#tfatws exception

[imomnba-x07]

“What is love?”

To be loved is to be seen.

Knowing that, no matter how far you go, you’ll have a home to come back to

Love is a currency long forgotten in the worlds cruelness

Yet love is eternal

Love is knowing you’re safe. Even when you’re scared.

“Have you ever been in love?”

I never stopped being in love.

[anonymouslyel]

congressman barnes who go to work wearing an expensive-looking suit with his hair slicked back wearing the most serious expression ever but his leathercase bag is so loud with all the captain america keychains and trinkets that is hanging on it.

everyone would know congressman barnes is arriving not because of seemingly loud whirring sound of his arm in a silent building but because of the telltale loud sound of all the captain america keychains and trinkets hanging in his bag.

[wxnters-children]

Domestic SamBucky moments from TFATWS bc I miss them

[johnwalkerhater]

Sambucky 🤝 Poolverine

Actually getting a good ending to their respective medias together and being together celebrating with family at the end????

[lucca-stateofmind]

✩ the symbolism of the Nico's death in TFATWS and what it says about today's structural violence ✩

I. the shield's symbol Captain America has been - back in its roots - a patriotic symbol of the United States' supremacy. Whether it is through imperialism or their so-called ideology's domination, it is still a major event today as these morals are still dear for lots of american. This attachment is mainly manifesting by the flag's cult as it is common to raise it on its porch for a sense of pride. The same flag we find on the shield that has been Captain America's symbol since its creation. On a bigger level, the flag represents the USA's morals and ideology in a world famous symbol and that's why it was important for the shield to have its fitting image.

II. the United States of America police brutality

The USA found its origin in 1874 after it fought for its independance against Portugese then British colonialists. The country was quick to see racism rise after the abolition of slavery as former 'inferior' black people were now supposed to be at the same level as white people. If segregation was meant to end in 1968 with the Civil Rights Act, racism kept going ever since. It eventually caused controversies and sparked a debate about whether or not equality was reached as the murders of african american persons were exposed on social media. It highlighted police brutality to younger folks, ready to take the lead to a new fight still ongoing. Those who are not blinded by hate or ignorant – those two being highly corelated – advocate today for the people of colour's socially equal rights. This speech's liberation isn't out of context for what it brought to light: police's structural violence for what is claimed to be "the greater good". We've obviously known about it for decades as the slogan ACAB – All Cops Are Bastard – wasn't born yesterday, but it only took a larger meaning as people outside the punk movement were able to fully catch what it truly meant. First, the police institution isn't here to protect people but to keep them under control. Second, it is racist and against every minorities for what matters—since it is under the government and no country is ever known for being tolerant and acknowledgeable of different cultures and the LGBTQI2A+ community.

III. Nico's death seen from a different point of view

With everything I mentioned, we can make an analogy of this scene from The Falcon And The Winter Soldier. In the show, John Walker – the newest Captain America – kills in cold blood and in broad daylight a revolutionist (/terrorist for the US government) with the shield. In this analogy, Nico can be anyone as long as it represents a minority (with him being an immigrant, it fits the narrative and message even more); John Walker is the image of the police (being Captain America); and the shield is the United States of America's symbol, its racism, its capitalist ideology exploiting peoples all around the world and its people not adressing the problem. The spitting displaying of John killing an immigrant called terrorist by the government using its approval is telling us a lot about the way people are murdered by the 'defender of the nation' for 'civilians' safety'. It is a dynamic we still fight against as it must come to an end, same as racism and discrimination.

[latinokaeya]

actually looking at that gifset it really is crazy how many times the mcu has made sam wilson watch someone he cares for fall n yet consistently refuses to give him any kind of space to breathe n have sincere moment abt that. like they hate him so bad why are we allergic to genuine emotional moments !!!!!

[zeoxious]

Mature - Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Major Character Death

⚝ ──⭒─⭑─⭒────── ─ ─

"Don't worry I've decided I'm not going to kill you." "Imagine my relief..."

A sad somber story presenting an angsty alternative ending in which Zemo's decision is different.

All Hurt and a little bit of Stucky Angst I hope you know what you're getting yourself into with this one. Enjoy!

─ ─ ──────⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

...Two tags, with Steve's name gleaming beside James', like a twin epitaph. An unspoken confirmation of Zemo's theory that it was in fact love that complicated his plans in Siberia. Exchanging dog tags was a court-martial offense, technically. Two names, one corpse, that was a platoon leader's nightmare. But Bucky and Steve had never cared much for rules and had no doubt outlived the men who made them. The tags were a vow, not logistics. A physical representation of two soul-bound soldiers sharing the sentiment they'd die together. It was a touching declaration to 'bury us in the same grave'. If Zemo had his way in Siberia, he would have given them that final wish. Unfortunately, Bucky was alone now... Perhaps out of obligation, or maybe genuine care, Zemo tried to keep Bucky's mind on Steve...

⚝ Full Story on Ao3 ⚝

[danysdaughter]

Danysdaughter Masterlist

ʟɪᴢᴢʏ • 19 • sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ • ғᴀɴғɪᴄ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ • ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs ᴇɴᴛʜᴜsɪᴀsᴛ • ᴍᴅɴɪ • 🇿🇦

This blog is mainly for Bucky Barnes

My ask box is officially:

CLOSED TO REQUESTS

RULES FOR REQUESTS:

→ fluff and angst is always allowed

→ any kind of smut is allowed, except the HEAVY bdsm kinda stuff (yeah I am no expert, so don't ask me to write for that freaky business)

→ If you want to request a part 2 to a fic i've already written, please tell me what you would like to see in part 2

→ i will not write anything to do with sexual assault or rape

→ I will not write about cheating (if it has to do with bucky barnes SPECIFICALLY — if it's a past relationship cheating is allowed)

✧ — over 500 notes

✯ — over 1000 notes

✵ — over 2000 notes

•*⁀➷ I Think I Love You (5.4k words) ✵

— fwb!bucky x new!avengers!reader

— [smut + angst + hurt/comfort + fluff]

you agreed to keep it casual—just sex, no feelings. but when loving bucky in silence begins to break you, walking away is the only thing you can do… even if it destroys you both.

•*⁀➷ Hold Your Breath (6.6k words) ✵

— civil!war!bucky x fem!reader

— [angst + hurt/comfort + smut]

after a panic attack triggers something raw and vulnerable in bucky, a desperate kiss turns into a night of urgent, clothed intimacy where he clings to you for grounding, connection, and humanity.

•*⁀➷ Hold Your Breath - Pt 2 (15.8k words) ✯

— post-civil!war!bucky x reader

— [angst + hurt/comfort + smut + fluff]

a year after the fallout of the sokovia accords, the avengers come out of hiding and turn to nelson & murdock for legal defense. as you work alongside them, the tension between you and bucky barnes simmers—still unresolved since the night you pulled him back from the edge in berlin.

•*⁀➷ Come Home To Me (14.7k words) ✵

— 40s!bucky x 40s!fem!reader

— [fluff + angst + smut + hurt/comfort]

during the rise and ruin of the second world war, a sharp-tongued brooklyn girl falls for james buchanan barnes—only to lose him to the battlefield, a presumed death, and the silence that follows.

but almost two years later, when the war is long over and the wounds have scarred over, he comes back through your door, proving that some promises do survive the fire.

•*⁀➷ Come Home To Me - Pt. 2 (8.8k words) ✧

— 40s!bucky x 40s!reader

— [angst + hurt/comfort + fluff + smut]

he came home in pieces, broken but breathing, and slowly—painfully—learned how to be whole again in the arms of the woman he loved and the child he never thought he’d meet. now, with another baby on the way, and a house built from promises once whispered in wartime, james buchanan barnes is finally learning what it means to be at peace.

•*⁀➷ The Soldier And The Vixen (14k words) ✯

— 40s!bucky x 40s!fem!reader & winter!soldier x hydra!reader & post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

— [fluff + angst + graphic + hurt/no comfort]

once comrades bound by war and affection, two soldiers-turned-weapons are reshaped into monsters by hydra, their humanity fractured and memories blurred.

now free but haunted, they struggle to untangle love from programming, grief from guilt, and healing from the wreckage of who they used to be

•*⁀➷ Still Yours (9.4k words) ✵

— thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

— [smut + angst + hurt/comfort + fluff]

bucky lets his relationship slip into the background for the sake of duty and public image. but when the distance starts to break them, he realizes he’ll do anything to fight for the love he almost lost.

•*⁀➷ After Hours (7.8k words) ✵

— au!bucky x teacher!reader

— [fluff + smut]

when bucky barnes keeps showing up early to pick up his nephew from school, it’s definitely not just about being a good uncle—it’s about the sharp, no-nonsense kindergarten teacher who won’t give him the time of day. one desperate club night and a locked bathroom later, you finally do.

•*⁀➷ Once More To See You (12.8k words) ✯

— 40s!bucky x 40s!reader & post-catws!bucky x fem!reader

— [smut + angst + hurt/no comfort]

in the 40s, the two of you were meant to be forever—wild, in love, and untouched by anything but each other. but time tore you two apart, and when fate brought you back together decades later, love still lived between you and bucky... just no longer in the same lifetime

•*⁀➷ Confidential Affairs (4.4k words) ✵

— congressman!bucky x assistant!reader

— [fluff + smut]

congressman barnes thought he had control—over his office, his image, and especially his no-nonsense assistant. That illusion ends the moment you hit a man's head against a table, ruin your blazer, and ride him across a random desk like you're the one running the country.

•⁀➷ It's Strange You Never Knew (3.5k words) ✧

— 40s!bucky x 40s!reader & post-tfatws!bucky x 40s!reader & minor!40s!steve x 40s!reader

— [angst + hurt/no comfort]

decades after vanishing into war, bucky hears a voice on the radio that stops him cold—a voice he thought he'd never hear again. what he uncovers is a song written for him, by someone who loved him quietly, and died before he ever had the chance to say your name out again.

•*⁀➷ Сетка (10.4k words) ✵

— civil!war!bucky x widow!reader

— [angst + hurt/comfort + smut]

when you, a former red room widow crosses paths with the man who once trained you—now a ghost of the monster you remember—your collision reignites memories neither of you can outrun. in a world that only ever taught you two to survive, you find something you were never trained for: each other.

•*⁀➷ I Thought We Were Already Dating (4k words) ✵

— congressman!bucky x fem!reader

— [fluff + smut]

you thought you were spiraling over a situationship—meanwhile, bucky barnes had been acting like your very committed, very oblivious boyfriend the entire time. one public meltdown, a congressional office full of witnesses, and a very intense kiss later… you're officially his girl (and he never doubted it).

•*⁀➷ Please (3.6k words) ✯

— [congressman!bucky x gf!reader]

— [fluff + comfort + smut]

after a long day of political masks and quiet exhaustion, congressman barnes returns home to the only person who doesn’t ask him to perform—but demands his honesty. in your hands, he’s not a soldier, or a statesman—just a man unraveling, piece by trembling piece, begging to be seen, touched, claimed.

•*⁀➷ Red Is The Color Of Want (4.8k words) ✵

— civil!war!bucky x widow!reader & winter!soldier x widow!reader

— [hurt/comfort + smut + angst]

in a crumbling safehouse far from the fights you both escaped, you—a former black widow—unravel the man beneath the metal as the winter soldier comes undone in your arms. but when a page of trigger words drags bucky back into the shadows of who he used to be, the only thing more dangerous than his programming… is how much he needs you.

•*⁀➷ The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes Masterlist ✵

— post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

— [fluff + smut]

when dating apps fail him and thirst traps become his downfall, bucky barnes finds himself spiraling down the internet’s most unholy rabbit hole—pornhub.

what starts as horrified research turns into full-blown obsession... especially when you, his sharp-tongued best friend, catch him red-handed and make very sure he lives out every filthy fantasy he’s been hiding.

•*⁀➷ Love Island!Bucky Headcanons (3.5k words) ✯

— love!island!bucky x fem!reader

— [angst + fluff]

•*⁀➷ Love Island!Bucky Headcanons [Pt. 2] (9.2k words) ✧

— love!island!bucky x fem!reader

— [angst + fluff + hurt/comfort]

The next morning, instead of questioning bucky, the girls paint you as the problem — the messy one who blindsided sharon and stirred the pot. the judgment builds. the energy shifts. Then comes the dumping. Three girls vulnerable. One will go.

•*⁀➷ Drown Me Gently (6.6k words) ✵

— new!avenger!bucky x siren!reader

— [angst + fluff + hurt/comfort]

a half-siren joins the new avengers, hiding centuries of shame beneath skin that was never yours to begin with. but when bucky barnes sees past the danger to the devastating loneliness underneath, the monster you fear you are finally begins to unravel.

•*⁀➷ Sweet On The Job (9.9k words) ✵

— congressman!bucky x fem!reader

— [fluff + hurt/comfort]

when newly-appointed congressman bucky barnes reluctantly hires the sweetest, most radiant assistant imaginable, he doubts your place in the cutthroat world of politics—until you prove you can run it and melt his guard all at once.

•*⁀➷ Lost (10.2k words) ✯

— lost!au!bucky x fem!reader

— [angst + hurt/comfort]

you and bucky were supposed to be going home—then your plane crashed, and you were left to survive the island thinking he didn’t make it.

•*⁀➷ Compromised (10.8k words) ✯

— new!avengers!bucky x fem!reader

— [angst+ hurt/comfort + smut]

sent to infiltrate and execute the new avengers, you never planned on falling for their brooding, self-sacrificing unofficial leader—especially when loving him might just ruin you both.

[dilfluvrgirllxoxo]

post mission arguments and make-ups - j.f.w

summary: after a mission, john hurts your feelings during an argument and soon makes it his duty to fix what he did.

pairing: john f. walker x reader (i'm tired of hiding my truth he's been fine since tfatws)

warnings: angst!! grumpy x sunshine trope because i can't help myself, teeny bit of smut at the end, mostly just fluff, john is lowkey a little out of character but its okay, petnames (sweetheart, honey), no use of y/n + no reader descriptions, not proofread!

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

the car ride back from the mission was silent except for the occasional conversation between ava and yelena. as soon as the car was parked, you got out and slammed the door harder than you meant to, walking away, not caring if john was following behind you.

kicking off your boots and tossing your bag onto the floor, you trudged over to the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink as the others scattered off to their rooms. not john though, no. he decided he just had to come and be a pain in your ass...again.

he stood against the doorframe, jaw clenched, face dark and his arms crossed tightly against his chest, like a parent ready to chastise their child.

"you always do that," he snapped after a long moment of silence, his voice sharp.

you froze, turning around to face him with a sigh. “do what, john?”

“do missions without us, without backup. going in first, acting like you’re invincible, like you don’t need anyone. it’s reckless."

“so now i'm the problem? i can handle myself john, i'm not on this team for nothing!”

his eyes narrowed, his hands clenching into fists as he stepped closer to you. “i'm trying to keep people alive, including you, including the rest of the team.”

“you're not in the goddamn army anymore john, stop acting like you can boss us around!” you yelled, knowing that was a low blow by the way his shoulders tensed.

“you don't get it. you want to get yourself killed by being foolish? be my damn guest!" he hissed, his fist coming down on the table next to him and you flinched—he saw it, and instantly regretted what he'd done, but his cold, dismissive words were out now, no going back.

“right. yeah.” you said, voice cracking. “got it.” you practically scurried away, walking into the bedroom and slamming the door, on purpose this time.

you lay on the bed for what felt like hours, letting your tears fall, not even turning your head when you heard the door open and john stepping inside cautiously. “hey honey.” you didn’t answer.

he walked closer, voice lower now as he sat on the edge of where you lay on the bed, sighing as he thought about what to say. he wasn't good with the whole 'letting your guard down' thing. “i shouldn’t have said that. any of it.” still nothing from you, making him shuffle closer and take your hand in his.

“i...was scared,” he admitted, and that word seemed to make him flinch, like he'd never said it in his life. “i thought you were in danger, and i—i panicked and then i lashed out at you.”

you turned on your back, finally meeting his eyes as you tilted your head. “it made me feel like you didn't care about me and it hurt, john.”

john’s normally stoic expression broke, just slightly, into a softer one, one only you ever got to see.

“i know,” he said. “but you’re the only person who makes me feel like i’m worth something, i do care about you, more than anything. i just wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt, and i ended up hurting you. i’m...i'm sorry.” he whispered the last words, not knowing how to feel. he never apologised. god, you were softening him up too much.

"i want to fix this, let me make it up t' you honey." he murmured, his voice gentler than you'd ever heard it be as he shuffled onto the bed fully, his arms at either side of you as he hovered above you. "cmon honey, wanna make this right, show y' how sorry i am."

you paused for a minute, tears now drying on your cheeks as you looked up at him and nodded, whispering a faint, “kay.” which was all the confirmation he needed as he nodded slowly, rough, calloused hands coming up to cup your cheeks with surprising gentleness, his mouth on yours before you even had time to think, the strength of the kiss making your head spin, barely registering his words when he finally pulled away breathlessly, tugging at the waistband of your trousers.

"want y' to sit on my face sweetheart, need t' taste you." he drawled, his request making your breath hitch as you stood up to peel your trousers off quickly, his hands grabbing your waist and easily manhandling you back onto the bed as soon as you were done.

safe to say, you'd soon forgiven him.

‿‿��‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

[fawniswriting]

𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

This is the official masterlist of fics I've written for Bucky Barnes.

The content of this masterlist is sorted from newest to oldest except for interconnected one-shots (these will be sorted based on the story's chronological order).

I do not consent to my work getting republished and/or translated without my prior agreement.

My stories may include heavy themes, and I encourage everyone to please read the warnings I've added to each fic before reading them.

My fics are mainly intended for female readers, but I do have ones that are gender neutral (the individual story will state as such).

I intend to write very inclusive stories with as minimal physical descriptions of the reader as possible. If you think a story of mine isn't inclusive enough, please let me know! I'm always looking for ways to improve 💞

I am not taking requests at the moment.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are very much appreciated ❤️ (support your writers!!!)

Series

Faithfully Yours

Knight Bucky Barnes x Female AFAB Princess Reader (Historical Royal AU)

Marrying the King of Asgard is one of your duties as a princess, even if your affection belongs to another. When tragedy falls upon your kingdom, the life as you knew it is lost. With Sir James Barnes by your side, will you finally be able to prioritize your heart, or will there be even more things at stake?

One-Shots

The Quiet Side of Thunder

CEO Husband Bucky Barnes x Wife Female AFAB Reader

When a visit to his office leaves you shaken, Bucky becomes determined to take care of you.

Domestic Warfare

Bucky Barnes x Female AFAB Reader, Platonic Thunderbolts x Female AFAB Reader

After a mission filled with close calls and bad decisions, the team comes home to find an even bigger threat waiting at the door—your wrath.

Even Fallen Things

1940s Bucky Barnes x 1940s Female Reader (+ Soldat Bucky Barnes + TFATWS Bucky Barnes)

The story of a girl and her fallen flowers, and a boy who can't seem to forget either of them.

Mr. Congressman

Congressman Bucky Barnes x Female AFAB Reader

After Congressman James Buchanan Barnes buys you a drink at the bar, your night takes a turn for a more passionate one.

Before I Could Say It

Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

This fic can be read as a standalone or as a prequel to After I Was Too Late.

The three times Bucky almost confessed his love to you, and the one time he finally does.

After I Was Too Late

Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

This fic can be read as a standalone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Sources: header by me, flowers divider by me, line divider by @saradika-graphics

[notafunkiller]

What if I am too much?

Summary: When Sam's girlfriend calls you clingy, you decide to give Bucky some space. What you don’t know is that he doesn’t want any space. None at all.

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, teasing, language, pet names, spanking, daddy kink, metal arm kink, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 2.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I want to thank @marvelouslizzie for her help!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

“Oh, you’re alone?”

You turn your head in the direction of the voice and smile politely. You don’t recognize this woman, but she looks at you like she does.

“Uh, yes. Hello!”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

You instantly blush, ashamed, and search for Bucky’s face in the crowd. Nowhere to be found. Damn it!

“No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says before coming next to you. “I’m Misty.” Brunette, tall and beautiful.

“Where did we meet?”

“Sam’s birthday, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were too busy clinging to Bucky’s side all night.” She sounds serious, and you freeze, having no idea where this came from. She simply laughs, grabbing your arm with some kind of bionic cold hand for a second before letting it go.

It’s not like Bucky’s. It’s more... robotic.

“Clinging?” You ask confused.

“Yeah, you know, always sitting with him, holding his arm, following him around.”

You puff, already annoyed by this random woman. “Following him around? I’m not a dog!”

“Didn’t say you are a dog, honey. Just pointing out the obvious.”

You try to hold your tongue, pushing aside the impulse to start a fight. This is a night about Bucky. Not you or your discomfort. And she is his ex-co-worker-friend’s girlfriend. Your anger can wait.

“Alright, but how does my clinging affect you, though?”

“Oh, don’t take it so personally! I just meant to be friendly. It’s a girl’s advice. Live a little, being insecure is not gonna save your relationship.”

A piece of advice no one asked for. A take you never even considered. You’re not insecure and you’re definitely not keeping Bucky to your side all the time. You don’t… He is free to do whatever the hell he wants.

“Thank you.”

She has the audacity to laugh. “Don’t be so defensive, honey! Gonna get a cocktail, want some?”

You shake your head, feeling a hole in your stomach after she leaves you alone, and you basically run to the bathroom, trying to calm down. What if she is right, though? What if Sam heard or saw something? Maybe Bucky is extra grumpy or unhappy. Maybe he even complained…

You never thought sitting with Bucky is a sign of clinginess. You thought it’d help... he is not the most comfortable person at events. He gets stared at a lot, he hates small talk, and you really like being close to him. Gosh, you are clingy!

The rest of the night passes like a blur. When you come back, Bucky’s waiting for you, and despite your instinct to wrap your arm around his back and let him hold you, you keep a little distance, giving Sam and his nosy girlfriend a fake smile, while Bucky keeps staring at you strangely.

You even manage to avoid touching him all week somehow, except for a few kisses now and then. Your period came, and as he tried to hold you, you had to fight tears while telling him not to. You’re sick and tired and you miss him, but you want to give him some space. You’ve been suffocating him for so long... You make sure to cry only when he’s out because he might hear you even in the shower. He has super hearing after all.

You thought it would become easier every day, but quite the opposite. Every time you’re close to giving up, you remember Sam’s comment that he made a week after you met him about how Bucky always likes his space and what Misty told you, so you fight against your wish.

Until Sunday afternoon.

You’re in bed, scrolling down on Instagram as Bucky comes out of the shower. You try not to stare at him, but how can you not? He looks absolutely incredible.

What you don’t expect is him trying to get on top of you to tickle you with a huge smile on his face. He’s so adorable.

“B-Bucky, stop!” You laugh as his hands get under your T-shirt. He loves making you laugh no matter how he does it. “N-no.”

“Oh, I will,” he says playfully.

But what he failed to tell you is that stopping means sneaking his head under your T-shirt, which starts to rip a little because of the stretch, and resting it on your boobs.

“Bucky!”

He puffs, annoyed. “Why the fuck are you wearing a bra in the house, bubba?”

“Cause it’s a bra?” You ask back sarcastically, but you know this is weird. You always complain about needing to wear it outside. But inside? It’s even worse.

“Unacceptable.” He quickly rips your bra in half, not bothering to unhook it, and you feel his beard on your breast all of a sudden, making you shiver. Fuck, you really miss this.

“B-Bucky, come on, your hair is a little wet!”

“Bubba, please...”

“Bucky! Why did you do that?” He immediately takes his head out of your T-shirt, and you almost cry. He looks do lost and scared.

“Baby, do you not want me anymore?”

“What the fuck?” You groan. This is the last thing you wanted him to think. All you tried to do was to make him happy and feel less pressured.

“You don’t let me touch you. You don’t want to cuddle with me. You don’t wake me up with kisses. You don’t get on top of me You don’t hug me! What did I do?”

Your heart aches for both of you. “Wasn’t that better?”

“Better for who?” He cries. “This was the worst week of my life since Hydra.”

“Unfortunately, that cannot be true, Bucky.” You sigh, getting closer to him. “I thought you like space...”

“I do, but not with my fucking baby!”

You melt at his words, truth be told. He said it so passionately, but you’re so confused.

“I thought I was being too clingy, touching you too much, you know?”

“What? Where did this come from?”

You close your eyes. How are you supposed to answer this without sounding like a petty bitch?

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” You feel his hands grabbing your face so you can look at him. “It means I did something wrong.”

You frown, upset that he thinks that. He’s been nothing but kind, understanding, and loving to you, and you hate how he feels like he failed you or something.

“Sam’s girlfriend told me I am clingy... always with you, never leaving you alone to breathe basically. And it reminded me of Sam saying how much you love your space, and I just...” You try not to cry, you really do, but you cannot hold back the tears this time, which Bucky immediately reaches to wipe with his flesh fingers.

“Jesus, baby! I don’t give a goddamn shit about what they say, you aren’t allowed to listen to anyone! Just let me touch you.”

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, and Bucky lifts you a bit so you can sit on his lap. You can hear his heartbeat, and you find that so peaceful.

“I thought you’re gonna break up with me, honey.” He whispers in your ear. “I was terrified when you didn’t let me cuddle with you.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” You don’t know what else to say. You hurt both of you for days just because you let some woman get inside your head, but you had good intentions. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

“I should be the one saying that, not you, bubba.” He leaves a kiss on your shoulder. “God, I missed you so much, it feels surreal to touch you.”

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

“Promise to never do this shit ever again!”

“I’ll try,” you murmur. “I didn’t realize you want me to touch you so much.”

Bucky lifts your head. “You know I have to punish you for that, right?”

“Punish me?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah, for believing some stranger over your man. For pulling away and giving me a heart attack. And for depriving yourself of my cuddling skills.”

You giggle. “What if I let you suck my nipples for a whole week anytime you wanted?”

“I already do that!” Bucky lifts your T-shirt as he speaks, and you gasp.

“You do not!”

“Yes, I do. Remember when I came home from the last mission and I made you come by-” He lowers his head and licks your right breast, avoiding your nipple.

“Fuck you, tease!”

“I am the tease?!” He snorts, continuing to lick.

“You’re always the tease. Now kiss me and gimmie your cock.”

“I won’t give you anything until I punish you.”

“Jamie!” You scream when he turns you around, ripping off your shorts in half, along with your underwear before placing you on his thighs. “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck to you for keeping yourself away from me.” You feel him caressing your ass for a few seconds before slapping your right cheek with his flesh hand. You squirm, gripping into his hip.

“F-fuck!”

“Count.”

You groan. “Jamie...” He spanks you again but harder, and this time you moan. “T-two.”

“Nope, we start over.”

“O-one.”

“Good girl!”

The third and fourth aren’t as hard as you want and you find yourself wiggling your ass in the air.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” He snorts, amused, and before he can bring his flesh hand in the air, you grab his metal arm.

“Please, daddy, use this one!”

Daddy? It didn’t take too long for you to get back in the mood.

“Can’t use it, baby, I’m sorry.”

“No!” You cry. “I need it, pleaseee. I’ll ride your face as many times as you w-want.”

Bucky still doesn’t agree. “Baby, it would hurt.”

“Let it hurt!”

You want it to hurt because this pain is not unbearable, quite the opposite. It pushes you over the edge faster.

He sighs and listens to you, bringing his metal hand to your ass, but you barely even feel it when he slaps. You groan, upset.

“I said slap! Do you want me to hover?”

“I can fucking hurt you.”

“I told you to hurt me!” You beg. “Please, honey! Please, please, please.”

He does it again, not hard enough for you, but you count anyway. Again and again.

“Jesus, you’re making my thighs so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”

“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”

Bucky’s moan comes somehow from the back of his throat, and the last spanks are perfect. He gently caresses your ass, cooling it off with his metal hand, and you smile. “You’re so dirty sometimes, but also such a good girl taking your punishment perfectly.”

“I am sorry,” you whisper.

“For what exactly?”

You pout, grabbing his face. “For all of it. But you’re you, Bucky. You’re the greatest guy in the world, I just didn’t want to be annoying.”

“You were annoying when you didn’t let me even hug you.”

You know that, but sometimes you can’t help but do dumb things, thinking about him. “I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, I wasn’t happy, obviously. And neither were you, bubba. Promise me you’ll talk to me first next time.”

“I was just stupid…”

“No.” You feel his thumb all over your lips. “You were worried. I love you and I really need your touch, okay?”

“I noticed,” you laugh.

“Good, now feed me my boobs, and then I wanna see you riding my face as you negotiated.”

You fake sigh and grab your boob. “Open up.”

*

You’re not sure how to react when Bucky drags you straight to Sam and his girlfriend as soon as you get inside the museum.

“Hey, Buck-”

“Who do you think you are?”

Misty gasps while Sam and you freeze.

“Wow, wow, wow, man. Hold on a sec, what is going on?”

“What is going on, Samuel?” Bucky asks rhetorically through his teeth. “Ask your little girlfriend where she got her audacity from to tell my girl she is clingy. That she basically spends too much time with me. Who the fuck gave her the permission to even speak to her? So she either apologizes and keeps her mouth shut, or we’ll have a big problem.” Bucky turns his head to look at Misty. “From one metal arm to another. Wanna try me?”

“You did what? What the hell?”

Misty frowns, staring at you. “You went to complain to him for giving you a friendly, harmless advice?”

Bucky instantly grabs her metal arm wrist before you can answer.

“You got three seconds to beg for her forgiveness before I snap your hand in half. And I am not bluffing.”

Sam doesn’t even try to get between them, simply watching, and Misty immediately gets teary.

“I’m... sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, squeezing her wrist. Holy shit! You haven’t seen him like this in ages. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I am sorry. I should have minded my own business!”

“Yes, you should’ve,” you say without regret. “But I forgive you.”

Bucky lets go with a grunt before nodding to Sam and bringing his hand to your hips, leading you toward the exit.

As soon as you are outside, you don’t even care if someone can hear you as you speak. “Fuck, I wanna suck your cock so badly!”

Bucky laughs. “I see. In the car… is that okay for you?”

You get on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Perfect.”

[wildflowersandvibranium]

A Cozy Fourth Of July - Oneshot

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: On a chaotic Fourth of July , Bucky Barnes battles old memories beneath fireworks , but finds safety and solace in the unwavering love who never stops reaching for him.

Word count: 2.1k+

Content: hurt / comfort , angst and fluff , mentions and scenes of of PTSD , anxiety / panic , kissing

a/n: hai my loves! For the PTSD symptoms and scenes I took inspo from my real life and my grandpa who struggled on the fourth just liek I have written Bucky. My heart is for all the veterans and sweet animals the struggle with today.Tysm for all who voted on the poll this was made from! If you were hopin for the other prompt my inbox is open for requests hehe I hope you enjoy and have a safe and happy fourth for all who celebrate! see you on the next one bbys!

masterlist is pinned!

The warm savory scent of grilled street corn and charcoal smoke from the grill drifted on the early evening breeze , laughter rising in spurts from the backyard as giggling kids chased each other with sparklers and sticky fingers. 

A classic and joyful Fourth of July party. Patriotic decor and flags hung lazily over the wooden porch railings , music from a bluetooth speaker floated out over the large freshly cut lawn , and someone was already breaking out the potato salad. It was a perfect evening.

Bucky Barnes stood just inside the open glass sliding door , a golden beer bottle in one hand , the other brushing lightly against yours as you scanned the yard full of people. Your family was loud , chaotic in the most loving way and a little crazy. 

There was always someone talking , someone yelling for a dish to be brought out or the ice chest to be refilled , someone laughing hard enough to make their whole body shake. He should’ve felt overwhelmed already , but you had a way of keeping him anchored.

“You doing okay?” you peered up at him , nudging his arm. His knuckles brushed yours. That simple touch had become something of a tight tether.

“Yeah ,” Bucky glanced at you then added a little nod. “I’m alright. Just... watching.”

“You’re allowed to sit , y’know. No one’s making you stand guard.” You nudged and whispered so only he heard.

His lips curved into a half-smile. “Old habits.”

“I know” You led him out into the yard , easing him into a lawn chair near the picnic tables while a few younger cousins gathered at his feet , inexplicably drawn to him. 

Kids had a weird magnet type radar for soft-hearted people hiding behind stoic faces , and Bucky—despite the dark stubble and biceps and history , was no exception.

“Did you really fight aliens?” asked your little cousin Mateo , green eyes wide as saucers , mouth sticky and wet with watermelon.

Bucky smirked at the kid. “Yeah.”

“Were they , like, hugeeee?”

“Some of ’em.”

“Did you punch any of them?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yep.” Popping the “p”.

Mateo’s whole body bounced with excitement and awe. “COOOOL!”

You tried not to laugh too loudly at the boy. He was trying so hard to be normal and calm.  And this? This kind of attention? It helped. Watching him gently mess and pull down Mateo’s baseball cap playfully  , answering question after question , even showing the metal arm when asked ( kids loved the metal arm)—it was progress.

Then came your grandmother.

“James ,” she said , her voice like honey and pepper , hands on her hips , she was one of the very few people who refused to call him by his nickname. “You still haven’t eaten anything. My granddaughter told me you were strong as an ox. Oxen eat,  you know dear.”

He blinked at her ways , then chuckled. “Yes , ma’am.”

“Oh nonse, enough of the “ma’am” , Eat!. Get yourself a plate before I start piling it on myself. You won’t like that. I don’t believe in small portions.” She winked walking away back to the food tables.

Bucky leaned toward you as she left, whispering in your ear, “She scares me a little.”

“She should ,” you grinned, grabbing his bicep. “She once made an ICE agent cry.”

As a hazey purple dusk settled in the sky and the first firework went off—small , whistling up into the air before bursting with a polite pink pop—you instinctively touched Bucky’s hand.

His jaw twitched. “I’m okay,” he murmured.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. These… these are okay. When I know they’re coming , it’s different. When I can see the people lighting them. It’s the surprise ones that—”

He trailed off , but you nodded. You knew. And when the sky flickered pink and green with another burst , you kept your hand right on his thigh , grounding him with nothing more than your presence.

More people showed up. Chairs shuffled. Fire pits flickered to life. A group of teenagers was setting up a bigger batch of fireworks , the kind that boomed louder , lit up more sky brightly. You didn’t love those for your own reasons , but Bucky…

You kept checking in. And then it felt like pure chaos burst right open.

Mateo tripped near the stone path to the front door , catching his little knee on the edge of rock. He screamed like he’d been stabbed or broken and bone , and a crowd gathered in seconds. 

You rushed to him as you were closets , hands already reaching into your pocket for tissues and wipes. The scrape wasn’t too bad , but he was inconsolable in the way only six-year-olds could be. Between soothing him and shooing off hovering worried relatives , it took a minute before you looked back to where you and Bucky had been sitting.

Gone. Empty.

You stood up , eyes sweeping the yard and street. Fireworks were going off now in steady booming waves. People were whooping , cheering. An older cousin shoved a Roman candle at his buddy nearly missing him making an older unt curse at them for being reckless. 

Bucky wasn’t at the picnic tables. Not sitting on the porch. Not in any of the lawn chairs.

“Where’d Bucky go?” you asked no one in particular. They were too busy watching the show in the sky.

Panic set in , low and heavy in your chest.

You turned and ran straight toward the house. Not walking. Sprinting.

The house inside was quieter. Not silent—the muffled cracks of fireworks still bled in through the walls—but it was dim , still , and closed off from the relentless chaos outside.

“Bucky?” you called out , crossing to the kitchen. No answer.

You moved fast , checking the guest bathroom , the study.  Nothing. You headed down the hallway toward the your bedroom your family had lent you for the weekend.

Your chest was tight now with fear and worry. That pressure in the center of your ribs you only got when you knew something was wrong before you saw it. 

You creaked and opened the bedroom door slowly.

“Bucky?” you say again , softer now.

Silence.

Until a barely audible—a sound reaches your ears.

You crouched looking for the noise. Peeking under the bed.

And there he was. Your love.

Curled in on himself. Shoulders shaking. Fists clenched so tight the metal one was digging into the hardwood floor. His eyes were shut , hard , tight , like he was bracing for the impact of something destructive and terrible.

Your heart immediately sank to your knees. You dropped to him , flat to the floor , then slid and rolled under the bed with him , not caring if the dust stuck to your clothes or if the wood frame pressed into your hip.

“Bucky,” you reach out but stopping just short of touching him. “You’re safe. You’re not back there.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t hear you. Or maybe he did , but his brain was still locked in that place , wherever it had yanked him right back to. That place with screaming and metal and chaos and death. That place he didn’t talk about in detail.

You scooted closer and cupped his scruffy cheek carefully , your voice firmer now , but steady and calm.

“James. You’re home. You’re not in the past. You’re not a soldier tonight. You’re not alone. Look at me.”

Still nothing. You inhaled sharply. Two words shook him out of his trance.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

His eyes snapped open like a switch had been flipped abruptly.

Wide. Unfocused. Searching.

But on you. Never leaving you.

“Hi ,” you whispered , your voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re safe. I got you.”

Bucky’s eyes filled with moisture. The tension that had been holding him upright collapsed all at once, and he lunged—not violently , but desperately , into you. His hands found your shirt , grabbed tight , and he pulled himself into your chest like he needed to disappear into you.

You cradled his head against you , wrapping your arms around his trembling frame. Still beneath the bed. Still dark. Fireworks still going off outside. But in this small space , it was just you and him.

His voice was barely audible muffled by your body. “I couldn’t breathe.”

“I know”

“I couldn’t tell where I was.”

“I know , baby.”

You stayed like that for some minutes , maybe ten , maybe thirty. His breath evened out but he didn’t let go. You didn’t ask him to.

Then a louder more intense bang then crackle went off outside. Closer this time. Bucky flinched so hard he nearly hit the slats with his head under the bed.

“Okay,” you whispered quickly. “Okay. One sec.”

You slid out from under the bed , but didn’t let go of his hand. You reached up blindly and grabbed your headphones from the nightstand , then the weighted blanket you slept with every night.

You crawled back under and slid up beside him , slipping the headphones gently over his ears , kissing his temple as you did. You tapped your phone , pulling up a playlist you’d made for him , songs he mentioned he loved. A quiet vintage piano melody filled the headphones. You could hear it faintly through the foam coverings.

Then , slowly , you draped the soft grey weighted blanket over the both of you , cocooning him and yourself in that soothing safe pressure and warmth.

He closed his eyes again—but this time , not in panic. In rest.

You pulled your phone out again and opened the family group chat. Being mindful not to turn off the music as you typed up a message.

>>> Hey , if anyone needs me and Bucky , text me. Please don’t come inside our room. He’s okay now , just needs quiet.

Then you tossed your phone aside and wrapped both arms around him under the blanket , your head tucking under his chin.

You didn’t say anything for a long time. Just stayed. Placing a few kisses here and their to his chest and shoulder every once ina while.

His fingers found yours eventually through the third or fourth song , linking and lacing tight.

The playlist looped through soft piano and ambient strings , a lull beneath the weight of the blanket and the world surrounding.

Under the bed , it was cramped and getting warm but neither of you moved.

Bucky’s breathing had evened out into a slow pace , chest rising and falling steadily. His grip on your fingers and hands never loosened. He held on like you were the only thing tethering him to this century , to this very moemnt. Maybe you were.

Eventually afte the fireworks began to calm for a moment , his voice cracked the silence. Low. Fragile.

“I’m sorry.”

You turned your head up to look at him , your eyes meeting his ocean ones. “What for?”

He hesitated running a hand up and down your back , soothing him and you. “Ruining the night.”

You scoffed , gentle but real keeping your eyes on him. “You didn’t ruin anything..”

Another pause. Then again.

“For scaring you.”

“You didn’t scare me ,  Buck.” Your thumb rubbed over his metal knuckles kissing each one , a gesture you did to show you weren't afraid of that part of him.  “But I hate seeing you hurting like that. This is not your fault. Your brain’s just... wired to panic when it hears war outside.”

He exhaled , shakily. “It’s so stupid. I knew there’d be fireworks. I prepared. I told myself I was fine. But then I wasn’t. And I couldn’t control it.”

“ PTSD is not something you logic your way out of. It’s not about being strong.” You said plainly.

“I should’ve told you I felt it coming on.”

“You didn’t have to. I could tell.” You smiled softly , even though he wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore. “That’s why I kept checking in. You don’t have to carry that alone anymore , Bucky.”

His eyes shifted toward you. 

You continued your words. “You’re not some broken thing we have to fix. You’re healing. And that’s messy. Some days there are fireworks. Some days are quiet and peaceful. Either way , I’m here. Right here. I’ll always be right here.”

He blinked hard , trapping the tears that formed behind his eyes , then nodded , swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

The blanket shifted slightly as he leaned in closer , pressing his forehead gently to yours. His voice was rough. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You didn’t answer. Just kissed the corner of his mouth , his nose then back to his lips , slow and light , your hand brushing over the stubble on his cheek as you did.

Outside , the fireworks kept cracking. Bright colors flashing through the curtains lighting up the room. People still shouting , cheering.

But in here—under a bed , wrapped in a heavy blanket and the softness of your love—Bucky Barnes was safe.

And for the first time in a long time , he finally believed it.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[tricksh0t]

★ exes on good terms

☾ sam wilson & james barnes x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ finishing the brunt of something and then leaving it for a long time just to come back and finish the last little bit is my curse

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.40k

cw: pre-TFATWS, face-sitting, riding, bj (reader receiving), insert is kind of secondary character, little corruption kink, jealousy, voyeurism, threesome

You don't know why James still comes to your apartment without warning. You don't know why you still let him, or why you invite him inside, or why you let him eat your food or shower with your water or sleep on your couch.

You don't know why he looks the way he does, hair greasy and wet, almost drowned, eyes down, lips frowning, you don't know anything except that he looks like a kicked puppy.

That just may be why you let him in.

It must also be why you let him wrap his arms around your midriff as you cook for him, for the both of you, as if you're still his.

"You smell good." You hum, stirring a pot of something.

Frankly, he smells like you. He smells like your shampoo and like your conditioner and like your soap. It almost tricks your brain into thinking he's still yours.

"Don't say things like that." Buck grumbles, like he usually does. "That's weird."

You didn't say that when we dated, is what you would say, but you don't want to turn things sour.

You know that in his little head he's pretending that everything's fine and that you're still together; and that saying something, reminding him you're not or even anything about the past, will urge him to run away, like he usually does.

So you remain here, laughing and smiling, "Sure."

Mac and cheese. Not Kraft Dinner, for once, however good the processed and preserved cheese and thin noodles might taste.

No, James deserved something better.

"What did you do today?"

"That's classified."

Between the metal arm and occasional blood smell Bucky gives off (nevermind the fact he was America's number 1 threat a couple years ago), "Yeah, I know. Was worth a try, anyway."

Bucky picks at his dinner. "You've got better small talk."

You roll your eyes, "If not what you did, how did you feel?"

"Hmm." Bucky hums, his eyebrows raised. He's a little surprised at the question, despite it being 'how are you' but like in the past tense. "Lonely, but you knew that."

"Did I?" He stares up at you when you say that, expression full deadpan. "Alright. Yeah, I did."

He huffs a small laugh through his nose and you relish in the fact you at least brought that out from him.

You insist on him sleeping in your bed tonight (with you) but even after all that begging, you're surprised to find him there, body half under the blanket, when you slip out of the shower.

He looks yours.

He's wearing your pajamas he borrowed, he's on your bed, under your covers, cleaned in your shower, filled with your food. He's reading a book, even, which isn't yours, but it is domestic.

"Hey." You whisper almost breathlessly, before you're crawling into bed and into his arms. He always liked being big spoon.

"Hey, you." Bucky puts the book down without a fight. He scoots down to laying, bringing you down with him.

You're leaning your body over his, half on the bed, half on him. Your head lays on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. He's superhuman you think, from all the hints he's given, and yet his heart beats just like yours, soothingly. His hand is in your hair, calloused as it is, it feels great when he runs his fingers through your strands and touches your scalp. You won't get to feel the other hand. It's too cold, he used to say, but at least he's considerate.

He switches off the light.

What is it that makes superheroes attracted to you?

In the morning, someone rings your doorbell while you were making breakfast.

It's Sam—you know, the Falcon? He's got his usual bright smile that never fails to incite a matching one on yours, that morning run sheen over his forehead, and...groceries?

"Hey, sweetheart." He greets, as if he's not knocking on your door unwarned, with groceries you're sure aren't his because he lives far from here.

You don't know why you let Sam show up at your door like this, or why you invite him inside, or why you let him eat your food or shower with your water or sleep on your couch; except today it seems he's paying you back for the food bit.

"Hey yourself–" You greet quickly, before turning to the matter at hand, "what are you doing here?"

"I was in town." Sam puts a foot into your apartment, and you let him. You let him step inside and leave the groceries on the counter and prop his feet up on the table—not that he does that last thing. "Thought I'd pay you a visit. You still like Kit Kats?"

When you check the groceries, lo and behold, there's the Kit Kats that you like. It seems he remembers a lot more than that, like your favorite cheese, favorite chips, favorite brand of instant coffee, and more.

"Yep, I do." You let out a small laugh. "Thank you. Hey, let me repay you."

"Oh, nuh-uh." Sam raises his arms, rounds the breakfast bar and leans against it so he can put some distance between you and your wallet. "I'm not taking any of your money, y'understand? You can pay me back with those pancakes you've got piled up."

When he actually really looks at them, he realizes that's not a serving for one. His eyebrows furrow before his face lights up again, "Shit, you got a boo around or something? I didn't mean to intrude."

"No!" You're quick to interject, "No, just a friend. No worries, I'll make you some pancakes."

"Thanks." Sam seems to deflate–physically and emotionally–with relief. "Where is he–or she, sorry, they?"

"Sleeping in."

"Alright." He accepts easily. He must've lost the knowledge that you don't have a guest bed.

"How've you been?" You ask, turning your back to him to prepare more breakfast.

You don't have to see him anyway to imagine all of the emotions and expressions on his face. "Peachy. You know, saving the world. Getting called out or stopped on the street for an autograph or a picture. The usual."

"Make sure the world knows you don't live here." You chuckle, "Lord knows the amount of fan mail I got when you were around frequently."

Sam laughs too. "Imagine me now."

Mm, there goes your streak of luck. Just as Bucky struts in, in all his bed hair, sleepy head, pretty face glory, Sam's face turns sour. Bucky, too, sobers up.

"Is that who you're calling your friend?" Sam raises a brow, leaning back in his chair.

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Bucky crosses his arms.

You immediately turn off the heat on the stove, knowing that this is going to be a long ride.

See...you never really told them you dated the other? It never really came up, or rather, you shouldn't take to your partner about your exes.

James came first, so of course there was no telling that you'd date Sam later on. He broke up with you because of his whole Winter Soldier you're-in-danger-if-you-stay-with-me thing, which, though heartbreaking, was understandable coming from a superhero dating a civie.

Sam came after, but he had whisked you so entirely into his world and his charm that you'd forgotten the soft relationship you had with Bucky. He broke up with you because he had to be around the world doing this and that; he was always busy, and he didn't want you to deal with that.

Also, the beef between the Winter Soldier and the Falcon isn't exactly well-known.

Jealous, that's what they are. It's clear in their eyes, in the way they bore holes into the others' faces.

"I should...say something," before the two of you blow lasers through my ceiling, with how hard you stare at each other, "you guys are my exes."

"Exes." Sam mirrors. "Plural."

"You dated this guy?" Bucky asks, like the mere thought of it is repulsive.

"Who you calling "this guy"? We have history, Buck. You talk about history with names, Sergeant Barnes." Sam stands tall and proud in front of Bucky, very nearly chest to chest, demanding respect.

"Sergeant? So should I call you what you will be, in history?" Bucky doesn't back down. "The man who gave up his shield?"

"Don't bring that up, man. This is not about that. This is about you dating my–" Sam cuts himself off. What are you, now?

"Your what?" Bucky hisses back. "Because he sure as hell isn't your boyfriend."

Sam regains his courage, "Well he sure as hell ain't yours, either."

Bucky turns his head towards you, slowly. In a snap, Sam does the same. You can't possibly discern the thoughts of the two men before you, except that they're angry. You're just not sure if they're angry at you too.

"This is where we're supposed to call you a lying, cheating bastard." Sam says.

Despite being angry at each other right now, and generally inamicable at all times, Sam and Bucky have synergy. Right now, they're realizing that you're the common factor in this equation.

You're not a liar, not a cheater, and not a bastard. Just an omitter, a bad communicator.

A man worthy of insulting, by all means.

Or a man worthy of worship, someway, somehow.

Sam's tongue licks hot into your mouth, against your tongue, on your lips. He kisses with a fervor, like today is the last day of his life. He's a man of passion, and he makes sure to show that he is passionate for you.

Bucky's tongue, by contrast, is licking up the side of your length, shoved deep into his throat. He takes it slow, despite the filth of it; the filth of how easy it is to slide right down his throat. His lack of gag reflex means he can take you any time, any day, and his love for you makes it hard not to.

Sam's holding your jaw, forcing your head to turn for him. Standing behind you and the couch, he almost seems to be taking your sight away from the other man on his knees at your feet.

Because if there's something Sam is, it isn't the other man.

James knows, unlike Sam, that you don't need the sight of him to feel the pleasure he brings. How does he know this?

Well, the only way Sam can have his way with you is with your mouth open, and Bucky can hear what keeps it open.

On your part, well, there's only so much yearning a man can take. Cuddling with your ex is one thing, receiving gifts from your ex is another. Both give you the hots for them—a cozy, warm feeling, initially, but it feels like your blood is boiling now, in a good way.

Sam's kisses give you an outlet for your passion and lust. It allows you to kiss back, show some fervor of your own, do something with the adrenaline that burns through your veins from Bucky's...

"Shit, Buck."

He feels so good around you. His throat is tight and wet and hot and so goddamn like the first time that it reminds you that you taught him, trained him; and God, that means his throat is practically made for you.

He doesn't bob his head. It doesn't feel like that. It feels like a glide, something elegant, even. You can't appreciate that at the front of your mind, but your subconscious is glad that, though you're being stimulated top and bottom, Buck's going easy.

He's going easy on you. God...

If this is easy—no, you know how it is when he goes down hard. It's good too, but you can't complain about the pleasure and how you can thrust (lightly) right into his mouth and he won't complain.

And Sam's having none of it.

That's why he takes charge, this time. He takes your cock. Nevermind the fact Bucky's saliva is all over it, it's his now, and he's not going to let Bucky have any of it.

...nevermind the fact Bucky's saliva is in him now. No, nevermind that.

Sam doesn't make up for a lack of anything. He's a plus, a surplus, rolling his hips nice and rough and down into you. He doesn't let it be consistent. He shocks you, bouncing sometimes, lifting up and lets his weight do the work for him.

He's good at it, and it's a fact he knows.

And it's all about focus, isn't it?

James knows it. He knows it so well. So what better way to steal the show than to sit on your face?

It's killing two birds with one stone—steal his man's attention, get pleasure out of it.

Bucky rocks his hips too. Except it's gentle, his way, and Sam's pace gets more and more angry. He's rougher with it, faster with it, less controlled. You feel it thoroughly, his efforts around your dick, and you moan out your approval of it; but it gets swallowed straight into Bucky's hole.

He tastes so sweet, damn near sweeter than he used to be. It's missing him, you think. Something about build up. He probably hasn't had anyone since you.

At least, not in this way. No, you're probably the only man he's ever had. You can only moan about that little fact in your head.

Sam grits his teeth, doubles his efforts till his body positively shakes, but no name will come from your lips. Not with Bucky keeping your tongue preoccupied.

That damn bastard.

He can't even see your face right now. He can only see Bucky's backside, his broad shoulders, the evidence of his strong, heaving chest.

...he can only see his thick thighs, covered in hairs, and his hole's probably hairy too. He can't take a peak of it, but he doesn't even need to peak to see his cheeks. Round, full...

There's more to this, isn't there?

It's kind of...it's arousing to look at. Sam won't admit it in voice, but he'll admit it in his head.

James is a good looking man, and he sounds just as good. He's sat on that face before, used that tongue before, he knows how good you give. The soft moans James lets out are tame in comparison.

Fuck James Bucky Barnes, but fuck him good. Sam could get used to this sight.

[heartbreakgirl67]

Where The Metal Met The Skin.

summary: Bucky, your neighbour and best friend, comes in late one night, limping and hurt, immediately flooding you with panic. you force him to let you fix him up, and he reluctantly agrees

pairing: TFATWS!Bucky x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: tension, angst, banter, friends-to-lovers, tending wounds, soft bucky, they're both so soft for each other it's pathetic, reader is mentally not okay, so is bucky, making out, bucky is embarrassed of his arm, sweet confession, SO patient with each other, angst with a side of fluff

a/n: ahhh i love them so fucking much!!! this is kind of a p2 to this but can be read as a standalone too. i really enjoyed writing this so i hope you like it tooo!!

Your face was sticky–wet with salty tears and sadness. Not the kind of sadness that heals after a couple tears, though. No, it was the kind that eats you from the inside. The kind that leaves you feeling empty just when you think you’re happy. Because it’ll never leave you. It just sits there, in the pit of your stomach, waiting–just waiting–to resurface to the edge of your throat, tightening and choking you with emotions you wished you never had.

Although the reason you had for the tears this time was a little overdramatic, so you thought. He was fine. He was okay. You knew that. That man was a fucking super soldier, for god’s sake.

But you couldn’t help it, your mind travelling to its worst corners, thinking of the severest possible scenarios. Maybe it was because your mind kept going back to her. The way she left you–quick, not a goodbye, not a single thought about you, not a single thought about her own fucking self. Natasha left you, and you weren’t going to let that happen to Bucky. You won’t.

You pulled away from Bucky’s embrace, not meeting his eyes. You bent down to pick up his glove as he took a step back. “C’mon,” you mumbled, your voice dry and hoarse as you turned around, walking towards his apartment door, “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just complied. You heard his combat boots scuffling in uneven footsteps as he trailed behind you. You could tell he was a little confused, as were you, about the whole moment you had just seconds prior, and the way you shifted so fast. Too fast it left his mind spinning. 

You felt it. You knew he felt it. The same feeling you had that night in the bar before you slept with each other. Except this time, it felt worse–hitting a million times harder and deeper. The part you hated the most was how unusually intimate it felt, and you didn’t have a reason for it. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t anger. It was…something else–something else that had everything to do with him and no one else.

You bent to pick up the grocery bag you kept beside his door while waiting for him. “Dinner,” you pointed out as he pulled out his keys, “I-uh, I thought we could make a pasta bake.” Bucky hummed, pushing the door open wider for you. You brushed past him, tips of your finger accidentally grazing his ungloved ones. The hair on your arms stood up.

“Tomorrow,” was all he said.

You tried to shake the feeling off as you slipped into the kitchen, placing the bag on the counter. “You hungry?” he called out from the living room.

“Not really,” you answered back before turning around, a shrill scream escaping your lips. He was suddenly right in front of you, and he was really close, head bent down, looking at you. You pushed past him. “What the fuck, Bucky?” you sighed, walking out of the kitchen to go into the bedroom. “We should–” you paused as your eyes caught the sight of a blanket on the floor in front of the TV. You turned around to face him. “You’re sleeping here again?” you asked him, tone quiet and a little confused.

His eyes shifted away from meeting yours. “It’s always there. You know that.”

“But you’ve been sleeping there again.”

He didn’t answer.

You wanted to push, but you knew it wasn’t the right time. You didn’t want him to feel pressured or embarrassed–something that was already written all over his face–so you let it slide, for now. You headed towards the bedroom instead. “We should get you patched up. You look like a wreck.”

You could feel him rolling his eyes behind you. “I do not look like a wreck. A man on the street said I looked ‘sick’ and I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing, sweetheart.”

“Right. Did he ask you to go to the hospital, too? Because I’m pretty sure he meant another kind of ‘sick’, sweetheart.” You slipped into the bathroom and grabbed a bunch of first-aid supplies. 

“Sit.” 

He obeyed, stiffly sitting down on the bed, avoiding bending his body. “Yeah, whatever. I’m sure I’m right, anyway,” he scowls.

You come out of the bathroom, dropping everything onto the bed. “This is very unnecessary, you know that right?” he asks, tilting his head up to look at you as you walk around the room grabbing items. 

“You were fucking limping just a second ago, Bucky.”

“Yeah. A second ago. I heal fast, remember?”

You walked up to him, barely listening to whatever nonsense he was spewing about. “Humour me, then.”

You nudged the inner thigh of his right leg with your knee, spreading it open a little so you could stand between them, giving you easier access to his wounds. “Take off your jacket.”

He did exactly so–albeit hesitating for a bit–unzipping it and tossing it aside, leaving him in a plain black t-shirt that fitted him oh-so-well. 

Get your priorities straight.

“Take that off,” you ordered as you poured some antiseptic onto a cotton pad. You looked away from the bottle you were holding when you noticed from your peripheral vision that he wasn’t moving. He looked off–rigid and uncomfortable. 

You didn’t like that. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just start on your face first, okay?”

Your mind drifted to the night you slept together. You had tried to pull off his undershirt at one point but he immediately grabbed your hands and pinned it above your head instead. You didn’t think much of it, more focused on the way his tongue and hands felt all over your body.

He nodded, head down, eyes glued to his hands, seemingly embarrassed by it. You tilted his head up, fingers gently holding both sides of his jaw to keep him in place. You eyed the cuts, wishing he had never gotten them in the first place, that you never had to do this and that you were eating the pasta bake with him instead.

You dabbed the cotton pad onto the sharp cut on his cheekbone, causing him to wince slightly. You grimaced, “Sorry.” He didn’t say anything, just sat there, lost in thought.

You continued cleaning up the cuts on his face, one by one, slowly and carefully, to avoid hurting him as much as possible, even though you knew he could have easily handled it.

You then plastered thin bandages to the deeper cuts–one on his cheekbone and one on his left eyebrow.

“There,” you muttered quietly, taking a step back. You could feel him tense up again, knowing what you were going to ask him to do again. You sighed, stepping closer to him than you were before. Your hand slowly reached up to cup his face. Your grip wasn’t tight, allowing to pull away whenever he wanted to.

His head tilted to look at you and you saw those blue eyes. The ones that always managed to get whatever they wanted from you with just one look. The ones that make it so hard to lie when you try to. The ones that calm you down and make you feel like you’re home every time you feel lost and out of place.

But now they stare at you, petrified, and you swear you felt the earth stop spinning. “I know you don’t want to, Buck, and I wish I didn’t have to do this, but you’re hurt there, and it’s going to get infected if we don’t take care of i–” you stopped mid sentence, lightbulb popping in your head. “Okay. Um—how about you do it yourself? I can leave the room? Will that be better?” you didn’t want to let him do it all on his own, but if that’s what helped him, you didn’t mind pulling yourself back for a second.

He quickly shook his head, strands of hair getting stuck to his wet forehead. “No. No, don’t,” he whispers shakily, “I–I trust you.”

“I trust you,” he nods again, this time more to himself.

You looked down at him, unsure if he felt like he was forced to do this or if really was okay with it. His fingers played with the hem of his shirt. Your hand reaches down, pushing his hair out of his face. “You sure? You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” Bucky replies firmly, subtly leaning into your touch.

He kept his eyes on yours for a couple seconds before slowly peeling the shirt off his sweaty body. You felt the air get knocked out of your body as you felt your face heat up.

God, he was gorgeous.

You always knew he was, who couldn’t tell? But seeing him like this, skin bare, all for you, it felt different. 

Bucky still had his head hung low, too ashamed to meet your eyes. You were about to ask him but that’s when you noticed. Your breath got knocked out of your lungs for a different reason this time.

Where the metal met the skin, there were scars. Deep, red, ones that rimmed around the area when it had gotten fused with his body. It pitted his skin in some spots, spreading a little further to his chest. It hadn’t healed very well, the redness being just dark enough for it not to be fresh, but bright enough to still be noticed. And he hated that.

Your fingers steadily reached to touch it, but you stopped, hovering over the wound. “Does it still hurt?” you asked, your voice surprisingly gentle.

Never lifting his head up, he shook it. Barely, but you caught it.

First it was your thumb, grazing over the wound with a reverent touch. Bucky’s head snapped up, thrown off by your softness with him, not expecting you to react like that, with complete kindness–with the kindness he didn’t think he deserved.

You then leaned down, lips brushing his shoulder. You let it stay there for a few seconds, soaking up the feeling of his skin against your lips–cold and calloused, but all his–not sure if you were ever going to get this feeling again.

You pecked him sweetly one last time before pulling away, and your face was suddenly in close proximity with his. He had his head turned slightly to look at you, nose brushing against yours. Your breath got caught in the back of your throat, eyes fluttering all over his face. The way his eyes had to look up at you like that, all big and blue and innocent, you felt like you were going to pass out anytime soon.

“You’re beautiful,” you blurted out quietly, eyes meeting his, and staying there. Maybe it was because you were this close to him, you couldn’t think straight, or say anything witty to divert the topic and mess up the moment like you always did.

His lips parted, unsure of what to say. He didn’t believe you, but looking into your eyes, he could tell you wholeheartedly believed it. He felt his heart swell up, and this time it wasn’t a bad feeling. No, it felt good. So good, filling him up with this warmth he never really had, or never allowed himself to have. And he wouldn’t mind feeling it again if it was with you.

What do you do when you feel this good? Run. You pulled away, taking a couple of steps back as you turned around, grabbing more cotton pad and antiseptic. “W-we, uh, we need to get this cleaned,” you stuttered, hands trembling as you poured the solution onto the pad. 

“Bucky!” you gasped as you turned to face him. He was not sitting down, standing up, and so close to you. He needed to stop doing that. You would think that after being with each other for this long you’d be used to it by now.

“You need to sit down, it’s, uh–” your eyes were doing its best to not stare at him, but when he stood this close to you, shirtless, hair messy, you couldn’t help but think…thoughts.

You cleared your throat. “You need to sit down.”

“It’s more comfortable if I stand,” he muttered, lying through his teeth for no reason.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

You pushed him back, hand pressed against his hard chest as he tumbles back, not expecting it. He landed in the same spot he was in just minutes ago.

“Sit. Down.” You nudged his legs and situated yourself between them.

Holding the damp cotton pad in one hand, you ordered, “Lean back.”

Bucky looked up at you before leaning back, resting his weight on the palm of his hands. Your mind was going awry, bringing you back to that night, but you pushed it away, or at least, tried very hard to. You started dabbing the pad over the large gash on his abdomen. He winced, sucking a sharp breath. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay,” you uttered calmly in a hushed tone, eyes focused on the gash. 

“There. Now let me just…” you picked another clean cotton pad, pouring a little bit of topical medication on it. You added another layer of cotton to the other one so it didn’t leak out. Leaning forward, you pressed the pad against his abdomen, taping it to the spot using a white paper tape. You rubbed over the makeshift bandage a couple of times, securing it well. 

“There we go. I’m done.” you went to stand up straight, chucking all the items you used on the bed beside him. Before you even had the chance to stretch your spine, Bucky was pulling you onto his lap, hips pressed, legs on either side of him.

Your hands immediately went to his shoulders for support. “What the fuck, Bucky? What are you–” your words stopped short when you felt his hands on your hips, stabilising you. His thumbs rubbed small circles around your hip bone, slightly grazing your bare skin.

The strangest part was that he seemed acutely aware of what he was doing–and he didn’t care, enjoyed it even. His pupils were dilated, taking over the ice blue of his eyes. He lightened his grip on you. “Are you uncomfortable?” he asked carefully.

You weren’t. You really didn’t want to get off him. But you were muddled with his sudden change of behaviour, and that was dominating your answer.

But you shook your head. “No,” you answered truthfully.

He tightened his grip on you, face leaning closer to yours. His eyes darted between the both of yours, searching for any lies. He couldn’t find any.

“I just wanted to be close to you,” he mumbled, nose brushing against yours.

“Why?” the question filled with all self-depreciation and no self-worth.

He looked at you bewildered. “I like being close to you. I like…you,” he answers, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your eyes widen. “You do?” your voice came out hesitant, almost childlike.

His eyes softened at that, hating the way you saw yourself–hating that you didn’t see yourself the way he saw you. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “How could I not, baby?” His fleshed hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb sweetly caressing your cheek. “You’re beautiful. Every inch of you, god, every fucking inch, but especially here,” he presses a hand against your heart, feeling the fast thuds of your heart beating under his palm. “And you might not see that, but I do, sweetheart. I see every bit of you, good and bad, and it’s all beautiful.”

You think it was the emotions, maybe the pathetic sadness that always lies inside of you–crawling out of your throat in quiet sobs as your eyes turned glassy. So you kissed him. Face cradled with both hands, you pressed your lips against his. He went still for a second–just for a second, though, before reciprocating, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest.

He pressed harder, deepening the kiss, kissing you fervently. He slipped his hands under your shirt, touching your skin like it was all he needed, like every dip, every curve, every crease on your body made his fingertips burn in desperation for more.

Your hands slipped down from his face to his neck, to his shoulder. While one hand slipped into his hair, tugging and pulling, the other drew circles with the pad of your thumb on the scars on his shoulder. He hummed against your lips, pulling you impossibly closer.

It was messy–eyes squeezed shut, face wet with saliva and tears, teeth clashing, tongues grazing–but it was everything you dreamed of, because it was with him.

You pulled away, resting your forehead against his, catching your breath. He still had his hands wrapped around your bare waist, the hot and cold contrast from both his hands rubbing perfectly against your skin.

“We’re still making that pasta bake tomorrow, right?”

Bucky smiled, pecking your swollen lips delicately. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers lazily against your lips. 

He then frowned, pulling away slightly. “But not too much cheese.”

You pouted. “I love cheese.”

“You can’t handle it.”

“Not true.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, pressing your lips back onto his.

[danysdaughter]

It's Strange You Never Knew

pairing | 40s!bucky x 40s!reader & post-tfatws!bucky x 40s!reader & minor!40s!steve x 40s!reader

word count | 3.5k words

summary | decades after vanishing into war, bucky hears a voice on the radio that stops him cold—a voice he thought he'd never hear again. what he uncovers is a song written for him, by someone who loved him quietly, and died before he ever had the chance to say your name out again.

tags | post-tfatws, friends to almost lovers, slow burn (but it's too late), unspoken love, missed opportunities, angst/NO comfort , emotional gut punch, found after death, soft grief, lowkey alt!reader, songfic

a/n | another day, another 40s bucky fic, based on this request.

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Brooklyn, June 1942

It smelled like cigarette smoke and gin, the kind that clung to clothes and memories long after you left.

Bucky sat in the corner booth, elbow on the table, jaw in his hand. Steve sat beside him, upright, neat, always a little too polite for the space. Two beers sat half-drunk between them, sweating glass against stained wood.

And there you were—on the small stage, wrapped in dusk-blue light. Your voice didn’t suit the era. It wasn’t bright or chirpy, didn’t do big crescendos or razzle the room. It drifted. Mournful. Haunting. Strange.

And somehow, it held everyone captive.

You leaned into the mic, eyes barely open, like the whole room was a dream you weren’t sure you’d chosen to be in.

“I want to hold the hand inside you

I want to take the breath that’s true...”

Your voice poured out low and aching, each word like a secret too heavy to keep.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, watching you like you were something fragile and unsolvable. You’d been friends for years, all three of you. You’d grown up together. Laughed. Sat on stoops and shared cigarettes and talked about futures that never felt real.

And yet, there was still something about you that didn’t belong here.

Not in this club.

Not in this city.

Maybe not even in this world.

“I look to you, and I see nothing

I look to you to see the truth...”

Steve said it once. That you were the kind of girl people didn’t really understand until it was too late.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t aloof. You were just... elsewhere.

You felt things too deeply. Cried at newsprint poetry. Dissociated in diners. Laughed too hard, then got too quiet. You never looked at people when you spoke—except Bucky.

You always looked at Bucky.

And right now?

He didn’t notice.

“Fade into you

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew...”

Your eyes scanned the crowd—but not for applause.

Not for recognition.

Just... to see. To see him.

And Bucky? He was still frowning.

Not because he didn’t like the song.

Because something in it hurt. Something he couldn’t name.

Steve looked at him. Then at you. And knew.

You were singing about him.

And he didn’t even know.

“I think it's strange you never knew...”

The final note of your song settled into the room like smoke, warm and heavy.

A moment passed. Then, polite applause—soft, respectful. No whistles, no standing ovation. Just the kind of acknowledgment that came from being heard, not just listened to.

You gave a small, grateful smile and a gentle nod. Then turned and stepped off the stage, your heels clicking softly on the wood as you disappeared behind the curtain.

At the table, Steve exhaled through his nose.

“That was… somethin’ else,” he murmured.

Bucky didn’t answer.

His eyes were still on the stage, brows drawn slightly. Like he was trying to solve a math problem in a dream.

Steve glanced at him, then said gently, “She wrote that one, you know.”

Bucky blinked out of it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Still, Bucky didn’t say anything. Just rubbed the back of his neck and sat back in the booth.

Steve waited.

When nothing came, he tried again. “Sounded… personal.”

Bucky shrugged. “She always sings like that.”

“Not like that.”

Steve watched him carefully.

But Bucky didn’t respond. Not really. Just mumbled something about getting another round and stood, heading toward the bar without looking back.

Steve watched him go.

And just after you stepped out from backstage, the echo of the spotlight still clinging to your skin. You scanned the room, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth—small, shy, the kind you only wore around them.

But your eyes stopped at the table.

Steve sat alone.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then your gaze shifted—slow, unsure—and landed on Bucky.

He was at the bar. Leaning in. Smiling.

Talking to a girl with curled hair and a cherry-red mouth.

Of course he was.

There was always some girl.

Something inside you settled low. Not a stab. Not a shatter. Just that dull, familiar ache.

The kind you’d grown used to.

Steve saw it.

The way your shoulders dropped. The flicker behind your eyes. The way your mouth stayed soft, but your light dimmed just slightly.

You turned to him, smiling like you hadn’t just been emptied.

“Hey,” you said lightly. “Walk me home?”

He nodded, instantly. “Of course.”

Because of course he would. He always would.

Even if you never saw him the way you saw Bucky. Even if he had to walk beside you in silence, knowing you were thinking about someone else.

Because you asked.

And he loved you enough to always say yes.

The Stark Expo, 1943

The night buzzed around you—lights flashing, music floating in the air, people crowding through stalls with wide eyes and sticky hands full of caramel popcorn. The future was plastered in every direction: flying cars, synthetic fabrics, mechanized kitchens. Howard Stark’s voice echoed through loudspeakers with the arrogance of a man convinced he was the future.

You stood beside Bucky, arms crossed lightly, hair pinned just enough to pass for neat. You weren’t a crowd person. Or a lights person. Or a people touching your elbow every five seconds because the walkway is too narrow person.

But Bucky had asked.

He’d written you when he was stationed upstate. A note folded three times, your name in familiar script on the envelope. Back for a few days. Stark Expo’s this week. You free, songbird?

And here you were.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting.

Probably not this—him in uniform, cheeks pink from the cold, blue eyes gleaming under the lights, standing beside you like he’d never been gone.

Still. You couldn't help yourself.

You kept your gaze ahead, watching a prototype robot swing a fake hammer at a fake nail, and said, dry, “You sure you want me here tonight? Pretty sure Connie would've made better company.”

You didn’t say it mean.

You said it like you always did—quiet, a little too flat, too easy to miss the wound beneath.

He turned his head to you, blinking like you’d spoken in a language he didn’t quite catch.

“Connie?” he echoed.

You shrugged. “She’s got that big laugh. She’d fit in better.”

Bucky was quiet for a beat. Then another.

And just when you were about to deflect with something half-funny and half-sarcastic to cover your own embarrassment, he said:

“I like being around you.”

You looked at him.

He looked back.

Not like it was a line. Not like it was a performance. Just… Bucky. Honest.

“I mean it,” he added, softer now. “I don’t have to… do anything when I’m with you. Don’t have to fill space. Don’t have to entertain. You don’t expect that from me.”

Your brows furrowed slightly.

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to a group of sailors posing near a booth. “With most people, I feel like I gotta be on. Gotta be charming. Gotta talk all the time or tell jokes or flirt or—y’know, be that guy.”

He looked back at you.

“With you, I don’t gotta do that.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But something in your chest pulled a little tighter.

“I mean—people always wanna talk, or laugh, or keep things busy. But you…” He glanced at you, eyes soft. “You don’t need all that. You’re... quiet in a way that makes me feel calm. Like I don’t gotta be anything.”

And maybe the fair lights glinted too hard in your eyes, because you couldn’t quite meet his for more than a second.

So you looked away.

“Suppose that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about my social skills,” you muttered.

He smiled. “Ain’t about skills.”

And for a minute, it didn’t matter that you hadn’t said what you felt.

He didn’t need you to perform.

And you didn’t need him to get it all right.

You just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the future blink in lights in front of you—two people who’d never said I love you out loud, but kept trying to find new ways to say it without the words.

Later that night — Stark Expo Grounds

The crowds had thinned.

Most of the music had faded, replaced by the low hum of generators and the occasional pop of a leftover firework in the distance. The metal contraptions were winding down, the lights flickering soft above the empty food stalls.

You were standing a few feet away, looking up at some display—a rotating solar panel exhibit that buzzed faintly, glowing like it thought it was a moon.

Your hands were in your coat pockets. Shoulders slightly hunched from the wind. Your hair moving just a little in the breeze.

Bucky watched you.

Not the way he watched girls at bars or on street corners. Not the way he smiled and made them laugh and forgot their names by morning.

This was different.

You weren’t trying to look beautiful.

You just were.

God, you always had been.

He didn’t even remember when it started—when he began to notice the way your voice changed when you were talking about music, or how you’d go quiet in crowds like you were waiting for something to make sense. You were... still. Even when the world spun.

You grounded him.

And that scared him more than anything.

Because he didn’t know how to name what he felt. Didn’t have the words. Didn’t know if he deserved someone like you—someone who felt like poetry in a decade that had no patience for softness.

But he felt it.

In the way he always sought you out first. In the way he never had to fake a smile around you. In the way you hadn’t once asked him about the war tonight.

You turned then, catching him looking.

And you smiled.

Just a little.

He smiled back—slow, real, aching.

Maybe he’d tell you next time.

Maybe he’d say something when he had more time.

But for now, he stayed quiet.

And watched the girl he might’ve already been in love with, under a half-broken moon.

Brooklyn, November 1943– Atlantic Avenue Train Station

The platform was crowded. Not loud—but full. Families clustered in soft coats and wool hats, mothers holding handkerchiefs to their mouths, kids standing awkwardly near duffel bags they couldn’t lift.

You were standing near the edge, arms wrapped around yourself, coat buttoned all the way up. Your lipstick was a little smudged—one of those mornings. But your eyes were clear. Focused.

You spotted him as soon as he stepped off the steps.

Bucky looked good.

Not movie star good. Alive good. Real good.

His hair was pushed back from his face, uniform pressed. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and the moment he saw you, his grin slipped right into place like it never left.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said as he walked up.

You shrugged. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be.”

He smiled at that, soft and a little crooked.

You stood facing each other in that liminal space between platform and train, not touching, not speaking.

You didn’t know how to say don’t go.

He didn’t know how to say I wish I didn’t have to.

“Steve couldn’t make it?” he asked.

“Doctor’s appointment,” you said. “They’re running more tests.”

Bucky nodded. Looked down at his boots for a second.

Then: “You’ll look after him, yeah?”

You smiled. “Always.”

He shifted his bag, like he wanted to say something else. Something bigger. But what?

Stay safe? Come back? I’ve never felt more myself than when I’m standing next to you?

Instead, he nodded again. “I’ll write.”

You looked at him then, really looked, and you almost said it.

Almost.

But you just reached up and brushed a piece of lint from his lapel, fingers soft.

“Make sure you get the name of the train stop right this time,” you murmured, your voice a little wobbly, a little teasing. “You sent a postcard to a grocery store last time.”

Bucky chuckled. “Maybe I wanted them to know how I was doing.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling, eyes stinging.

The loudspeaker crackled. Final call.

His smile faltered. “Well…”

You leaned up—quick, soft—and kissed his cheek. It lingered just a second too long.

“Go,” you said gently, stepping back.

He looked at you like he might say something. Like he might reach out.

But he didn’t. He just turned. Shouldered his bag. And boarded the train.

You stood there long after it pulled away.

Hands in your pockets.

Wind in your hair.

And everything unsaid echoing like a song you hadn’t written yet.

New York City, 2024

The city didn’t feel like it used to—not the way it did in memory, not even the way it did in nightmares. It wasn’t hostile, exactly. Just fast. Fast in ways Bucky wasn’t built for anymore.

But he was trying.

He had a therapist that didn’t flinch. A neighbor that smiled without fear. A plant that hadn’t died yet.

Progress.

Most days, he took long walks without an endpoint. Just movement. Just being.

Today, he ended up at a coffee shop. One of those low-ceilinged places with battered chairs and exposed brick that made people feel artistic. He didn’t need coffee—caffeine made him jittery—but he liked the noise. The murmurs. The steam.

He was flipping through a battered copy of The Stranger someone had left behind when he heard it.

A voice.

Low. Haunting.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

He didn’t move at first. Just blinked.

The radio on the shelf behind the counter buzzed through static, then cleared again as the song reached its chorus.

It wasn’t like anything else on the station. The other songs were crisp, polished, engineered to be catchy.

This voice didn’t care if it was catchy.

It ached.

Bucky’s grip on the book slackened.

He turned slightly toward the sound, frowning, lips parting.

He knew that voice.

It was buried in a place he hadn’t gone in years. Before war. Before Hydra. Before ice and blood and triggers.

But it was hers.

He turned to the guy behind the counter—a younger kid with a chipped name tag and AirPods still in one ear.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, nodding toward the radio. “Who’s this?”

The barista looked up, then grinned like he was always waiting to be asked. “Oh, this one’s a favorite. They reissued her stuff a couple years back after the doc came out. Cult following now.”

He paused to glance at the screen on the register.

Then he said your name.

A name Bucky hadn’t heard in decades. A name he hadn’t let himself say.

It hit like ice water, straight to the spine. His fingers loosened around the mug. His jaw slackened, just slightly.

The kid didn’t notice. Just went back to wiping the counter like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the middle of Bucky’s morning.

But Bucky couldn’t unhear it.

That voice. That name.

And suddenly he wasn’t in a coffee shop anymore—he was twenty-two. In a dim club. Watching someone sing like they didn’t care if anyone clapped, only that they felt it. And he never told you.

Not once.

The rain had stopped by the time he walked home, but he barely noticed. His thoughts moved like static—jumbled, crackling, stuck between then and now.

He sat at the edge of his bed, boots still on, and opened his laptop.

He typed your name into the search bar.

And there you were.

Not just a voice now.

Photographs—grainy, luminous. Pressed smiles and bold lipstick and that gaze he remembered, soft and distant like you were always looking at something no one else could see.

Hollywood starlet. Rising talent. Quiet icon.

He clicked through articles. Magazine scans. Studio portraits from the late 1940s, each one sharper than the last. Headlines gushed. Words like ethereal, unconventional, difficult to define.

Of course they said that.

You were never built to fit.

One article had a quote from you—typed clean in block letters:

“I don’t want to be the kind of famous people forget in five years. I want someone to hear my voice thirty years from now and still feel something.”

Bucky stared at the words.

And then he saw the date.

1952.

He clicked again.

And everything dropped out from under him.

Died tragically at the age of 33 in an automobile accident in Los Angeles, California, September 1952. Survived by no immediate family. Buried at Rose Hills Memorial Park. Her music saw a resurgence decades later following the release of a documentary celebrating her life and work.

The breath left his lungs.

He sat there, still, eyes fixed on the screen like if he stared long enough, it would change.

He missed it.

He missed everything.

You were gone.

Gone before he ever made it out of the ice. Before he even had the chance to remember you.

And still—

Still your voice had found him.

He leaned back slowly against the headboard, swallowed hard, and pressed a hand to his chest like he could quiet the ache growing there.

You were famous.

You were loved.

He kept reading.

Article after article. Fan pages. Archives.

And then—he found it.

The song.

The one everyone seemed to come back to. The one quoted, tattooed, sampled, played over clips of you smiling in old interviews and black-and-white concert footage. It had been your biggest hit. Released in 1945. Re-released. Covered. Immortalized.

“Without You.”

He clicked.

Before he hit play, he saw the description. An old interview—grainy transcript, scanned from some vintage magazine.

“It’s about a boy,” you had said. “A boy I never got to love. He went off to war and didn’t come back.”

“He made me feel seen. But he never saw me.”

“I think sometimes, if he ever heard this… he’d know.”

The words hit like a shot to the ribs. Bucky stared at the screen.

Fought.

Didn’t come back.

He had. But not whole. Not to you.

Not in time.

He sat there for a long time before he hit play.

The song began—soft, almost fragile. A synth swell. That voice. Your voice. But lower now, richer. Still carrying that sadness like it was stitched into every breath.

“Everything I want, I have

Money, notoriety, and rivieras…”

Bucky stared at the screen, the words soaking into him like rain on bare skin.

“Tell me life is beautiful, they all think I have it all

I've nothing without you…”

His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

“Can you picture it? Babe, that life we could’ve lived…”

He shut his eyes.

Because he could.

He saw it in flashes—your laugh, that night at the Stark Expo, the way you looked when you sang for almost no one in that club in Brooklyn. The way he’d never told you. The way he always looked away.

“We were two kids just trying to get out

Lived on the dark side of the American dream…”

A choked sound left him.

Not quite a sob. But close.

Because it was him.

It had always been him.

And you’d sung that truth into the world when he wasn’t around to hear it. When you were grieving someone who never knew you waited. Someone who didn’t come back in time.

“All my dreams and all the lights mean

Nothing if I can't have you…”

The song ended quietly.

No fade-out. Just silence.

And Bucky sat there, surrounded by it.

Wrecked.

Alone.

And finally, finally, understanding what you had tried to tell him all those years ago.

He played it again.

The song.

He didn’t mean to. His hand just… moved. As if his body knew before his mind did.

The first note hit him just as hard the second time.

Then the third.

And the fourth.

By the time your voice cracked on “Hello? Hello? Ca-can you hear me?” his hands were trembling in his lap, and he was blinking too fast for it to mean anything.

The apartment stayed still around him—shadows long, lights off, only the soft blue glow of the laptop flickering against the walls.

He didn’t need a funeral.

He didn’t need a eulogy.

You were here.

In speakers. In wires. In this strange little machine you never lived long enough to imagine.

And your voice—God, your voice—was proof that you never really stopped waiting for him. That part of you, some secret, haunted part, had held on even after the train pulled away.

He didn’t cry. Not fully anyway.

Just sat there, hands curled into his sleeves like he was trying to stay warm, eyes fixed on nothing.

When the song ended, he didn’t move.

Didn’t shut the laptop.

Didn’t wipe his eyes.

He just let the silence settle around him.

Because for the first time in eighty years…

He finally heard you.

And he finally knew.

songs used: fade into you by Mazzystar without you by Lana Del Rey

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Ooo hii can I please request a Bucky x fem!reader where Y/n had been taken by a bad man (not related to Hydra or anything, just a bad person or her ex bf or something) and she was able to escape and ran to Bucky for help, the only issue being that Bucky was the Winter Soldier at the time and he was ordered to off anyone who sees him, so he does what he was ordered to do, he fires his weapon into her and leaves her there to die🥺 Except Y/n was rushed to the hospital (after someone found her) and she recovered. When Bucky moves into the same apartment complex as Yori (to at some point make amends with him), he literally runs into Y/n (who is his next door neighbor) when he’s moving in (knocking her over accidentally because hey, he’s a tall man lol). He’d help her up and be apologizing and when he gets a good look at her face he’d be in shock because he swore he had offed her when he was the winter soldier, he even had nightmares about that night frequently, a scared, hurt woman coming up to him begging for help and protection but he turns his weapon on her and leaves her there🥺 His nightmares like the ones with Yori’s son. She’s probably frozen in fear, tearing up, and be shaking at first and it’s break Bucky’s heart🥺 It’d take her a while to feel comfortable around Bucky, but Bucky would really try🥺 Maybe they’d say hi and be friendly when they see each other, and then one day she comes over to ask for sugar and flour (cheesy I know) and at first he’s not really looking at her (he’s nervous because they haven’t had a full conversation like this before and he doesn’t want her to be afraid of him anymore) and he’d ask where her flour and sugar went (they walked in at the same time and she had groceries) and she nervously laughs and points to her clothes (she had a little mishap when trying to bake and the mixer got the flour and sugar all over her face and clothes). Lol imagine he just bursts out laughing and then she does too, and he asks if she wants help baking and she invites him over do so🥰 This becomes a weekly thing, them baking together (I don’t know why but I can see him being good at it lol) and they start getting close and growing feelings. When they first bake together, they both talk about what happened that scary night, and she shows him the scar from when he turned his weapon on her. Then one night the man (maybe her ex) who had taken Y/n comes back after her and she calls Bucky and asks if he can come pick her up because she’s scared (it’s late at night and she’s walking home alone after work) and he saves her🥺 After that they both confess their love for each other, also Bucky definitely not only kisses her on the lips, but also softly lifts her shirt and softly kisses her scar from when he was the Winter Soldier🥺 He’d kiss her scar whenever they’re cuddling (and when they’re doing more✨) and for a while he’d tear up when he sees it but Y/n would just kiss the scars on his left shoulder in response🥺

Forgiving Person » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Winter Soldier x Female Reader, TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You forgive Bucky for what he did to you years ago.

Warnings: tiny bit of Angst, Fluff, language, shitty ex, attempted murder, blood, hospitals, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: @kpopgirlbtssvt thank you for the lovely request🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

You were running as fast as your legs would let you. You looked behind you to see if you outran your ex boyfriend. As you were looking behind you, you ran into someone and fell to the ground, making an “oof” sound when you hit the ground. You looked up, feeling relief wash over you when you seen someone who can help you.

“Oh thank god!” You scrambled to stand up. “Sir, you have to help me! My ex boyfriend is after me and won’t leave me alone!” You exclaimed.

The Winter Soldier stared down at you due to the height difference between the two of you. You were too out of breath from running and scared to even notice the dead body on the ground. You were breathing heavily and didn’t hear the cocking sound of his gun.

“No witnesses.” The Winter Soldier says.

“Wha-” He shot you in the chest before you could get a word out.

You cried out in pain and looked down at the blood pouring out of the gunshot wound on your lower abdomen. You felt yourself become lightheaded due to the blood loss and fell to the ground. The Winter Soldier stared down at you for a second before walking away and reporting back to the HYDRA base.

You don’t know how long you were laying on the ground bleeding out. You felt your eyes getting heavy. You weren’t sure if you were going to pass out from the blood loss or die on the ground underneath the dim streetlight. A lady who was walking her dog seen you laying on the ground and walked over to you. She saw a pool of blood under you and your shirt soaked with blood. Lucky for you, the woman is a nurse.

“Ma’am, I’m a nurse. Can you hear me?” The nurse asks.

“I don’t want to die.” You mumbled.

“You’re not going to die. I’m going to get you help. Try to stay awake, ok?” She says.

You nodded weakly. You passed out from the blood loss as she was calling for the paramedics. As soon as you got taken to the hospital, you were taken straight to surgery. You woke up a few hours later in a hospital bed. You heard beeping of a monitor. You had an IV in your arm and an oxygen tube in your nose.

“Hello there, sleepyhead. We were wondering when you were going to wake up.” A familiar voice said.

You looked to the left of you, seeing the nurse who found you almost lifeless on the street.

“Where- Where am I?” You asked, your voice raspy from waking up.

“You’re in the hospital.” The nurse tells you.

“Why?” You asked.

“I found you on the street bleeding out and I called for help. You went straight to surgery. There wasn’t any major damage. You’ll be here for a few days just to be sure.” She explains.

“Oh.” You replied.

You readjusted yourself on the bed, wincing when you felt pain on your lower abdomen where you were shot.

“Are you feeling pain?” She asks.

“Yes.” You whimpered.

“I’ll get you something for the pain. Meanwhile, try to relax.” She says softly.

“Ok.” You replied.

———

Years go by since that day. You haven’t thought about that day in a while. The only time you think about that day is when you have nightmares about it. You’re fully healed. Although, you do have a scar on your lower abdomen.

Bucky, on the other hand, has nightmares about that day almost all the time. He’d made amends with everyone he has wronged in his past, except for one person… you. He wishes that he could make amends with you. Little does he know that you’re his next door neighbor.

You were going through your mail as you got off the elevator and walked to your apartment. You weren’t paying attention to where you were walking and you bumped into someone. Actually, Bucky accidentally bumped into you when he turned around to pick up another box to moved into his new apartment, which caused you to fall to the floor and you dropped your mail as well. You picked up your mail before standing up. Bucky held out a hand for you to help you up, which you accepted.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know there was someone behind me.” Bucky apologizes.

You froze when you heard his voice. You know you heard his voice once before. It was the night when he shot you and left you for dead on the sidewalk. You looked up at him due to the height difference between you two. Your eyes went wide when you seen him. Bucky’s eyes went wide too.

“It’s you again.” You said.

“Oh god…” Bucky said.

You went straight to your apartment, quickly unlocking it and went inside. You closed and locked the door behind you. You leaned against the door, your eyes tearing up and started shaking.

“This isn’t real. This has to be a bad dream or something.” You say to yourself.

Meanwhile, Bucky was trying to process the fact that someone he- the Winter Soldier killed years ago is his next door neighbor. He wants to knock on your door and make amends with you, but he already knows you hate him and you want nothing to do with him. For now, he’s going to leave you alone and wait for the right time to make amends with you. Also, this is something he has to tell his therapist tomorrow.

You and Bucky got little to no sleep that night. Bucky had nightmares about the night the Winter Soldier shot you and thought you were dead. You found yourself waking up in the middle night and staring at the wall in the dark, trying to process the fact that the man who attempted to kill you years ago is your new next door neighbor. You two left your apartments around the same time. You were locking up your apartment to go run some errands while Bucky opened the door to his apartment. He stood there, staring at you. Not in a creepy way. In a way like he was going to apologize for what he did to you, but no words were coming out of his mouth. You froze in place again when you seen him. You two awkwardly stared at each other for a few seconds before you walked away. Bucky followed a couple feet behind you. You held the elevator door open, because it’s the nice thing to do.

“You can have the elevator. I’ll take the stairs.” Bucky says.

You nodded and stepped further into the elevator. While you were running errands, Bucky was at his therapy session. Dr. Raynor was talking to him, but he wasn’t really listening. He was staring off into space. Dr. Raynor noticed that Bucky wasn’t paying attention and she snapped her fingers to bring him back to reality.

“James, did you hear a word I said?”

“Yes?” Bucky answers like a question.

“What’s on your mind?” She asks.

Bucky shifted in his seat and fidgeted with his fingers.

“Years ago, there was this girl who was begging me to help her.” Bucky begins and then clears his throat.

“Why was she asking you for help?” Dr. Raynor asks.

“Something about her ex boyfriend.” He said. “Anyways, instead of helping her, I- he shot her and I thought she was dead this whole time, but she’s not. She’s very much alive and healthy. She’s also lives in the apartment next door to the one I just moved into.” He tells her.

“Did you guys recognize each other?” She asks.

“Yes.” He answers.

“Make amends with her.” She says.

“That’s kinda hard to do when she’s scared of me.” He says.

“Just try.” She says.

Bucky nods and sighs.

A few days go by since Bucky was told to make amends with you. He hasn’t yet. He’s been working up the courage to do it. You don’t freeze in place when you see him so that’s progress. Even though, you haven’t said a word to him since the day you found out he’s your new neighbor.

Bucky was walking to his apartment at the same time you were coming home from the store. Bucky noticed you had some groceries so he got out of your way so he didn’t accidentally bump into you again. You gave him a smile as you walked past him. Bucky smiles back. That’s progress too.

“Hi.” You say.

“Hi.” Bucky says back.

That’s even more progress. You and him are making more progress than the both of you thought.

Later that same day, Bucky heard a knock on the door. He opened it to see you, which surprised him.

“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m baking and I was wondering if you have flour and sugar.” You say.

“I- uhh- I have both.” Bucky says nervously.

You followed Bucky to his kitchen and got you a cup of both ingredients.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to the flour and sugar you just bought?” Bucky curiously asks.

“Oh- umm-” You laughed and pointed at your clothes.

Bucky looks at your clothes, seeing flour on them. He laughed when he seen it.

“I accidentally put the mixer on a high speed and this happened.” You say.

“It happens to the best of us.” Bucky says.

You giggled and nodded.

“Thank you for the flour and sugar.” You say, picking up the two cups that contains flour and sugar.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles.

Bucky, being the gentleman he is, opened the door for you.

“What are you baking?” He curiously asks.

“Chocolate chip cookies.” You tell him.

“My favorite.” He smiles. “Can I help you bake them?” He asks.

“Of course.” You replied with a smile.

Bucky closed the door to his apartment and followed you inside of your apartment. He helped you pick up where you left off before you made a mess of flour and sugar on your clothes.

“You’re a good baker.” You say as you watched Bucky mix up the batter with ease without using the mixer.

“Thank you.” Bucky says. “When I was a kid, me and my sister always baked with our mom on the weekends.” He tells you, smiling at the memory.

“That’s sweet.” You smiled.

Bucky helped you put cookie dough on a couple of trays and then put it in the oven.

“Would you like to sit down in the living room while the cookies are baking?” You asked.

“That would be nice.” Bucky says softly.

You got something to drink for you and Bucky and then went to the living room to sit down for a little bit. You turned the TV on, even though you and Bucky were talking and not paying attention to it.

“So umm- I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I’ve been working up the courage to make amends with you for what I did to you years ago.” Bucky says nervously.

“Oh umm- ok.” You say nervously.

Bucky cleared his throat before going ahead with his amends.

“I’ve made amends with the people I’ve wronged over the years, except for you. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure how I was going to make amends with you, because I thought you were dead this whole time. When I was moving in next door a few days ago, I was in complete shock to see that you’re alive and my next door neighbor.” He pauses to clear his throat and took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m so sorry for shooting you as the Winter Soldier years ago. I wasn’t in my own control. I should’ve done something to help you and not try to kill you. If I could go back in time and change things, I would. I hope you accept my apology. If you don’t or need time to think about it, I completely understand.” He says.

You sat there, staring at Bucky after he poured his heart out into an apology. Bucky nervously shifted in his spot on the couch as he waited for you to say something.

“I appreciate your apology and I accept it.” You say.

“You don’t hate me for what I did to you?” Bucky asks.

“I’ll admit I was scared to have you as my new neighbor, but all of that fear went away the more I seen you. You look like a forgiving and trusting person. If we’re going to be living next to each other, we don’t need any bad memories between us.” You say.

“You’re right.” He agrees.

“Hug on it?” You asked.

“Sure!” He smiles.

You leaned over and hugged Bucky. You also gave him a kiss on his bearded cheek, which made him blush.

“Do you want to see my scar?” You asked.

“Sure.” Bucky says.

You stood up and lifted your shirt just enough to show him the scar on your lower abdomen. Bucky’s facial expression softened when he saw it. His eyes teared up too. His right hand reached up to touch it, but he quickly retracted it.

“It’s ok. I don’t mind.” You say softly.

Bucky brought his hand back up to your scar. His fingers traced your scar softly and gently.

“I’m so sorry.” He apologizes again, his voice cracking.

“It’s ok.” You whispered.

You readjusted your shirt and sat back down on the couch, giving Bucky a hug. You two got startled by the sound of the timer for the cookies going off.

“Cookies are done!” You say.

Bucky followed you to the kitchen and you got the cookies out of the oven. You two tried them, humming in satisfaction.

“These are amazing!” Bucky says.

“I know right!” You agreed. “This was fun. We should bake together more often.” You say.

“I would love that.” He smiles.

———

Over the next couple of weeks, you and Bucky have gotten to know each other. You two bake every weekend. It’s yours and Bucky’s favorite thing to do together.

At sunset, you were walking home from work. You felt a chilling presence a few feet behind you. You glanced behind you just to make sure you weren’t thinking things. Your eyes went wide when you seen your ex boyfriend. You down an alleyway to call Bucky.

“Hey, doll. What’s up?” Bucky answers.

“B-Bucky?” You say in a shaky voice.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” He asks.

“My ex is following me.” You tell him.

“Try to stay calm. I’m on my way.” He says.

“Ok.” You replied.

You put your phone back in your pocket. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Miss me?” Your ex boyfriend asks.

Your eyes shot open. Your ex boyfriend was standing in front of you. You didn’t dare to say a word.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He asks.

You didn’t say anything. A whimper left your lips when he grasped your upper arm tightly.

“You’re- You’re hurting me!” You whimpered.

“Oh, she speaks.” He says.

You used all of your strength to get him off you, but he tightened his grip on your bicep as you did so. Then he finally let go of your arm when he got thrown to the ground.

“What the hell, man?!” Your ex says as he stood up. “What’s your fucking problem?” He asks.

“Stay away from her.” Bucky says.

“This doesn’t concern you, buddy so just run along.” Your ex says.

Your ex tried to approach you, but Bucky grabbed his arm, twisting it around to his back and shoved him against the wall.

“I told you to stay away from her.” Bucky says.

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?” Your ex asks.

“If I see you anywhere near her, I won’t hesitate to break every bone in your body.” Bucky says.

“I’d love to see you try.” Your ex laughs.

Bucky twists your ex’s behind his back more.

“Ow! Ok! I’ll stay away from her!” Your ex says.

“Good.” Bucky says.

Bucky let go of him and shoved him, making him stumble as he ran down the street.

“Are you ok, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

“My arm hurts a little bit.” You say.

Bucky lifts your shirt sleeve to see a hand mark beginning to form.

“Let’s go home.” He says softly, wrapping his arms around you.

Bucky took you to your apartment. He got you something to drink as you sat down in the living room.

“Can I tell you something?” Bucky says as he sat down next to you.

“Of course.” You replied.

“I- uhh-” He nervously cleared his throat before saying anything. “I have been enjoying hanging out with you lately.” He begins.

“I enjoy hanging out with you too, Bucky.” You say with a smile.

“What I’m trying to say that I’m in love with you since the day we made chocolate chip cookies together. If you don’t feel the same way about me, then we can go back to being neighbors who bake together.” He confesses.

“I’m in love with you too, Bucky.” You confessed.

Bucky smiles and cups your cheeks, kissing you passionately. You smiled against his lips. Then you two leaned your foreheads against each other’s, gazing in each other’s eyes. Then Bucky got off the couch and got on his knees. He lifted your shirt just enough to show your scar. He gently rubs his thumb over your scar before giving it a soft kiss. You smiled down at him and gently ran your fingers through his soft hair.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky almost whispers, looking up at you.

“I love you too, baby.” You say softly.

-Bucky’s Doll