?" Steve thought to himself. "Soft, luxurious mounds of all different shapes and sizes and a unique bud accenting each--" "What are you doing?" You asked, staring dead eyed into your phone, catching him off guard.

"Hm?-- Oh, just reading."

"You haven't flipped pages in a while."

He smiled. "I was pondering something. Does your generation still use that word? Pondering?"

You sighed, "No Steve, we burned all the books of old in 1951 and now we all just communicate telepathically." Steve chuckled, shutting his book.

"But since we're pointing out age differences, you're technically a cradle robber." "--Hey, I don't look a day over 35 and you know it. Now, no more toys. It's time to go to bed." He snatched the phone from your hands to which you promptly reached to grab it back.

"Hey! Give that back." He laughed, holding the phone to his chest before flipping onto his stomach. "Oh my god Steve at least lock it first." You reached underneath the heavy blanket in an attempt to retrieve it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, is there a padlock on it?" He laughed innocently. "Stop it, Steve you're not even that old!" "So you admit it." He bragged, proudly leaning his head on his wrist as he flipped onto his side to face you.

"My phone, Steve?" You laughed. He dug around behind him, before waving the device. "You mean this? Oh-- What's this? Your Google Chrome history?"

You gasped, you had no idea Steve even knew how the internet worked, let alone browser history.

Before you could grab for it he reached over and flipped the light off on the night stand beside him, casting the room in darkness.

"Oh my god-- Steve stop!" You crawled over him, eagerly grabbing for your phone but he was too quick, rolling onto his side and reading aloud from the screen. "BDSM Test Results? Hmmm, that sounds interesting. Maybe we should click on it?" You screamed, grabbing hold of the phone raised above his head, desperately trying to hold onto it as he sat up gaining more leverage on it.

"Alright, alright, I give." He chuckled, and just as he hit the lock button, the phone flew from both your hands, clattering to the floor nearby.

"It just slipped out-- I'm sorry." He sputtered, reaching over and flicking on the lamp. The light gleamed on to reveal you straddling his waist, bonnet askew, one heavy breast hanging out the side of your tank top, completely oblivious.

Sweet cheese and rice he loved that shirt.

"There it is." You hopped off the bed and quickly picked it up, inspecting the screen for damage. Had it not been for your absent mindedness, you might've noticed the redness creeping up Steve's cheeks as you climbed back into bed.

"Not even a super soldier can destroy this thing, huh?" You chuckled, setting your phone on the nightstand beside you before adjusting your breasts back into your shirt. He laughed nervously. "Yeah, I guess not."

You climbed under the comforter, lying on your side before Steve turned off the lamp, spooning in behind you, settling for wrapping an arm arm around your waist. Your stomach rose and fell as you breathed evenly, and his heart raced as his Adam's apple bobbed.

You shifted for a moment, turning over to kiss his forehead and whisper. "Good night, Steve." As you turned back, his hand slipped into your shirt and his fingertips felt electric as they grazed beneath, along your side. "Good night." He whispered, closing his eyes, eager to find some rest from the image of your breasts that wracked no pun intended his thoughts every night you spent together.

Steve felt like a creepy teenager trying to get to second base, but he couldn't help himself. Something about the way your tits looked in his shirts made him wonder if he had some sort of obsession or fetish. "But, by that logic, we should all have a boob fetish then, right?"

Suddenly you inhaled sharply, snapping him from his sordid thoughts. "What's wrong?" He whispered. "You're pitching a tent against my ass right now, Steve." He blinked, totally misinterpreting you before he realized and pulled a pillow from behind his head to stuff between you two. You laughed, now fully awake as he stewed in his embarrassment.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." You chuckled. "It's fine. Happens to the best of us." There was an unusual silence between you two before you suggested. "We could do something about it..." "Just go to sleep. I'll take care of it." He whispered, promptly kicking off the weighty comforter. He didn't realized how hot and bothered he'd gotten under there until he reached down to knead his cock and found himself already semi hard.

"Are you sure you don't want me to...?" He sat up in thought for a moment before ultimately giving in and nudging closer to you, grabbing your hand and guiding it beneath his waistband to his cock. As you began stroking, he kissed across your shoulder.

"Just like that." He sighed, his hand grazed down your arm before he slid into your shirt to begin caressing at your breasts. You let out a quiet gasp, his palms ghosting your pliant nipples as he grinded into your loose grip, eyes straining to make out your form in the dark. Steve began kneading your breasts as you hastened your strokes, your body felt ultra sensitive as he teased at your front with increasing vigor.

"You like playing with my tits?" You cooed to which he exhaled something like a mix between a growl and a "Mhm." His gentle fondling soon escalated to good grips and rough kneading. You whined quietly, your free hand rubbing between your legs to quell the growing tension. "F-Steve, fuck me, please?" He kissed your neck, pulling down your panties and raising your leg into the air so he could spread your lips and slide inside you.

He thrust erratically, pulling you smacking into his hips, gripping your shirt so tight you could hear the fabric ripping down the side. Steve panted through his teeth, his breath hot against your neck as he grunted through every stroke. You trembled, rubbing your clit as Steve fucked in and out of you. You both held your breath-- fervent smacking of flesh filling the room before you grabbed the nearest pillow, screaming into it as you came.

Steve pulled out, cursing as he straddled your waist, scrambling with your shirt before ripping it in its entirety so he could paw at your chest while he finished. "Shit-- I'm gonna cum-- I'm gonna cum on your tits." He moaned, hips thrusting into his fist as cum dribbled out of his tip to your breasts and down your stomach. "GOD-- bless." He panted, quick to correct himself.

You giggled as he collapsed onto his side, rolling over to flick on the lamp. You laid on your back, shirt ripped entirely up its left side, your breasts decorated with gleams of semen.

"You've never said ‘tits’ a day in your life have you?"

He sighed into a chuckle. "Nope." And you both joined in laughter.

"Do you need a towel?"

"Nah, I'll just use this old t-shirt."

You came downstairs to find Steve sitting at the kitchen table, his shirt and hair wet with sweat from his morning run.

"Good morning." He tipped his glass of chocolate milk before taking a long sip, sliding an empty glass and the carton across the table toward you. "Why didn't you tell me you had a boob fetish?" He sputtered, coughing up milk he'd inhaled before clutching his chest defensively. "Wh-- I-- it's not that serious-- I mean, they're great. But if-- from my perspective, if everyone you know likes boobs, could you really call what I have a fetish?"

You scoot your chair in against the table, humming sing-songy as you parted your robe to reveal the tops of your breasts, sporting dark bruises. "This looks sorta like a fetish to me, don't you think?" He swallowed hard, looking away for fear you'd see his blush crawl down his neck. "That's what I thought." You chimed.

You leaned over the table, reaching for the carton, your breasts drooping, threatening to slip from your robe in an almost tantalizing way. He bit his lip, glancing between your breasts and his glass, nerves tickling his stomach as his cool, damp shirt clung to the arch of his back.

"Maybe you should call out of work today."

"Yeah?" You met his fiery gaze and smirked, milk slowly filling your glass.

He grabbed the carton from your grasp, gently setting it on the table beside him.

"Yeah."

Read the fic on AO3! | Read more of my fics on Tumblr | Patreon

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mz. Bitch's Masterlist-Bucky Barnes

A masterlist specifically for my Bucky Barnes (and Sebastian Stan) stories. Hopefully it won't get too full too quickly again!

MDNI!!!

Due to inline link limits, please click on the story name to start reading and follow the chapter links. Thanks little darlings! Love y'all!

*Oneshots Sex Pollen My Alpha Got Nothing On You +parts Movie Night Please Come Back Vibranium & Stainless Steel Shy Dream Girl A little help from my friend Angry baby? Throw It in the Dishwasher +parts The Boss +parts I.T. Time to Heal A Very Cutesy, Very Demure Halloween Regrets & Apologies Quite a Workout +parts Overheard Oh Sister Let's Go Down Little Sea Storm I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man +parts Zhihn moya Flirty A Bumpy Ride +parts Fire! Lots of Love +parts Things Are Not As They Seem It's Been a Long, Long Time La Muerte Deja Vu Soldat Blood and...Balsam? +parts Slow, Sexy Mornings Moody Bucky Made of Dreams One bed +parts This is the last time Doll It's Cold Outside Fake Out +parts The Dangers of Dream Walking Pookie *SMACK* Laundry Day Chemical Imbalance The Brother Phone Calls

*Series Breaking the Class Ceiling **Finished Bucky Barnes is a middle class clerk. He needs to marry well to take care of himself and his father. Y/N Y/L/N is the heir to a millionaire fortune, who is blunt, no-nonsense, flirtatious, and looking for a partner. Everyone is vying for her hand. Can Bucky ever win?

Pretty Pointy Smile **Finished Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since.  His father has had enough and sells him to the circus.  The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be.

Sugar Mama **Finished Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him.

Marriage of Convenience **Finished Y/N’s father is gone, and he leaves it all to her.  But in 1880s Oregon, she can’t own land without a husband.  Under the threat of it all being taken away by a land hungry Sheriff, what’s a girl to do with no prospects?  Maybe one of the cowboys on the farm can help…

The Temptation **Finished Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart?

Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons **Finished Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way?

Stranded **Finished Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island.  Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive.  But is he really alone?

The Fuck Up **Finished Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Naughty Nanny **Finished Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought.

Run, pretty girl, run **Finished Even with the safeguards put in place after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the remaining Avengers find themselves on the run after the American government falls into disarray.  The code word is sent, and they’re officially fugitives.  Bucky makes a run for the safe house set up for emergencies like this where the Avengers are told to meet up, but on the way saves the pregnant agent turned payroll specialist that he was partnered with.  Will they make it before she goes into labor?  Or at all?

Pretty P.A. **Finished Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion model agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her. 

The Gorgon **Finished The village nearest the mountain by the sea has a generations-old tradition of offering sacrifices to the monster in the mountain to gain favor and keep its wrath away from the people.  Every person starting from the age of 15 has to take a turn in making the journey up the mountain to the mouth of the cave once a year to drop off the gifts…and it’s a journey that some never come back from.  Y/N took her turn when she was 15, and now the rotation has come back to her again.  If the gift isn’t given by the autumn solstice, there’s no telling what harm the creature will wreak onto the people.  With a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way, will she make it to save her and her people?  Can a monster have a heart?

Dreamboat **Finished Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise. 

Sweet Pumpkin **Finished Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Yes Mama **Finished Bucky Barnes has made quite the name for himself in the underground mob boss world.  But he’s not the boss.  Just the face of the Family. 

A Pirate's Life for Me **Finished Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew on the Armored Star are the most fearsome pirates in the known world.  They’ve given the British fleet a run for their money as they try to free the enslaved and take from the rich, but they could have never guessed how the British empire would retaliate against them.  When a new pirate ship appears and lays waste to all in its path, will Bucky and his crew be ready for the wrath of a woman scorned?

The Witch and The Doctor **Finished Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds.  But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people.  After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Sugar & Spicy Books **Finished Y/N is an accomplished writer who is newly divorced, and out of fear of the unknown, moves back to her small hometown she swore she’d never come back to.  She comes across her best friend that never left, who helps her out of a tough spot.  Will old feelings arise?  Or is she just too big for such a small place now?

The Professor's Aid **Finished Bucky has one last year left of college.  He has tutoring/teacher’s aid credits he needs to fill to graduate, no matter the subject.  He applies to be the Women’s Studies professor’s TA, thinking maybe he can skate by easily, until he meets the no-nonsense, large and in charge, pretty as sin professor who is hotter than expected.

Marriage Problems **Finished They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

The Thousand Yard Stare **Finished Bucky Barnes has served his country well, and at a great personal cost.  After being rescued as a prisoner of war, he is struggling as he gets back into civilian life.  His newfound PTSD is severe.  His friends and family try to help, but he needs a lot more than they can give.  His mother signs him up for a Veteran recovery home, where he meets people struggling just like him, and the home director who has her own dark past to deal with.  He might just find love along the way as he searches for peace.

Barnes Bakes **Finished A new, overly chipper neighbor moves in and disrupts Bucky's life. She's on the hunt to find his favorite treat in exchange for his help, and along the way a great friendship is made. But one night might just mess it all up.

The Favorite **Finished Bucky Barnes, the big boss of the crime underworld, is notorious for his unhinged behavior and punishments.  There’s not much that can fully set him off, unless someone messes with his favorite…

Yuletide **Finished Mr. Strange and his nephew Mr. Barnes were…different.  The little town of Concord, Massachusetts isn’t used to the pharmacists’ strange ways, with rumors swirling of wizards and magic spells.  Y/N doesn’t believe in any of those old folk tales, but does feel a pull towards Mr. Barnes, despite his standoffishness.  Maybe his heart will melt during the most wonderful time of the year.  Or maybe she’ll fall head first into a fantastical world she never thought possible. *Set in early 1800s America

Royal Duties **Finished Princess Y/N is betrothed to Prince Bucky Barnes, a political match to form bonds and alliances.  A friendship is formed between them built on understanding and allyship.  But can real love grow from forced circumstances?

Mon Cher **Finished “A modern day writer exploring a vampire’s estate during the day.  Wondering why a random room was locked.  Until…they find a Victorian painting of themself.” *Idea found on TikTok by @yaberdat aka Finnley.*

Stucky *Oneshot Three's Company

*Series Emerald Hallow **Finished Steve Rogers wants to move on.  He wants to forget Peggy, and dive into the 21st century.  But this man of the past doesn’t know how to navigate being an Alpha in a modern world of skittish Omegas.  He prides himself on his self control, never wanting to harm or scare them, until something just smells too damn good. And he's not the only one who smells it...

Sebastian Stan *Series A Patient Man **Finished Sebastian swore to never fall for another co-star again. Until Y/N drops into his life.